Has anyone else heard of the “S-stripe”? According to the pattern, that is what’s on the front of the sweater on the left. I had no idea such a thing existed. Those colors are a little bright for me, though, and the headbands would make me feel like a shepherd in a Christmas pageant, so I will not try to reproduce this look.
The ensemble on the right, however…I wouldn’t wear it all at once, partly because my daughter would refuse to get in the car with me until I took it off, but I would definitely wear the blouse by itself, or the hat. I think I would also wear the sweater with a navy pleated skirt, but only with my hair in a Moomintroll style topknot.
This may just indicate that I need help; if any friends reading this would like to send sad pictures of me to one of those makeover shows, be my guest. I think I’m beyond the reach of Oprah.
She seems to be grazing. I suspect hallucinogenic plants.
The pattern is called “Cinnamon Toast.” It’s from Spinnerin , Volume 184, 1968.
I love that hat, too.
The title of this post is taken from an extravagantly beautiful poem – The Blue Dress in Mother’s Closet – by Saeed Jones. (I hope that’s OK.) The official pictures finally came back from the vintage fashion show on the island, and I had to put this one up. This is the dress I love so much. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn. And here’s a picture of my daughter in the audience; I think the fashion show and trapping that rat last week are the only times I’ve ever impressed her. Thank you again to Linda for letting me play dress-up. And Rebecca for getting me dressed.
I want those heels…
Top photo by Louise Kolstad, bottom photo by Randy Smith
There’s a sweet lady on the island who has a spectacular collection of vintage clothing, jewelry, shoes, hats….She lets us play dress up for fundraisers sometimes, and that’s what we did tonight, for the island firehall. The firefighters escorted us in, which was excellent because I can’t walk in those f&*(*%& shoes, gorgeous as they are. Here are two pictures of me, me, me, with my friends Rebecca and Karen H. Rebecca was dressing us, because although she is beautiful, she is the soul of modesty. Karen H. is a rock star. Me? I like hats. Elaine’s there, in the middle, just because I like her.
My teeth always scare me in photos. I think I look feral.
I am so happy when Paige comes into the library, because I want to see what she’s wearing. She’s like Anne of Green Gables crossed with a Neil Gaiman adventuress, and there’s a touch of Russian peasant + east coast boarding school, too. That may sound incoherent, but it works.
The words I think of when I see her are intrepid, funny and sweet.
I asked her to write something about the way she dresses. She did, and told me to use any bit of it I liked. I found it so interesting I didn’t want to edit it; here’s Paige, in her own words:
For me, it wasn’t until 8th grade that I started to make choices about how I wanted to look, which was, mostly, different from what I saw at the mall and at school. Before that I was stymied by the urge to conform to the preppy ideal which dominated in my New England hometown, which was at variance with my family’s budget. Once I discovered the punk scene, with its DIY attitude, glorification of vintage garments, and imperative to subvert the dominant paradigm, I realized that finances need never set me apart from my own style again. Punk culture…(MORE)