If you read the Times today — and I know you did — you may have seen the review of the Natalia Hills and Gabriel Misse Argentine tango performance in New York on Thursday. Naturally, I had to rush to YouTube. Naturally. And naturally as well — considering the breadth of videos available — there they were. Sexy. Breathtakingly so. Gliding legs. Exquisite footwork. Absolutely.
Now. I want to wear Vogue Paris Original 1507 the next time I do the Argentine tango. (Of course, I need more lessons first, as does His Bertness. And then there's that little matter of learning to sew. Oh, dear. But. Mere pesky details. I will not let them spoil my reverie.) Vogue Paris Original 1507, designed by Gres in the 1960s, has an elegant yet sexy neckline. Gorgeous shaped seams. And it is cut on the bias. You know what that means, if you choose the proper fabric: Seductive movement. Oh. I love it. How. It looks grand on the dance floor. Yes. It does. I see it now.
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.
OK. I admit it, dear readers: No sewing at all this past Sunday. None. Nary a stitch. Instead, I fled. To Sedona. With Bert and the pups.
Our first stop, a roadside park in Oak Creek Canyon. So green. Lush even — not words often used to describe Arizona.
They are so cute. Don't you agree? Of course you do. Right? Absolutely.
Does anyone really use these picnic stand grills? Really? You're not just pulling my leg? You won't convince me that the flames kill the germs. You won't. No need to even try. His Bertness scoffs at my squeamishness. But I am the one who cooks. So there.
And why, you may ask, am I blogging about Sunday on Tuesday? Because. Because I have been doing things. Important things. Fun things. Like sleeping.
You're planning a trip to the city. A trip for shopping. For dining. For dancing. For seeing
Phantom Sighting: Art After the Chicano Movement. You want a dress that will move from event to event effortlessly. Easily. Timelessly. A dress that is comfortable. A dress that is chic. A dress that is you. Totally. You and no other. Absolutely. McCall 7080, copyright 1947, is that dress. It is. Indeed. In a coral 4-ply silk. Or a retro rayon. You decide. Either way, you can't go wrong. You can't. I promise.
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?
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.
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.
So, my friends, today I have the blues. You are doubtless shaking your heads in disgust, saying, "Denise, every day you have the blues. Every day." And sometimes, you know, I feel that's true. Absolutely. I do.
(And if I may quote Townes Van Zandt, I ask you, my patient readers, will you still love me when I'm down and out? Will you stand by me in my time of trial? Or something like that. You know what I mean. Don't you? I know you are doubtless bored to tears by my damp tissue dramas. But. I beg you: Hang in there. WIth me. By my side. Etc.)
Anyway. What's a woman to do? Switch anti-depressants? Toss the Celexa? Try Lexapro instead? Wellbutrin perhaps? Well. Maybe. But, first, there's that unpleasant COBRA situation that must be straightened out. Resolved. In my favor, of course. Faith, my dear readers, faith and action.
Another possibility: Call a friend. No. No can do. They are likely bored with my sniffles. And if they slammed the phone down, think how devastated I would be. That might push me right over the edge. And quickly.
So. I decided the best option, the best avenue to a happier mood, was the gorgeous street of dreams, vintage sewing patterns. I turned first to the 1930s. The Great Depression, yes. But also the era of Carole Lombard. Irene Dunne. Myrna Loy. Just looking at the patterns brightened my day. A bit. But which pattern, if made up and worn, would actually make me feel better? Stronger. More able to competently, coolly, calmly — without raised voice — handle life's sometimes nasty realities? Like health insurers, senators, representatives.
I chose Butterick 6303, view A. All the views are terrific. They are. Each and every one of them. This is truly a pattern to make the accountant smile. But view A has that wide collar that I find so irresistible. It's double-breasted. The sleeves have those ever-so-sassy cuffs. Love them. Love it. Completely. Absolutely. I see it in a periwinkle cotton sateen, with a white organdy collar and huge mother of pearl buttons. Huge.
Yes, I feel a smile playing around my lips. I do. I feel that darn attitude of gratitude Oprah constantly touts swelling in my heart. Oh. Yes. Yes.
Life isn't so bad. Really. It isn't. And with Fred Astaire (lovely, lovely, never ever change) on the CD, it positively — forgive me — sings. Albeit in a whisper.
Oh, sure. It's sweltering outside. At the moment. And the last thing, the very last thing you want to think about right now is a cape. Or any kind of coverup. Unless it has an SPF of 20 or more. But soon, the wind will blow brisk. And you will need protection. And is there anything better than this cape? The collar oozes attitude. So dashing, so sassy turned up just so. A perfect foil for your eyes. Absolutely.
Think how comfortable this cape will be. It's full. Roomy. No need to fret about pulling your dress sleeve down inside the coat sleeve. Egads. That can be so cumbersome. You know it.
Ahhh, yes. Vogue 8416, circa 1970s, fits the bill for winter fashion. It does. And it's very easy. Look. Right there on the envelope. Very easy, Vogue brags. And we know they wouldn't lie.
Do you ever wonder what it is with hubbies? I do. Frequently. Continuously. Sheesh! His Bertness is redoing the irrigation system. Again. Or should I scream AGAIN? He's been working on it for two months now. Two months. At least. He's like a speckled teenager toying with a pimple. He just can't leave it alone.
Oh. Well. It could be worse. Really.
Anyway. On to my task for the day. I'm sewing. A slipcover for the ottable. Out of this luscious pear fabric by Robert Allen. I made the ottable pattern myself. Are you impressed? I am. If you're good, I'll show you pictures tomorrow. And if I'm good. Of course.
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.)
So. I am staying home. (I won't dance, don't ask me. Oh, Blossom, love your version of that song.) Anyway. Here I sit. Black yoga capris. Black tee-shirt. White socks embellished by a touch of soil - the merest smidgen. My ensemble on this night.
But if I had been a good girl, if I had been a dutiful and fruitful student of stitchcraft, I would be wearing this comfortable, yet fit-for-a-1930s-film goddess pajama and bolero number. Simplicity 2509. Is it the most? It is. Absolutely. Love the sash. Adds that touch of carefree elegance so needed to lift a gloomy Friday-night-at-home mood. Just the ticket for nesting. For cuddling. For watching House Hunters. For fryin' up a mess of catfish.
And that, my sweets, is what I am off to do. Just the thought lifts my spirits an inch or so. Or maybe it's Ella and Harold Arlen working their magic. Mmmmm . . . oh, well. This moment, this minute, catfish calls.
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.
But when the weather is sizzling hot, when you are beyond glistening, this is the dress to wear. Definitely. It's sleeveless. It's stylish. And those flattering princess seams. Yum. Would Galitzine steer you down the wrong fashion avenue? I think not.
Vogue Couturier Design 2162, circa 1960s, is one cool number. Zipped or unzipped.
May I suggest whipping it up in a daffodil linen? I may. And I will.
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.
Do you want to scream? Holler? Roll on the ground? Stomp your feet? Don't. Wear this instead. This 1940s suit affirms that, yes, you are powerful. Yes. You are. You have presence. Yes. You do. This suit warns: Don't mess with me. Absolutely. Don't. Embrace your power. Enfold it in your strong arms. Claim it with your nimble intellect.
Your enemies have been warned. Your lawyer will return your calls. Your boss will speak to you with soft-voiced respect. Your dog will sit at your feet awaiting your requests. Black cats will be afraid to cross your path.
There. You feel better. You do. And all because of Vogue Couturier Design 309.
And, yes, it is available at The Blue Gardenia.
So. I met with sewing dominatrix-diva Marti. She is teaching me to sew. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say "trying." As in she is trying to teach me to sew.
Anyway. I left my pillow at our table for her inspection while I went to get lemonade. Did I hear her utter the word "perfection" as I traipsed to the counter? Did I? Perhaps. Perhaps. Although, later, the picking of nits. Deserved, I might add. The stitching was a little sloppy here and there. The pressing of the seams could have been more exact.
Oh well. Try try try again. Or so they say.
I did it. I know. You doubted me. You thought I was all talk. Didn't you? Go on. Admit it. I forgive you.
So. Blog reader Puffsgirl, who lives right here in Arizona's Christmas city, agreed to teach me to sew. As long as I did it her way. Which means, in plain English, starting at the beginning. The very. With a pillow. A square pillow. So boring. But this control freak knows that sometimes, to get what you want, to get where you want to go, you must acquiesce. You must give in. You must suffer. A little. Sniff.
Henry Jones was quite pleased with my first Puffsgirl assignment. He quickly tested it and pronounced it quite comfy. Truly.
And, now, without further ado, the pillow. (Oh, all right. I asserted my individuality and made a rectangle pillow. So there.)
OK. I confess. I stood up my sewing teacher today. I did. But only because I was counting and checking counting and checking counting and checking patterns for the next update at The Blue Gardenia.
However, my lovelies, I did do a little sewing work today. Really. I did a bit – albeit tiny – of organizational work on my sewing room. Which is also my office. So there. I'll take that gold foil star now. Thank you.
Ahhh. So.
As you, my dear readers, know, a pink slip was recently delivered to our lovely abode. I didn't like it. In fact — and on this issue I am emphatic — I didn't like it one little bit.
But this pink slip is a different matter. Entirely. It is ever so lovely. Ever so slinky. Ever so sexy. It's from the 1930s, so, of course, it is cut on the bias. It will caress every curve. Lovingly.
I see it in a four-ply silk crepe. A deeper pink, with perhaps just a smidgen of salmon. Can you resist it? Just say no. That is the correct answer. The object — or objects — of your affection will thank you. Passionately.
You deserve a treat. In fact, you deserve many. So. Just for you (and, for me, too, because I have a fondness for a roof over my head and food in my larder), it is update time at The Blue Gardenia. Nearly 70 fabulous, amazing vintage patterns have been added for your viewing and shopping pleasure. May I tempt you with a few choice morsels?
You have a wedding to attend. But there will be no silly, frilly chiffon froth for you. Nosiree. You're in an Irene Dunne mood. You want something different. Something sleek. Something sophisticated. Vogue Couturier Design 346, an exclusive design created in Paris more than 70 years ago, fits the bill. Unusual lines. A slim silhouette. And that blouse. What a blouse. On the other hand, perhaps it is a little mean, a little inconsiderate to wear such a beautiful suit to someone else's wedding. After all, no one will be looking at the bride. Because everyone will have their eyes tuned to you.
Butterick 3226, from the 1940s, is a stunner in the Gene Tierney mode. It is understated. Gorgeous. Striking. Absolutely. Eye-capturing button detail (May I suggest bound buttonholes in a contrasting color? Yes. Yes. Yes.) on the hip and collar. Soft gathers at the waist. Figure-caressing skirt to highlight your assets.
You will channel your inner Jeanne Moreau when you don Vogue Paris Original 1270, circa 1960s, courtesy of Lanvin. It is simple. It is classic. But. It has a twist. Look at the blouse scarf. It is not your ordinary scarf. With an ordinary bow. No. It is — dare I say it, dare I write it — unique. Really. Truly. It is. It references tradition and yet rebels against it. But in a whisper. Ever so quietly. In library tones.
So. There you go. A teaser, if you will, for this update. If these do not delight you, then check out the other additions. I know you will find something. I do. Absolutely. Really. Truly.
And, now, for the tedium. 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.
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.
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 speaking
of decisions. To bare those triceps or not? Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Oh,
don't fret. Don't. There's no need. Because you can have it both ways in Vogue Special Design
S-4887. The sleeves detach. Really. You can take them right off. Is that as cool as
prewashed baby arugula or what?
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.
And, now, the details. You knew they were coming, didn't you? 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.
Yes. It's true. Another post about Doris Day. I continue to work my way through her film catalog. (Sheesh! The pointless tasks I set for myself!)
Today, I'll See You in My Dreams, a 1951 pic directed by Michael Curtiz. Ms. Day plays Grace LeBoy Kahn, meddling (or some might say domineering) wife of lyricist Gus Kahn, who wrote – you guessed it, gold stars all around – the lyrics for I'll See You in My Dreams, It Had to Be You, Mammy, and so on. Marjorie Best and Leah Rhodes costumed this film. The clothes tend to the bland. Ever so. Even the evening gowns are dull. My personal favorite is the housewifey waitress dress, or maybe it should be the waitressy housewife dress, shown above.
Now. If this is your look, might I suggest Anne Adams Instructor 4811? Yes. I might. It's my blog. After all. One caveat: Avoid pink. You'll look like you should be slopping hash or toting a basket of chocolate eggs and bunnies.
A friend called. A friend who is a designer. A friend who sews. A friend who lives far away. Too far away to drop in and help me learn to sew. Scaredy cat that I am.
Anyway. This friend . . . this friend . . . asked me: Have you finished your pajama pants? No. I said. I tried to keep the edge out of my voice. Really. I did. I succeeded. I think.
Then the conversation got worse. This friend . . . this friend . . . who lives too far away to help me learn to sew asked: Have you finished your bathroom curtains? Well. Again, I tried to keep the edge out of my voice. It was difficult. Very. But I do have good manners. I do. And it's a good thing, because I haven't finished my bathroom curtains. I haven't. In fact, I haven't sewn a stitch. I've pinned. I've folded. Or so I recall. It's been so long. Maybe it's a false memory. A memory I wish to be true. Maybe. Anyway. It's been so long . . . so very long . . . that I don't even remember where I've stored them. Drat.
But. Back to the conversation, the inquisition: Again. Again. I had to say no. No! No! No! No.
So there. There.
Anyway. This time the dream's on me. As Mr. Arlen said.
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.
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.
You are a 1950s woman. All the way. You're modest. Chaste. More Doris Day than Marilyn Monroe. No sex kitten you. No games.
Of course you sew your own clothes. Because today's styles are not to your taste. And the quality of today's ready-to-wear isn't up to your standards anyway. You like the perfect stitch your Featherweight makes. You like the beauty of a Hong Kong finish on the seams of your garments. Bound buttonholes. Hand-picked zippers.
You're more Emilie Loring than Dawn Powell. And you'll take Jane Austen over Joan Didion any day of the week. You won't find Play It As It Lays on your bookshelves.
McCall's 9633, copyright 1953, is your dress. It is pretty. Graceful. Delicate. Delightful. Could anything be more right for the county fair? Well, your award-winning fig preserves. But that's another story . . . one that should be served with fresh-from-the-oven biscuits.
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?
