Do you have any idea how much it costs to have leather drycleaned? I had a nebulous idea of current costs, but recently I had cause to discover exactly how much prices had risen.

Not long ago I wore my caramel coloured leather skirt to a house party, and when I eventually got home, discovered that I must have sat on a potato chip. There was a grease mark the size of a thumbnail right on the tush. There was nothing doing: I had to bite the bullet and have it professionally cleaned, or never wear it again.

I took it – along with sundry other items that needed laundering – to the local drycleaning outfit. I was informed that the skirt must be taken to a specialist leather cleaner; would cost $70 to have cleaned; and could take up to two weeks before it would be ready. Furthermore, I had to sign an indemnity form indicating I would forgive them if the skirt suffered any further damage. THEN in addition I had to give them a $40 deposit!

What kind of racket was this?

I was miffed, but resigned, and forked out the cash (after having to traipse to a nearby convenience store to get some money, as the drycleaners did not have EFT; another count against them). Then, to my consternation, I was told it might be a week before my other items were ready. A week! What kind of racket was this?

It transpired that three weeks passed before I darkened their doors again. Another $64? I shrugged. Certainly. By that time I was utterly indifferent to the dollars fluttering out of my purse and merely wanted to finalise my first and last transaction with this shady operator.  

Thank heavens I can report that the grease mark had been well and truly rubbed out.

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

Serial #: 0026
Date: 11/02/2009
Weather: forecast 20°
Time Allowed: 5 minutes

This outfit is all about the dress. I fell in love with that particular shade of blue – a dusky cornflower blue – and I have always had a sneaking liking for silk dupioni, as much as it reminds me of the Eighties. I love the complicated ‘double’ bodice created by a plunging V-neckline and a halterneck, and the inverted pleats at the waist. It’s always the unusual cuts that grab my attention. Some people might call that ‘arty’ dressing. 

In the label’s advertising campaign, the model wore the crimson version of this dress with nothing but an enormous chest-sized necklace; in reality I’d be risking a wardrobe malfunction if I did that. I’ve worn it with a silk camisole and a necklace of thickly woven black thread strung with seed pearls and moonstones. I always thought it looked like the product of some remarkably patient indigenous jeweller somewhere, as the weaving is reminiscent of a fishing net. The tiny teardrop pearls I found many years ago at a stall in Camberwell’s Sunday market.

And just in case I felt too dainty parading about in blue silk, I wore my clomping black heels to bring me back to earth.

Items:

Dress: Ammo
Camisole: Diesel
Necklace: a long-gone boutique that was next to City Hatters in Melbourne’s Flinders Street.
Earrings: Camberwell Market
Rings: (sterling silver) Roun, (grey shell, sterling silver) NGV Shop
Watch: Kenneth Cole
Shoes: Zoe Wittner

Sapphire likes to dress up just as much as I do, if not more, so when I heard she had a Forties-themed party to go to, I wanted to hear all about it.

Tell us about the party, Sapphire. 

I was invited to a 40th birthday party, with a cute Forties theme. I absolutely adore Forties and Fifties style so I was pretty excited – I’ve always loved Katharine Hepburn too.

The Andrews SistersOriginally my two friends and I wanted to go as the Andrews Sisters, and we searched high and low for some place that would loan us an old army outfit for a reasonable price. But alas, the only thing that looked good was $140 a piece – it was authentic, which explains the price. Then the only thing that was at the right price turned out to be “dancers’” costumes in a previous life and, well… just a little to revealing!

So what did you do instead?

I decided to put my own costume together, especially hoping to find pieces that I would wear again. The shopping process took me quite a while, as it was really hard to find things that are actually Forties. It doesn’t seem to be a very popular decade with vintage shops!

Or there just isn’t much of it around unfortunately. And when you do find something, it doesn’t fit!

Yes, and it was August, so a pretty cold time of year. The fur shrug and thick wool cape helped keep me warm. Stockings were also essential, but not just because of the weather – no woman in the Forties would have been seen anywhere without wearing her nylons!

One of the few people at the party who actually lived through the 40s absolutely loved my costume – the ultimate compliment!

Do you have a favourite piece? 

Definitely – the two piece suit! It's actually a Sixties number which I found in Retro Star, but I managed to twist it to look a little more Forties. I love the little cape with the pinky-red lining! It was just a matter of choosing the accessories after that.

Hmm, as for that lining, I think we could even call it puce! Tell me about your accessories.

The turquoise blouse is from Retro Star, as well as the faux pearl earrings. I absolutely adored the dainty navy straw hat, with its trim of little white flowers. It was from Shag and individually, the most expensive item. The fur collar was from Chapel St Bazaar.

And how did you go on the night?

One of the few people at the party who actually lived through the 40s absolutely loved my costume – the ultimate compliment! She was dressed in a heavenly ensemble of pink wool, pin-curled hair and a precious matching pink hat. Unfortunately people then thought we were the Andrews Sisters after all, and as the night wore on the calls for us to get up and sing grew and we had to make a quiet and quick exit! 

Well, I hoped you rolled out the barrels on the night and drank lots of rum and Coca Cola. And on that note… I’ll say my last goodbye… shoo-shoo baby! 

* The backdrop is of Pellegrini’s Espresso Bar on Bourke St in Melbourne.

In celebration of the glorious Melbourne Cup – the ‘race that stops a nation’ – I bring you four hats. Or, to employ the collective noun I have just created: a happiness of hats.

At A: a velvet 40s toque, complete with two flowers just above each ear. It makes me feel like a mini Minnie Mouse.

At happiness: a 20s style (alas not an original, I fear, as it is in too good condition) sequinned cap trimmed with a black chiffon rose.

…a navy wool hat fluttering with a light blue ostrich feather and ruined net dates from the 1910s.

At of: this, I think, is a 50s pillbox wrapped in silver and white chiffon. It is one of the very first vintage hats I bought for two or three dollars from a local op shop.

At hats: a navy wool peaked hat fluttering with a light blue ostrich feather and ruined net dates from the 1910s. The ostrich neckpiece was made nearly a hundred years later by myself and tickles my neck.

Hmm, a fortuitous turn of phrase. I think I might go have a flutter tomorrow.

This morning, killing time between a doctor’s appointment and brunch at Dino’s Deli in Windsor, I entered the hallowed halls of the Salvo’s, Prahran.

It was like entering Aladdin’s Cave.

I later found out (during the ten minutes it took the salesgirl to ring up my copious purchases) that the new manager had redesigned the layout of the store, with one front window specialising in good quality vintage, and the opposite corner featuring a rack of vintage smalls. She had even brought in some of her own items, collected over the years.

I purchased all of these garments bathed in the warm, virtuous glow that I was helping the needy.

As for me, I had barely time to mutter ‘Good morning’, I was so busy snatching up an armload of vintage printed dresses and tops to try on. I then turned to survey the other corner and immediately saw the crowning glory: a seafoam green, chiffon 50s party dress hanging high on a mannequin. When I went to ask the salesgirl if she could lift it down for me, I caught sight of the above mary-janes on the counter. (I’ll have those too, thanks.)

I guiltily entered the changing room bearing the sign ‘NO MORE THAN 4 ITEMS’, loaded down with about 20 dresses and a basket of shoes and lingerie. At least it was early, with few shoppers about.

My haul:

1. Aforementioned chiffon dress. One man, some kind of show producer, offered to fight me for it, until he heard I practice martial arts, upon which he backed hastily away.
2. Taupe linen 50s Sunday-afternoon-stroll dress. Camellia print in black and olive; cute bow belt.
3. 70s graphic print shift dress. Collar and short sleeves, block print in navy, maroon and fuchsia.
4. Sleeveless shift dress #1 in teal with white lace print, belt missing. All rayon.
5. Sleeveless shift dress #2 printed with Japanese style floral pattern, in blues and gold on white.
6. Open-weave cotton shirt, ¾ sleeves, paisley print in various shades of blue.
7. Short sleeved shirt with Marimekko style print, greens and olives on white open-weave cotton.
8. Pale rose vintage full slip with copious quantities of lace on bodice and hem.
9. Tangerine vintage full slip (tag from Myer still attached!), with pleated chiffon flounces.
10. Half-slip in white, with tiers of heart-shaped lace and ribbons.
11. Two pairs tap pants, one black, the other cobalt blue with white lace trim.
12. Two delicious pairs of shoes (pictured).
13. One pair cream coloured, opera-length lambskin gloves that … er, fit like a glove!
14. One rayon print scarf, featuring watercolour illustrations of national monuments of England, arranged in alphabetical order. (From A, Arundel Castle, Sussex – to Y, York Minster and Bootham Bar.)
15. Last, but not least, the bedspread (also pictured above).

There were three or four dresses that sadly did not fit, or suit; I discover my vintage size is SW or SSW – Small Woman or Small(?) Small Woman, but I have no complaint.

Shopping guilt? What shopping guilt? I purchased all of these garments bathed in the warm, virtuous glow that I was helping the needy.