That Touch of Fashion: The on-screen clothes of Doris Day March 3, 2009 15:18

Just finished reading Doris Day: The Untold Story of the Girl Next Door by David Kaufman. (Don't bother unless you're a true fan.)

Naturally, I thought of Ms. Day's clothes. Naturally, I knew I had to blog about the garments I like.

So. Shall I start with Romance on the High Seas from 1948? Yes, I shall. What a fabulous idea. I so often have them. I do. Really.

Milo Anderson did the wardrobe for this movie (one of film critic Rex Reed's favorites, Mr. Kaufman writes), and some of the dresses are completely over the top, like the baby blue number (at least it's baby blue on my 17-year-old Sony) that Georgia Garrett (yep, our gal Doris) wears on her first evening at sea. Some ensembles (like the suit she wears in the travel agency) are plain boring. They make a suit from Talbot's seem worthy of a Vogue photo shoot.

But this ensemble, worn in Brazil, is perfect. Absolutely. I want this in my wardrobe. And it is possible. Completely. It can be easily duplicated with Vogue 5111, circa 1946, and McCall 6794, copyright 1947.

Now. All I need is a round-trip plane  ticket to Brazil. And, of course, one for His Bertness. First class, please.

Oh. Oscar Levant co-stars in Romance on the High Seas. Levant, you may recall, quipped: "I knew Doris Day before she was a virgin."

By the way, I suggest that you avoid Ms. Day's second film, My Dream Is Yours. Ms. Day sings a bouncy bubble of a tune that is second only to Johnny Horton's The Battle of New Orleans in the unrelenting earworm category. You have been warned.

Inspirations: It's timeless. It's classic. It's retro. February 27, 2009 13:04

You are old-fashioned. You bake your own cherry pie. Your own whole-wheat bread. And a Cinnabon cinnamon roll? Never! They simply can't compare with the ones that you bake with your own hands.

Shameless plug: Release your inner Grace Kelly. Now. February 25, 2009 12:27

It's been so long. It has. A Blue Gardenia update desert. But. At last. It's here. It is. And I hope you won't be disappointed. In fact. I know you won't be. Because I have some magnificent patterns. Just for you.

You'll find additions in 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, 1960s and Lingerie this week. Many outstanding additions. Many. Two of my favorites:

For you Lanvin-Castillo fans, there's Vogue Paris Original 1267, copyright 1954. It is so very, very Grace. Rear Window elegant. Sexy and tantalizing, yet ladylike. He'll long to be risque when you wear this, but won't dare – unless you give him permission. And you will. Won't you?

McCall 9034, copyright 1936, channels Irene Dunne at her most fashionable. From its lantern sleeves to its face-framing collar and drapey jabot, it speaks of haute couture ateliers in 1930s Paris. Don't you love it? I do. Absolutely.

And now for the boring details: New additions always go at the beginning of each category because I want to make shopping fast and easy for you, you wonderful loyal clients. And we take Paypal, American Express, Discover, Mastercard,  Visa and cold, hard cash. And The Blue Gardenia is a secure site, so you don't have to worry about ordering online. So there. You know it all now. Don't you?

Oh, Oscar! Inspire me. Please. You owe me after Sunday night. February 23, 2009 15:42

I refuse to restrain my inner Ms. Snippy. She yearns to be free. She begs for release. And who I am I to tell her no? I won't I won't I won't. Especially after that boring Ambien-equivalent Oscar program last night. It seemed endless. Positively. And as dull as a sack of dirt. Oh. Yes. A heavy sack, indeed.

Where were the movie clips? The Oscar is — last time I checked - a movie award. I want to see clips. And what was up with the silly, time-wasting presentation of the acting awards by five former winners? And Hugh Jackman? Please. I want Jon Stewart. I want Steven Colbert.

But enough. On to the clothes. (Most of them were snore-inducing as well. Alas.)

Actually, now that I think about it, there were only two gowns I consider worthy of mention.

Marisa Tomei's pleated, architectural Versace. Astounding. Beautiful. Sexy. This is the way to bare a shoulder. Absolutely.

Beyonce's gown has been the object of much derision. Seems some fashionistas decry it as worthy only of draping one's windows. I disagree. Totally. I love the leaf print and its reference to the 1940s. I love the bodice. I love the 1950s sexy chanteuse silhouette. 

And, by the way, just so you know: I do not want to see any more headlines that tout the revival of old Hollywood glamour. So overused. So worn out. So done. No more. News outlets, you should know better. For shame.

Inspirations: Run those Saturday errands in style February 21, 2009 17:07

Do you run those pesky errands every Saturday? The grocery store. Costco. The car wash. Staples.

Inspirations: A little drama at the grocery store February 12, 2009 17:20

Vogue Paris Original 2789, Designed by Nina Ricci

There are days when you just don't feel like throwing on your quilted black car coat again. When it simply will not do. When it's too plain. Too ordinary. Too boring. Sure, it's well-cut. Sure, it's comfortable. It's as cozy as a cup of orange pekoe with two cubes of sugar.

Sure, you're only running to the market for mustard greens and peanut butter. But. Doesn't the checker deserve a little lift? Something more attractive than a faded Axl Rose tee-shirt under a tired hoodie? Of course, he does. Of course, she does.

So. What to do? What?

Enrich your options, you stylish cookie, you. Stitch up this exquisite cape by Nina Ricci. Love the scarf collar. So jaunty. So sassy. So perfect. Absolutely.

Ever get tired of Ms. Obama's fashion? I don't. As you know. February 4, 2009 16:30

Vogue Paris Original 1088,

Inspirations: The dress that makes tough choices easy January 27, 2009 16:09 2 Comments

Vogue Paris Original 1113,

designed by Jacques Fath,

copyright 1950

You caught me: I had my nose pressed against the window. Again. January 25, 2009 16:57

It's Sunday night. An awards show was on. Can you guess where I was? Can you guess what I was doing? You can. I know it. There are no flies on you. You can put 2 and 2 together and come up with the proper sum.

So. You've been waiting for this, haven't you? Holding your breath, right? Tell me you were. Tell me you watched, too. Promise you'll share your opinions. Please. Even if you — sigh — disagree. Even if you think I'm full of it.

But. Enough meandering. Give me a drum roll, please. Something worthy of Gene Krupa. There you go. I like that.

Now. My favorites at the Screen Actors Guild Awards, in no particular order:

Kate Winslet's cobalt Narciso Rodriguez gown is aces with me. He's redeemed himself for that dreadful explosion that Michelle Obama wore on election night with this curve worshipper. Love it. Truly.

And Laura Linney can toss this coral Michael Kors my way when she's done with it. Love it. Absolutely. From the luscious color to the one-shouldered bodice. This is the dress from which dream evenings are made. Absolutely. Absolutely. Absolutely.

Ditto for Eva Longoria's peachy froth of a gown. Adore the color. Adore its Ginger Rogers-ness. All Eva needs is Fred Astaire. This cupcake of a dress was designed by Jenny Packham. I know there are those who will quibble at this choice, who will find fault with the peplum, who will insist this dress is so darn sweet it could frost a cake. But. I have a weakness for frosting. Just don't skimp on the butter.

And. Speaking of food. I did take time off from glamour gazing to be a domestic goddess. (Yes, I know Martha would be appalled by the clutter on my countertops and the newspapers stacked on one end of the kitchen table. But, really, there's no need for her to know. Is there? Lips zipped and all that.) I baked pizza. I made the dough from scratch. Piled it high with grape tomatoes, yellow peppers, red onions. So tasty. So pretty. So healthy. And. For extra points on the DG test, I served the pizza with a salad of Arizona lettuces and lemon zest vinaigrette. Yum bunnies. 

I have lusted in my heart, dear readers. Yes indeedy. January 22, 2009 15:47 1 Comment

All right. I admit it. The gorgeous Tracy Feith dress that Michelle Obama wore yesterday morning to church inspired one of the seven deadly sins. Yep. You guessed it. Lust.  Or to be more specific — fashionlust: excessive love of another's clothing. Love this one. Love it. Love it. Love it. Abundantly. It's the perfect choice for one's first day at work. It's comfortable yet comely. Absolutely.

The simple  and hard to beat 1950s silhouette was made even more arresting by the print. If you want to make your own, try Simplicity 2338, copyright 1957. Simplicity claims it's simple to make. Note View 3, the black-and-white version. Didn't Skipper have one just like that?

Michelle speaks, and I listen. January 20, 2009 15:42 2 Comments

I will let you, my pretties, decide for yourselves if Michelle Obama channeled Laura Bush or Jackie Kennedy in her inaugural ensemble. Sophisticate or sofa?  The choice is yours. 

I will give you the details — as if you didn't already know. The dress, coat, and cardigan was designed by Isabel Toledo, stitched up in the Cuban-American designer's New York atelier by Chinese, Polish and Spanish seamstresses. It's made of Swiss wool lace and lined in French silk. Oh, girl, you are going global. Absolutely.

So. If you want to emulate our beautiful First Lady, I have several suggestions. Of course. You knew I would.

Add a ribbon to the coat in Simplicity 4194, and you'll have one like Ms. Obama's. The dress is a little spicier, certainly, but you're not the First Lady, so who cares? Show that gorgeous skin. You can do it. And. I rather like this bodice. The better to show off a statement-making necklace.

McCall's 6676, from 1962 — speaking of Jackie  – offers another choice. Simple. Elegant. And, surely, surely, surely, it's not that difficult to make. Ya think?

Put your own slant on the inaugural dress and coat with Butterick 2219. It's full-skirted, sure, but the shoe-string belt pays homage to Ms. O's ensemble. And you can always make it in lemongrass. Or yellow, if you're feeling mellow. (Yes. I confess. I was practically imbedded in  the TV most of the day. I did rip myself away for a few minutes to paw through The Blue Gardenia archives to find these patterns. I suffer for you. I do. I'll do anything to make you happy. Anything. Almost.)

And then there's Vogue Couturier Design 1276, designed by Michael. This is the one I would wear. Love the overblouse. Love the coat details: the flaps, the collar. In fact, know what? I love this ensemble. Period. Love it.

So. Lemongrass. Lemonade. Sunshine. Maize. Whatever. Wear a dress and matching coat. Soon. Reference our new First Lady. Go forth. Be a glimmering ray of hope. After all. It's a new dawn. It's a new day. It isn't just cliche. It isn't. I insist.

We all make mistakes. Don't we? Even Ella. January 19, 2009 09:55 2 Comments

Oh. My. God. And that, my internet buds, is a prayer.  A prayer for organization. A prayer to stop clipping. A prayer to recycle Paul Krugman columns instead of saving them. (I could, after all,  just read his blog, The Conscience of a Liberal. ) A prayer to find CD jewel cases. Where do they go? Are they like that one sock in a pair? That one sock that scampers off when I'm not looking. Egads!

And speaking of deities: Thank God for Ella Fitzgerald. She calms me down. She reminds me that I should reach for perfection. Absolutely. Even if I never attain it. Even if I don't get past the first step on that particular stairway.

But. Chaos is not what I intended to blog about. Let me rein myself in. Whoa. Come back, Denise, come back. Your topic awaits you.

And that topic is . . . drumroll, boys and girls . . . Renee  Zellweger's frocks. This, inspired by Amanda, she of the evocative sense of place, she of Still Life in South America.

Frankly. I hated Renee's Golden Globes gown. It shocked me. Completely. I did a double take. She's usually picture perfect. Elegant. Sleek. Perfection. (To use that impossible word again. I refuse to ban it from my vocab. Despite its unpopularity these days.) As is, for that matter, Carolina Herrera, who designed both of these dresses. The black one — the miss by several miles, heck, the miss by several solar systems — is the Golden Globes nightmare.  The blue one, well,  I'd love to have it in my closet. Love it. It's floaty. Dreamy. Flattering. To the nth.

So. What was Ms. Zellweger thinking? She obviously misplaced her unerring sense of style. Perhaps it's run off to join my socks, my Best of Julie London and Squirrel Nut Zippers Perennial Favorites jewel cases. Anyway. I hope she finds it soon. Perhaps she can also tell my socks to come back home. And the jewel cases.

Meanwhile. I'll let Ella's Harold Arlen Songbook console me. But. I've got a right to hang around down around the river. I've got a right to moan and sigh. Mr. Arlen says so. And he wouldn't lie. I know it.

I popped the corn early. Then claimed the couch. January 11, 2009 17:05 6 Comments

I confess: I was a sofa sloth tonight. Why? Because I am a pushover for awards shows. It's true. Love the glam. Love the gowns. Love that red carpet stroll. So there.

One of my favorite dresses: Drew Barrymore's. However. Am I the only one who thought there was a disconnection between her Angie Dickenson as Pepper hair and her Jayne Mansfield dress? Not to mention her everything-in-the-Walmart cosmetics aisles makeup. Still. She looks like a girl who's having fun. Lots of it.

And then there is Ms. Longoria. Oh, Eva. Eva, Eva, Eva. You're a gal who has it going on. So why, why, why wear a dress cut so perilously low? The dress was gorgeous. Love the scallop detail. Totally. But why not have the bodice a half-inch or so higher? You do not have to try so hard. You don't. Trust me.

But. On a brighter note. A positive note. A happy, happy, joy, joy note.  If I could have one look of the evening — just one, only one — I'd grab Marisa Tomei's. In a heartbeat. Love it. Love it. Absolutely.  From the tiered sleeves — wedding cake, anyone, the buttercream is worth every calorie — to the necklaces to the belt, perfection. Completely. 

Inspirations: In this dress, the world is at your well-shod feet December 8, 2008 14:06 1 Comment

Simplicity 2296, Copyright 1957

You thumb through your closet. What to wear to work today? What? You're not in the mood for a power suit. You want something that whispers power, gently, softly. You want something that looks smart, that will look at home in a chic cafe. Something that will be comfortable for Christmas shopping. Oh, this. Yes. Simplicity 2296. You stitched it up a mere two weeks ago in that luscious red wool crepe you bought on sale this spring. Already, you've worn it twice. But why not? It has that Maggie Prescott flair, but it's as easy as an old pair of Tod's. Yes. This is the one. Absolutely.

Shameless plug: Oh, but you're lovely. Especially in these frocks. December 5, 2008 10:32 1 Comment

Because I am passionate about patterns. Because you want something new and festive for New Year's Eve. Because Andrew the tile guy likes to be paid for his labor. Because Henry Jones and Emma like their treats. Because. I've added nearly 80 dazzling vintage patterns to The Blue Gardenia.

And, boys and girls, I do not exaggerate. I do not overstate. These patterns are ravishing. And when I say ravishing, I mean ravishing. Absolutely. So. I'll share a few — just a few – of my favorites with you.

Starting with the 1930s, Simplicity 1708. This one offers not one, but two terrific views. If you're feeling unfailingly feminine and frilly, try the version with ruffles that cascade both front and back. If you want something that's stern yet stylish, something that has a whiff of businesslike briskness for the office, the other view more than fits the bill.

On to the 1940s. If you're in the mood to release your inner glamour puss, I recommend Butterick 3789. Slide on your above-the-elbow gloves — don't they feel good - and glide, glide, glide, girl, glide across the room to the piano. Play The Way You Look Tonight. Purr the words in your sultry voice. Meow. You kitten you.

Now, slip into your traveling shoes and let's saunter to the 1960s. Pile your silky tresses atop your gorgeous noggin — ouch! Don't cross those bobby pins — and slip into Vogue Paris Original 1333. Designed by Jacques Heim, it is perfect for channeling Suzy Parker in a Grecian goddess mode. Yep. That's one sexy, sophisticated minx looking back at you in the mirror. Yes indeed.

There are so many more marvelous patterns! You'll also find new in Children, Men, Lingerie and 1950s. And, as always, new additions go at the beginning of each category to make it easier for our loyal customers (I thank you, I do). And remember, we take Mastercard, Visa, Discover and Amex, as well as Paypal to make it easier for you.

Now. Click. Shop. Enjoy. You've been good. You deserve it. Santa told me so.

Inspirations: I hear my Bernina calling my name. Yes, indeedy. November 2, 2008 13:59 1 Comment

McCall's 5592, copyright 1960

Well. I share good news. Great news, in fact. Andrew the Tile Guru told beloved hubby yesterday that he’s at the halfway point on the bathroom tile. Yippee skippee. I repeat: Yippee skippee. 

So. Guess what, my blog-reading friends?  I am dreaming of sewing again. Yes. I am. And this Hannah Troy design is one powerful inspiration. Alluring. Magnetic. Absolutely. Look at the neckline. Curvy lines. Plunging lines. Sexy. Yet graceful. Very. I see it in coral taffeta. The full-skirt version for night. Of course. For hours of unrestricted dancing pleasure.

For day, the hug-the-hips version in a charcoal wool. Perhaps single-faced. Perhaps crepe. Either would be irresistible. Completely.

Oh, Bernina, machine of mine, do you miss me?

By any name, it's packed with 1940s attitude October 15, 2008 18:38 3 Comments

Meet Gilda. Misnamed, I think. Frankly, it should be Gene. As in Tierney. This luscious wedge reminds me of the beautiful Ms. Tierney in Leave Her to Heaven. Sure. Her character was a manipulative witch. But what a stylish one. But. No matter what one calls it, it is delicious. Bewitching. Sassy. Elegant. And totally 1940s. Imagine it with 1940s slacks. I do. In fact, it makes me want to stitch up a pair right now. Oh, right. I have to learn to sew first. Which means I have to finish my home improvement project. So that I can restore order to our home. So I will have room to cut out fabric. So. So. So. Drat.

At any rate. I want this shoe. I am breathless with desire. All right. I exaggerate. Slightly.

However. It is too cold here for sandals now. It was 17 at my house Sunday morning. 17! In October. But. For spring, this is the shoe. The one. Be it Gilda. Be it Gene. No matter. It has my name on it.

If you feel the same, or just have a yen for shoes that look vintage but aren’t, check out Remix Vintage Shoes. Philip Heath of Remix says their shoes are made in Spain and Mexico, except for the Hollywood stilettos, which are made right here in the USA. In case you care. And I bet you do.

Inspirations: Happy days will be here again. Absolutely. October 13, 2008 17:37 3 Comments

Vogue Couturier Design 353, circa 1940s

This is, quite simply, a fabulous suit. It’s simple. It’s elegant. It’s multi-purpose. In sleek charcoal wool 120, it would signal “do not, under any circumstances, mess with me.”  It is fine armor for a trying business meeting. Protective. Absolutely. In black crepe with a black silk satin collar and a floor length skirt, it would quietly personify tuxedo chic at the most formal of affairs. And reference YSL. A favorite. In coral linen, it would command respect at the snootiest ladies luncheon. In navy silk, it would not only ensure the job would be yours, but it would command a salary that yesterday’s CEOs would not sneer at today. Can you live without this suit? It is a suit for precarious times. It will carry you through til better days. Sunshiny days. Happy days. Green days. Indeed.

Inspirations: Be it calm, be it brisk, you are ready. October 9, 2008 17:16 3 Comments

Vogue Couturier Design 242, circa 1940s

Inspirations: He can poach your eggs. When the sun comes up. September 21, 2008 16:56 2 Comments

McCall 7026, copyright 1947

This is one of those nights.  A night without definitions. A night without boundaries. A night without categories.

You want to go out to dinner. Somewhere elegant. Somewhere spendy. With freshly starched white linen and hovering waiters and a pianist playing unobtrusively in the corner. And, of course, with food that makes even the most persnickety food critic salivate. Salad. Entrée. Bread. Butter. Dessert. Coffee. Fully leaded. You won’t say no. You won’t deny yourself. Tonight.

You’ll slink gracefully through the aisles. You’ll lean forward, chin on hand when he captivates you. You’ll shrug and raise your eyes when his comments make you skeptical. You’ll laugh. You’ll sneer. No games. You’re comfortable in your skin. You are who you want to be.

Sometimes, you’re ladylike.

Sometimes, you’re not.

And, sometimes, when the table is cleared, you want to let loose. You want to hit the dance floor.  You want to sway. To tease. To ronde. To twirl. To wink sassily at the lean, dangerous stranger you pass in the hall when you go powder your nose.

And this is the dress. The dress for dining. The dress for dancing. The dress for playing all night long. If you want to. Maybe you don’t.  But. Then again. Maybe. Maybe you do. You decide. You choose. You have no boundaries. Tonight.

Tomorrow. He can poach egg whites for you. He can make you spelt toast. But not tonight. 

No way.

Who says there was no good design in the 1980s? September 18, 2008 16:57 1 Comment

Vogue American Designer 1958, Designed by Donna Karan, copyright 1987

As you, my faithful readers, know, I am no Martha. (And my dust bunnies will happily confirm this as fact. Stop hopping up and down, you little guys. Stop clinging to me. This minute. Go stand in the corner. Now. That's right.) So. I won’t bore you with yet another post about that. Not today. Promise.

What I will share with you is this beautiful Donna Karan pattern. Because, you see, while I was cleaning out the coat closet downstairs (don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask) I found the original dress, which used to be one of my favorites. I wore this dress, and wore it, and wore it, and not once did anyone say “oh, you’re wearing that again.” Not one single time. Why? Because it always looked sexy.  It always looked smart. It was always the most sophisticated and elegant dress in the room. Without a doubt. And it was comfortable. Ever so.  Absolutely.

I did not buy the coat. In Houston, Texas, trust me, there was little need for a coat wardrobe. Much too hot. Much too humid. I had one coat during my sojourn in Houston, and that coat was not only very lightweight, it stayed in my closet most of the winter. Or what one calls winter in the city on the Buffalo Bayou, which can be defined as the season that one's makeup only melts at midday. But the coat is rather terrific, as well. Reminiscent of Lilli Ann’s 1940s coats. Room to move. Room for flair. Scads.

One day soon — very soon — I will have the dining room cleared, and I can start sewing again. I am so eager. But. For now. More tossing. More organizing. Tossing. Organizing. Tossing. Organizing. Banishing clutter.

Ugh.

But the new carpet is gorgeous. Truly. I know. I’ve said that before.

This channels Gene Tierney. But it doesn't include her lips. Drat. September 10, 2008 16:37

Simplicity 4321, circa 1940s

OK, girls. OK, boys. I am doing this quick. I am doing this fast. I am doing this because I need a break. I do. And, you, my friends, are it.

Actually. Truth be told. I need a summer vacation. A real summer vacation. With the maps. The station wagon. The dogs. The roadside motels. The postcards that don't get mailed. I completely missed out on that American tradition this year. Really. Last summer, too. And the summer before. I am due. Or should I say overdue? I should. I'm glad you agree.

So. I am trying to get my upstairs clean.  Clear. Uncluttered. Because.  Tomorrow the new carpet will be installed. And guess what? The installers won’t move sewing patterns. They won’t move books. They won’t move pictures. They won’t move electronics. And that means I am doing it. Me. Myself. I. Along with that paragon of good cheer and eager-to-please attitude (not!), His Bertness.

But. If I were on vacation now, this minute, this very minute, I might be wearing Simplicity 4321 (great number, that). It’s made for a last-burst-of-summer retreat. Don’t you agree? I see it in strawberry ice cream linen. The shorts would be so cool, so fashionable for a stroll along the boardwalk in the afternoon sun. And one could always switch to the skirt for fried shrimp (remember I am a Southerner, and I like my food fried) at a seaside café when the night breezes blow cool. I might, perhaps, add a pair of earrings. Some that dangle boldly.

Ahh. Time to return to the toting. The trudging downstairs. Then back up. Once. Twice. Fifty times. More. I would complain. I would. You know I would. I am not afraid to complain. I am no Pollyanna. But. I look forward to the new carpet. And how. In fact, I so look forward to it that I am doing the heavy lifting with pleasure. Really. No fibbing. You would not believe how bad our carpet looks. Oh. My. Can you say nightmare? I can. And, trust me, I have. With relish. With drama. Oh so many times.

So, bon jour, dear readers. That’s the carpet pattern. And it's my wish for you. Of course. 

It's my dress. My future dress. (And my hairstyle, too.) September 6, 2008 19:45 1 Comment

Today, while thumbing through Us Weekly (a guilty pleasure that I relish with all the joy of those gooey, sticky, syrupy, cheap Brach's chocolate-covered cherries that were a tradition every Christmas of my childhood . . . yum . . . yum-squared – I’ve probably mentioned these before because I love ‘em) what did I see but a pic of lovely Reese Witherspoon wearing a dress that’s so very  similar to my first project, Simplicity 2925. The neck and shoulder detail looks the same, with the addition of a bow. (This embellishment may be overkill. But. You know how I feel about bows. They are not for me. Too girly. Too. Too. Too. You know it. But if they are your cup of tea, drink up. I won't judge you. I promise.) The silhouette, too, looks the same. Love this dress. Totally. Still. Even after all these weeks. (Or is it months? Don’t remind me. I know I am a Gold Medal procrastinator. You do not have to tell me.) I am inspired anew. Really. I am. Completely.

I did move toward sewing today. I did. I took time from counting pattern pieces in prep for the next Blue Gardenia update to buy an iron. (And groceries. Love to eat. I do. My hips proudly testify to this fact.)

So. The model at my friendly Costco was a Rowenta Professional. I know several of you, my dear and beloved readers, have said this is a good brand. Obviously, this is proof that you have earned my trust. And. I trust that Costco made the right choice when they selected this model. Sort of. Kind of. Sort of. Kind of. You get the picture.

Inspirations: A tough, cynical dress for tough, cynical times September 4, 2008 17:41 1 Comment

So. I was determined to find a dress, a suit, a coat, something that I really wanted to duplicate on my sewing machine. Not tonight. Not today. Not next week. But one day, in the future, the distant future, when my dressmaking skills are there. And they will be, one day. Because I have intent. I have resolve. I just need to clear out the clutter. In my house. In my life. In my head.

But. Back to the topic. Which is this incredible dress by Nicolas Ghesquiere for Balenciaga. It is the absolute most. The tip-top. The cream. I love the sleeves, which allow for a few missed sessions at the gym. I crave the boat neckline. It's ladylike. Tough. Cynical. Sexy. All at once. I covet the peplum detail at the waist and hip, which references my favorite era, the 1940s. I adore the slit in the skirt.  I am sold on this dress. Totally gone. Wrap it up. I will take it.

And that is saying something, because, as you know, I am not one for modern fashion. I am fond of things vintage. Very.

Of course, this dress doesn’t really fit my small-town lifestyle. It doesn’t. So easy to be a fashion slug in a small town. A regular sloth. Deep sigh. Heavy sigh.

Still. I can dream. Can’t I? The ubiquitous they says so. And they wouldn’t try to fool me. Would they?

(And while I'm dreaming, I want to be a cock-eyed optimist, a Nellie Forbush in my next life. If there is such a thing.)