Oh, sloth. Be gone. Now. I command you. November 29, 2009 07:33 1 Comment

It's a holiday weekend, and that means I've been cocooning. Snuggling up in a chair, feet on an ottoman, eating pecan pie and watching bad TV or reading silly Southern novels. And my attire? Well, I'm not making Bette Davis proud. I'm wearing yoga pants, a tee-shirt and holey white socks. Now. I haven't done yoga since I impinged my rotator cuff in August. But that doesn't mean I've sidelined the comfy clothing.

Watching Casablanca yesterday, the thought struck: Shouldn't I be wearing a hat? That perhaps is going too far. Way. But perhaps I could kick my at-home wardrobe up a notch. Or even two. Say McCall 4520 and McCall 4803. Both from my favorite fashion era, the 1940s. The blouse in flowy rayon. The slacks in gabardine. Maybe some low platform wedges to kick off by the sofa. I could even comb my hair. Polish my nails. Bathe. Oh, the grooming improvements are endless!

Mmmmm . . . . But the big question, the really big one, is this: Can I give up cotton knit? It's a tough habit to kick. It's so stretchy. So soothing. So wash-and-wear. Am I strong enough? Am I? I must summon all my strength. I must.

Inspirations? Absolutely not! November 25, 2009 07:45 1 Comment

Now this . . . this is a party dress. Suitable for the most hoity toity crowd at the most hoity toity ball. All eyes will be on you. Wondering "what the heck was she thinking?" 

It's structural, yes. And that  is good. But it's silly. Too. Much, much too. Vogue Couturier 298, circa 1946. Would I wear it? Not in a million. I don't want rayon-taffeta swirls above my bosom. Too frilly. Too silly. Too doll cake. But the color, so strawberry-luscious, is delectable. That I admit.

Ahhhhh, domesticity. There's cooking. And then there's sewing. November 21, 2009 10:04 1 Comment

I have exciting news to share.  His Bertness is learning to cook! Now. Those of you who know him well know that he has been more than resistant to learning to cook. In fact, in the 18 years of our marriage — before now — he has mastered one dish: homemade chicken broth. 

But this week, he made a taco casserole all by himself. All  by himself! It was quite tasty. Yesterday, he shaped and baked these Oatmeal Chocolate Crisps. Don't they look scrumptious? They are, I can attest. Today, perhaps, he'll learn to make dinner rolls. I can smell them now. Yumbunnies.

Before you know it, dear readers, I'll be sewing. Because if His Bertness can learn to cook . . .

Inspirations: The perfect dress for the perfect seduction November 16, 2009 16:46 2 Comments

It is late at the adult center. Very. The DJ has played horrid music all night. Music he regards, you are quite sure, as youthful.

Sigh. Heavy sigh. Long sigh, dramatically drawn out. Susan Hayward is, after all, your role model.

Fantasy time-out. You are wearing McCall 3440, copyright 1955. The 4-ply silk crepe caresses your skin. The hydrangea pink flatters your softly fading tan. You feel wonderful. You feel irresistible. You feel like you are going to live forever and enjoy each and every moment.

A finger flicks your shoulder. A voice murmurs in your ear, May I have this dance? Your reverie interrupted. Suddenly. Drat. You are annoyed. Oh so. But then, the notes of Noche De Ronda, your favorite rumba, begin. Spanish guitar. You cannot say no. You want to dance. You must dance. You put your hand in your partner's. Rise to your feet. Only then do you lift your eyes. Only then do you realize your partner is Don Draper. None other. Calm. Solid. Handsome. But is he a polished dancer? Mmmmmm. It's your fantasy. You decide.

Yes no maybe so certainly yes no maybe so October 28, 2009 09:28 1 Comment

To say yes? Such a commitment, she thinks, as she fingers the pages of Modern Bride. Such a commitment, she knows. She loves him. Certainly. That is not the question. That is not the issue. The issue is union. Solidarity. Taking her eyes off the door. Having no escape hatch. Because to her, marriage means forever. Forever. The word resounds in her brain. Forever.

It's not washing their smelly socks together that makes her hesitate. It's the finality. The limitations. Saying no to other possibilities. Accepting that he is the one. That he will be. Forever.

Accepting that she will be part of a couple. Legally. What is that saying — Buddhist, is it? — we are not two but one, we are not one but two? Impossible, this decision, she thinks. Impossible.  As are the gooey confections on the glossy pages of this bridal magazine.

She would choose something simple, should she decide to say yes. Something that speaks to the solemnity of the occasion. Something like Vogue's Bridal Design 2809. Even if she says no to him, she might say yes to this dress. In black velvet and lace. Knee length. No ribbon. Absolutely not. And if she says yes, yes to that lifetime challenge, perhaps silver satin. Yes. Definitely. Silver. Not white. It is not her color. It's dull. It's boring. It's traditional. 

Ahh, but the question. His question. Yes no maybe so certainly. If only marriage was as simple as skipping rope. Well. She will not answer the question today. The laundry beckons.

Silly? Perhaps. Mischievous? You bet. October 26, 2009 09:01 3 Comments

Do you ever have those days? You know? You burn the toast, and, gosh darn, those were your last two slices of bread. You drop the half-gallon of organic, BGH-free milk. It spills all over the kitchen floor. The accountant does not return your calls. Neither does her assistant. You puncture your pantyhose with a fingernail whose No Spain, No Gain polish is chipping. Drat. Darn. This is the day you need a pick-me-up, something more playful, with more attitude than caffeine. You need a frisky hat. A saucy hat. A hat that stands tall and defies the world to say boo. A hat that announces you will not be ignored. But yet  . . . a hat that laughs out loud in bell-like tones. You need this hat, from 1939. Ladies Home Journal 1615. Take it on the chin, naysayers. Because you will not be defeated. Not by blackened bread. Not by a soiled floor. Not by number crunchers. Not by nail polish. You have a sophisticated hat. Oh. So. It could be from Paris. London. But. You made it yourself. So there.

Inspirations: And don't forget shoulder pads the size of Learjets October 7, 2009 14:03 2 Comments

Does bad taste sometimes relentlessly clutch you and refuse to let go? Do you sometimes want to channel Krystle or Sammy Jo or push Alexis in the swimming pool or yank her hair until she yelps? Or maybe you just want to have fun and rock the '80s? Well, I suggest

Autumn in Mexico: This is what the gringo said to pack. October 2, 2009 07:17

Today, current ex-pat, former newspaperman and ever-so-handsome and sometimes disagreeable (Is there a man who isn't? If so, introduce me. Now.) co-worker Felipe Zapata shared a video of his town, Patzcuaro, in his blog,  

Of course, I thought of visiting. Naturally, the thought of what garments to pack for my fantasy trip came to mind. One item that would be a definite take-along: McCall 5760, copyright 1944. It has that Ilsa flair, does it not? It does. Absolutely. Emphatically. And I would look quite the 1940s film heroine if I accessorized with Granville Millinery's Power Play hat. But would would this catch the unwanted attention of the narcos? Mmmmm. I do not know. One must look to Mr. Zapata for that answer.

Shameless plug: How about a nice, juicy strawberry? October 1, 2009 15:27

So. I've taken some time from my busy life to add patterns. Just for you. And you. And you. Yes. And you. I did not forget you. I didn't. And here are a few of my favorites:

You're feeling prim yet sophisticated. Straitlaced yet sassy. Is there any more suitable dress for such a mood than Vogue Couturier 252 from the 1930s? I think not. Just look at those godets.

And for those chilly evenings this fall, when you want to look regal in the firelight as you ponder deep girly thoughts, choose Simplicity 3593, copyright 1951. Or you could stitch up the short house dress version and don it for Saturday morning chores. If you must. I won't be responsible for frightened dustbunnies. I won't.

And speaking of Saturday mornings and household tasks and all that, McCall's 2015 from 1955 is just the thing to wear as you whip the eggs and fry the bacon and squeeze the oranges. Because you do squeeze your own orange juice? Of course you do. I know it.

You like? I hope so. If not, scurry on over to The Blue Gardenia. You'll find something you like. I'm sure of it. And now for those pesky details, new additions always go at the beginning of each category. And we take Mastercard, Visa, Discover and Amex, as well as Paypal to make it easier for you. And, of course, checks, money orders and cold hard cash. Actually, we take warm soft cash, too. We are so agreeable.

Inspirations: In the sewing room. On the dance floor. September 26, 2009 17:55

And if you want to see Natalia and Gabriel dance, well, here you go. I'll make it easy for you. Naturally. So. Watch them. Now.

Have a tall, icy glass of water close at hand. I will not be responsible if your temperature soars to dangerous heights. I won't.

Inspirations: It's timeless. Beautiful. Elegant. And it is you. September 10, 2009 08:45

Phantom Sighting: Art After the Chicano Movement.

Inspirations: I'm getting sleepy. September 9, 2009 18:04

Ahhh.  If I were but a Bust 34, then this pattern would provide yet another garment for me to procrastinate about sewing. Alas . . . I do so love Anne Adams Instructor 4919. The shoulder ties, so enticing. The lines, so delicious. 

 I wonder . . . do these Instructor patterns actually instruct?

She never bothers with people she hates. Call her what you will. August 22, 2009 05:22 1 Comment

For eleven years — yep,  count 'em, each and every one — she's toiled to be nice. Being polite to phonies. Going to lunch with people who bored her. Attending wakes for people she did not like. Keeping her mouth shut when people were marginally prejudiced.

She is ethical. She does the right thing. And she will still do those, even when it pinches or binds. Absolutely.

No. She means nice. She means being pleasing. Agreeable. Socially acceptable rather than authentic.

And you know what? She is done. Done. Absolutely. Completely. Totally. Totally.  

And what better dress to announce this than Butterick 6092, from the 1950s. And where will she get this pattern? Why, at The Blue Gardenia.

Of course.

And, no. She will not wear the bolero. The gloves — and the jacket — are coming off.

Inspirations: He will say please. He will. August 19, 2009 18:38

You are meeting him for coffee. A daytime date. Your first. In  the daylight, that is. You've met for dinner. Thrice. The movies. Twice. You're ready to kick the relationship up a notch. Or two. Or three.

To be blunt: He is hot. Sizzling. In fact, his pot is boiling over. He's smart. Witty. Empathic. Successful. 

And it is time. Time for him to fall at your feet. To howl at your beauty like a dog in heat. To be your man. (Thank you, Leonard Cohen.)

So. You face that old question. What to wear? Something chaste? No way. Something all out Joan Holloway sexy? Mmmm . . . not quite. You don't want to be too obvious. McCall's 4418, copyright 1957. That is what you need. Perfection. It hints. It whispers. It is perfect. Absolutely. He will step into the ring. For you. And he will not let you down.

Shall we dance? Absolutely. Right now. This minute. August 14, 2009 10:10 1 Comment

So. Your job has been outsourced. Your health insurance canceled. The lettuce you were going to serve for dinner is slimy and limp.

But.

This is no time to wallow in the doldrums, to experience every shade of blue. No, you must fight. You must not give in. You must dance. You must. Put up your dukes. Slip on your dance shoes.

And is there a better dress than McCall 4735, copyright 1942, to wear as you glide across the floor? I think not. It is the most. Absolutely. From  the sweetheart dip at the decolletage to the bodice that caresses your hips and midriff to the irresistible lines of the full skirt, which will flare enticingly as you swirl to Waltz 2 from the Shostakovich Jazz Suite.

Take that, melancholy. You can't survive the dance floor. And you certainly cannot defeat this dress. Don't even try. Don't even.

See. Or be seen. This fits either bill. Easily. August 5, 2009 18:48

So. There are those nights, aren't there? Those nights  when you feel slinky. Sexy. You feel good. You look good. You want to stay home. Now. This minute. But you could change your mind. You could. It's your prerogative. You might want to go out. In one hour. Or two.

What to wear? Ahh, the dilemmas one faces. The pesky dilemmas. You want something that won't pinch or bind while you're curled on your chaise by the pool. Something that will let the breezes blow cool on your skin. Something that will also look chic if — when — you decide to stroll into town for dinner. 

Polynesian Pattern 211 provides the perfect sartorial solution. Sassy enough to make his heart go boom-boom-boom. Easy enough for you to sit with one sandal-clad foot tucked underneath you. The solution. Truly.

Inspirations: Friday night. At home. With Ella. July 24, 2009 15:31

Oh, I am being a glum chum. Indeed. I should be at the dance. Should be. (Don't you hate shoulds? I do. Although I guilt-trip myself with them. Frequently. We're actually quite close, shoulds and I. But that's another story. For another time. Maybe. But tonight, dear readers, you're safe. I won't bore you with the Denise-Should affair.)

Inspirations: Galitzine, zipped or unzipped. July 22, 2009 08:23

Phoenix. Paradise Valley. Scottsdale. 113 degrees. Oh. My. Can you say hot? Or, to quote Buster Poindexter aka David Johansen, hot, hot, hot! Or should I quote Soca musician Arrow, who wrote it first? Mmmm . . . decisions. Questions. Et cetera.

Inspirations: It's elegant. It's sleek. And is it ever powerful. July 21, 2009 13:42

Have you ever had one of those days? You know the kind. The driver in the scarlet Miata cuts in front of you. Your boss yells at you. You get a hangnail. Your lawyer forgets your appointment. Your dog slips past you at the door and you trip and scuff your left knee and your vintage Levine pumps chasing after him. 

Now, this is the kind of pink slip I like. May 4, 2009 19:12 1 Comment

Ahhh. So.

Little Edie may not dance, but oh how swell she dresses! April 22, 2009 10:55 2 Comments

I could say I'm back. I'm here. I'm at the keyboard. But you are smart boys and girls. Very. So you know that.

So. I watched the HBO version of Grey Gardens. Admittedly, in bits and pieces. Here and there. But. I was impressed. I confess I was apprehensive. Why would anyone want to remake the Maysles' 1975 documentary version? I could not fathom. It was perfection. Not only that, it made me feel like, well, a rather superlative homemaker. Ready to star in a Swiffer commercial.  

I love the clothes in the new fictionalized version. And you know that I can be quite the ferocious critic when it comes to period pieces. But Catherine Marie Thomas, credited with the costumes, has won the BG seal of approval. Indeedy. 

My favorite gown is the cream satin number worn by beauteous Drew Barrymore, who plays Little Edie with ever so much respect and ever so little camp, at a gathering at Grey Gardens in 1937. The snooty hood and the sumptuous fabric make this gown for me. Absolutely. So lush. So sexy.

If you want to emulate this look — and I do — then may I suggest Vogue 5758? It's a 1940s rendition of the look. But oh how wow the drapey bodice would look in satin. Yes, ma'am.

Shameless plug: Oh, the choices. They boggle the mind. Really. March 29, 2009 12:34 2 Comments

Ahhhhh, girls and boys. I have wrested myself from the sofa and a Lifetime movie about obsession (don't ask me the name of it - I haven't a clue . . . but I'm sure it was very, very high-toned) to update The Blue Gardenia. Oh, the things I do to make you happy. The sweat. The toil. The sacrifice. Sniff. Sob. Hand me those Puffs, please. Yes, the soothing aloe ones.

Actually. Truth be told (and you know I am dedicated to veracity) I've been working on this update for two weeks. Or so. Selecting patterns. Counting the pieces. Placing them in archival sleeves. And His Bertness, the dear peachy one, has been scanning, coding, grumbling, etc.

But. At last. It is done. So, with no more ado, I bring to you highlights from the latest update:

If you're in a Kate Hepburn mood, you'll love Butterick 8025. These are the slacks of which icons are made. (Well, you might want to toss in a little talent. Or not. Your decision.)

And then there is Vogue Couturier Design 1297. An Irene Galitzene ensemble. A coat. A suit. Boardroom ready. Snooty restaurant ready. The very definition of chic, my dahlings. The very.

So. There you go. Check out these gorgeous sewing patterns and all the other stylish additions. Now. Right now. Don't tarry. After all, I worked so hard. His Bertness worked so hard. Just for you. Just for you - and the mortgage company, of course.

Gee. I can't get enough film fashion these days. Can you tell? March 19, 2009 16:27 1 Comment

Ahh, period movies. The clothes so often make me cringe. They make me cry. They make me sneer. They make me whine. You know it, girls and boys.

But, today, a pleasant surprise: Cadillac Records. Costume designer Johnetta Boone nailed the period. Totally. She did not strive for the lowest common denominator. She did not go for that generic Monkey Ward look that mars Mad Men, that had me grinding my teeth as I watched Far From Heaven. Ms. Boone reached for the stars, and she caught a handful.

The clothes are fabulous. Sexy. Beautiful. Authentic. Of the time. And yet, classic. Gorgeous. For the ages.

And Beyonce, as songstress Etta James, has never looked better. Sorry, Weight Watchers. Ms. Knowles is a luscious advertisement for packing on twenty pounds. And for wearing a curly blonde wig. Not to mention feline eyeliner. (Alas, I have never once skillfully applied frisky kitty liner. Mine always looks more like the work of a rogue kindergartner left alone with fingerpaint.)

And what is it about Adrien Brody? So irresistible on the big screen, even when his character is a wee bit sleazy, yet so skinny, so limp on the small screen.

That Touch of Fashion: Doris works the skirt and blouse March 16, 2009 11:28

I am in the mood for skirts and blouses. This frame of mind could be inspired by Doris Day's wardrobe in the 1950 movieYoung Man with a Horn. Could be. But then, she also wears form-fitting ­yet ladylike suits and frilly evening gowns as big band singer Jo Jordan. They leave me cold. They leave me frigid. Indeed. Do I still have a pulse? Mmmmm . . . it's fading.

Of course. Doris is a good girl. (That goes without saying. I suppose.) In fact, she's such a trusting, devoted, clueless gal pal that she introduces her alleged buddy Amy North, played in slinky psycho fashion by Lauren Bacall, to the man she quietly, silently loves. Girlfriend, bad move. Very. Be a good girl. If you must. But a sap? No. Amy isn't worth it. Her soul is fuzzy green with mold.

So. If I had been a good girl — and you know I haven't been. Alas ­ — then I would stitch up McCall 5082, copyright 1959, and Woman's Day 5001, View C, copyright 1951. This is the Jo Jordan look that gets my whistle blowing. It's sexy. Classic. Hard-working. Ever so.

Have Rick Martin (played by Kirk Douglas, muscles abulge, skin aglow, complete with jazz-dot dimple) check my pulse. Please. Right now. This minute. There is no time to waste.