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.

Once upon a time, many days ago (actually, two weeks) a very thoughtful friend rang me and read out loud the words on a flyer posted near his studio (and I paraphrase): VINTAGE GARAGE SALE! ANTIQUES! RARITIES! LOVELY LOOT! TWO DAYS ONLY!

I was so excited when I wrote down the details I could hardly make out the words later, but I deciphered enough so that I and two friends made it down there on Saturday.

We discovered that the fashion designer Karen Merkel was holding the sale. You might think I would be instantly transported into a fantasy dress-up land, but I did not purchase any clothing.

However, I did pounce on a trove of sumptuous fabrics and embroidered trims that are inspiring enough to weave a fairy-tale with, and live happily ever after. All I need is some glass slippers.

If you have been to the Central Highlands in Vietnam, it is very likely that you’ve visited Dalat, a town touted as Vietnam’s mini Europe. And if you’ve been to Dalat you must have visited Crazy House. It is aptly named, although mere words cannot adequately describe it; a picture is worth a thousand. 

Handicrafts are sold in several of the public rooms, but there is a Mai Anh Craft gift shop in the garden where, much to my motorcycle driver’s consternation, I spent at least half an hour browsing amongst the silk goods. It took a moment to decide to purchase the pretty belt pictured above that fastens with silk cord around the hips. Made of ovals of coloured silk, it is embroidered; appliquéd with silk baubles; and trimmed with sequins.

I was also trying to choose between two silk necklaces. One of them was impossibly tangled up, and it took the salesgirl at least 20 minutes to unravel the knots. Of course no sooner than she had done so and I tried it on, I realised that I much preferred the other: the butterfly and ladybug necklace you see below. I apologised laughingly, for as the Vietnamese are fond of saying it was really a case of “Same, same, but different.”

But I had to be sure.

It is not difficult to be stylish. Even just a little bit of effort goes a long way.

A case in point: this morning I saw a young woman, wet hair hanging limply to her shoulders and her fringe skinned back. Not a scrap of makeup adorned her pale face; and the dreary grey of her ill-fitting, non-descript suit did nothing to improve her complexion. She looked as unhappy and grey as the weather.

Yet her problems are so easy to remedy.

1. Never underestimate the importance of a good haircut – or hairstyle. By the latter I mean styling hair variously, eg, high ponytails, French twists, chignons etc. Another excellent idea is to apply a comb to it occasionally.
2. Wear some makeup. You don’t need to go out in full battle regalia, but perhaps some under-eye concealer and blush. They are of particular assistance in suspected case of unflattering clothing shades. Optional extras: mascara and lippie.
3. Add an accessory!* Or two, or even three. (You have to wear shoes anyway, so they don’t count.) But don’t go overboard. Remember what Coco said: “Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off.”

In the case of the young woman mentioned above, a colourful scarf** would have gone a long way to improve her look; maybe even a coloured bag and shoes. Not to mention drying her hair.

And what you don’t wear is as important as what you do: try to leave the scowl at home.

* Want more on accessories? Look here.
** Need to know how to tie a scarf? Look here.

Last year in Oman, I wandered through Muttrah Souq with X. He had a specific objective: to buy an Omani man’s traditional robe and embroidered cap. In our search for authentic clothing, we were forced deeper and deeper into the maze, leaving the glamorous shops and most of the tourists far behind.

At last we found a merchant selling goods that pleased X, after he convinced them that he wanted a dishdasha that any Omani man would wear. He settled on basic pale blue with pinstripes, but no-one could lay their hands on a kummah that fit his head, until a passer-by (getting into the spirit of the thing) declared his uncle, or possibly brother, had just the thing. He sped off and before long returned with a length of folded fabric. X was directed to sit on a camping stool whilst a cluster of Omanis surrounded him and correctly wrapped the muzzhar, or turban, around X’s head.

Eventually they all glanced at me, wondering which costume I would like to choose. It hadn’t yet occurred to me to purchase one but suddenly it seemed imperative.

Omani women’s clothing is more colourful than their Gulf neighbours’, but I didn’t want anything gaudy. Several garments were displayed to me before I found one that satisfied me.

So here I am in my Muscat-style thawb, (the women’s version of a dishdasha) suitably embellished with gold threads and pink tilli (locally made braid). Of course I should be wearing my pretty green pashmina to cover my head – not around my neck as directed – and they neglected to sell me the necessary pair of pantaloons. That was probably just as well, as between us, X and I only just managed to scrape together enough Omani rials and UAE dirhams to pay for my expensive pashmina and robe.

My silver dangly earrings are from the same souq, but my gorgeous Arabian slippers are from Dubai.

Where to next?

Weren’t these once called balloon skirts? There’s so much volume in this outfit I would ascend like Mary Poppins, umbrella or no umbrella, if I actually wore this in the street.

But this spring’s been so wet I probably would be carrying an umbrella!

No need to be dispirited though: spring’s arrival brings on the racing carnival and a mood of frivolity; and as usual there’s plenty to be had in Melbourne’s boutiques.

And yes, puff sleeves are still well and truly in, as are frills, layers and asymmetrical details.

So don’t be afraid to go bouffant, for after all, I expect you’ll be well-grounded by the fierce heels you’ll be wearing to counteract all this sugar.

Whenever I wear these sweet enamel earrings I am complimented, from giggling young beauty therapists in District 1, to more jaded waitresses in Windsor. I rescued them from a jewellery stall at Ben Thanh Market in Saigon. The said therapists were thrilled to learn they could buy their own right there in Saigon, for less than US$5.

Cloisonné is an ancient metalworking technique of pouring liquid enamel into compartments formed by thin bands of metal. It was first developed in the Near East, and then spread to the Byzantine Empire (one of my favourite periods in art) and on to China via the Silk Road. Here are some examples:

Clockwise from top left: cuff, 9th–10th century, Museum of Byzantine Culture in Thessaloniki; Jen Forland Designs earrings from etsy.com; egg cup by Slatikov, Moscow ca 1900; making cloisonné, from cultural-china.com; Water Lilies by Greig Steiner. As for the woven ribbon cushion, I snatched that up at the Salvos for $2. I was rather amused to see the prior owner’s cat had mangled it in patches, overzealously kneading its paws no doubt. An appropriate backdrop for my sedate little kitties then.

Well, after doing this shoot, all I can say is that armfuls of bangles are as inhibiting as enormous chopines must have been in the seventeenth century. I practically needed a servant to carry my arms about.

I have always greatly admired Cecil Beaton’s work; 1920s style in general; and Beaton’s portrait of Nancy Cunard in particular (below), her arms bristling with bangles from wrist to elbow.

However, before I could set this shoot up in homage, I had to increase my own collection of bangles in variety as well as number. I had the opportunity to expand it when in Vietnam earlier this year, and bought several wooden bangles, as well as four jade ones: green, purple, black – and finally a red bangle (the most expensive) carved with a fantastic cornucopia of dragons, vines and flowers.

None of them went up to my elbow like Nancy’s unfortunately. Did they make them especially large in the Twenties, or did women have really fat arms? Or is Nancy modelling home furnishings, or perhaps bits of sawn-off piping? I shall always wonder…

Check out the Out-takes & Extras gallery for more pics.
See more of Cecil Beaton's images here.

I finally saw The September Issue last weekend. I was very much looking forward to it, and was not disappointed – except I could be greedy like my friend Lulue who thought there should have been even more fashion.

As far as a glimpse into what it takes to bring a fashion issue together, I thought it was great, being particularly fascinated by the power play between Anna Wintour and her fashion editors: gasp! Someone’s pages got the chop to make room for another’s! Grace Coddington (and some of her colleagues) were especially shocked when the ‘best’ DPS from a Twenties-styled shoot was axed, but I could see immediately that Wintour was right to do so. As good a shot as it was, it simply did not fit in with the others.

Wintour is criticised for being cold and ruthless, but it is obvious she is an extremely busy woman who has to make decisions expeditiously. Interestingly she states ‘being decisive’ is her greatest strength. To echo Lulue again, how many people can say that?

…“just because you love fashion, it doesn’t mean you’re stupid”.

I was also touched when she spoke of her erudite family, and how they belittled her accomplishments by condescending to be ‘amused’ by them.

As she declares early in the documentary, “just because you love fashion, it doesn’t mean you’re stupid”. Fashion has always been a popular form of self-expression, and it is not immoral to admire beautiful fabrics, or the genius of designers who are passionate about their work – and the legion of artists behind them, whether they are textile designers, journalists, or mere pattern cutters.

In fact, I don’t think one should ever underestimate the importance of bringing a little life, colour and happiness into people’s drab lives – even if it’s through the ‘frivolous’ medium of fashion.