When in Arabia…

When I was in Arabia (er, actually, Dubai) I danced with a belly-dancer. I was nowhere near as limber or flexible as she was (nor as scantily clad) but it was a lot of fun nevertheless.

Later on, whilst meandering through the twisty alleys of the souq in Dubai with X, I saw numerous belly dancing outfits fluttering in the breeze. Of course I became fixated with purchasing one.

Hot pink or sapphire blue or apple green with red? Bells tinkled and sequins sparkled…

We found a merchant whose goods looked better quality that most, and I happily rummaged through the vast array of silken garments. Short or long, pants or skirt? Hot pink or sapphire blue or apple green with red? Bells tinkled and sequins sparkled; the merchant’s eyes twinkled (with dollar signs) as he hastened to find a colour that would please me.

At first I hankered for something bright and gaudy like the belly dancer’s. The merchant suggested X take a photo of me modelling one such confection so I could see what I look like. I quickly decided it was too gaudy.

Before I could settle on the black silk embroidered with silver beads and sequins, X firmly directed me out the door to ‘confer’ about the price, as he informed the merchant. I should have been accustomed to X’s flair for the dramatic. “But I want it!” I exclaimed to X as I was bullied up the alleyway. “Yes, yes,” he replied, “but we’re bringing the price down… Alright, we can go back now.”

And sure enough, when we returned the price was suddenly right.

Wooden Neutrals

I own a lot of costume jewellery (some of it made by myself) but there are always those few favourites that I reach for time and again. These wooden beads are some of them.

I find that they act like neutrals, able to complement many garments and styles. For example, wear wooden beads with a long floral print dress and call them bohemian, or with an avant-garde structured piece and call it sculpture. For that reason I particularly like them with some of my Veronika Maine garments; the combination also puts me in mind of Marni.

The intricately cut headband is actually made from very flexible birchwood, and is from Russia; I bought that unusual piece on eBay. The earrings, a gift, came from Design A Space*, and both necklaces were unearthed in local charity shops. At least those are carbon neutral too!

*Turn your sound down before clicking here!

Vintage delights

Here’s a delightful way to spend some time this coming weekend: at The Way We Wear vintage fair at Williamstown Town Hall.

I’ve never been before (which is very remiss of me), but apart from a large number of dealers selling all sorts of delicious vintage goodies, there is an exhibition on lingerie through the ages, called Undercover, and good coffee available on site to keep you going.

Read more here and check out some pics to get you drooling.

Sat 21 Nov 10am–5pm, Sun 22 Nov 10am–4pm
Williamstown Town Hall, Ferguson St, Williamstown
Adult $12; child (10+) $6; family $30

I’ll be there with bells on!

Twin Takes on Tweed

Two looks that capture the spirit of the Thirties and Forties but with a twist: on the left a demure kick of pleats for a lady; on the right, cuffed mannish trousers for former tomboys who like to stride through the world.

I gathered together a selection of tweed garments: a jacket found in a vintage boutique in Bega, NSW, many years ago; a vintage skirt bought from an English girl at Camberwell Market years later; a pair of trousers found in a local op shop. Ditto the fedora and bag, and the Aldo Fanta-flavoured platforms I found on eBay during a mission to find brightly hued shoes.

I had in mind the heroine from Hitchcock’s 1938 film The Lady Vanishes, in which trains, mysterious disappearances and romance feature. And there’s plenty of tweed to be seen in it too!

As for Tweedledum and Tweedledee, they may or may not have been twins, but I think my incarnations of them complement each other nicely.

A Tale of Two Dresses

About a year ago I fell in love with this dove-grey jersey dress from Zara in Dubai. It was on sale and not in my size, so of course I bought it.

As always, I was drawn to the asymmetrical cut and pleated details. It was too big, and I didn’t care; it was comfortable. I first wore it that holiday in Oman over jeans, for modesty in that Middle-Eastern country. It took me around Muscat, to the museums and galleries, the Old Fort and the souq; to the beach. It became imbued with happy memories and joie de vivre.

I returned home to the heat of summer and had to wait for cooler weather to wear it again. Some time after that it languished in the washing basket, waiting for a hand-washing Saturday.

It became imbued with happy memories and joie de vivre.

Imagine my distress when I pulled it forth and discovered it
eaten alive by moths! There are a dozen tiny holes or more, chomped in various parts of the dress’s anatomy. I washed it carefully nonetheless, but I could not wear it. Nor could I bear to throw it away.

Many months later, I thought I would try to have the dress copied (I ought to have taken it on holiday again, this time to the Vietnamese tailors), so I set about finding jersey fabric online, and asking for a price from my tailor. They quoted me three or four hundred dollars at a minimum! Regretfully, I put the dress away in my wardrobe.

One evening, not so long ago, I was walking home down Chapel Street and passed the window of a new boutique, Sadie. Before my gob-smacked eyes there was my Zara dress! Alike in every detail but one: instead of dove-grey, this incarnation was assembled from beige marle. This difference I cast aside as a mere bagatelle.
I wanted that dress.

I returned as soon as could be; reverently lifted the garment from its rail (a small size this time), and whisked it away to a changing room.

It truly was the same dress.

Of course I bought it, and now they hang side by side in my closet. It makes me happy.