Julie over at Almost Girl asked me to blog about Black Friday with the other fashion bloggers. (Of course, I may be one of the older bloggers, considering I got Steely Dan stuck in my head from the phrase "Black Friday," thus the subject line of this post.)

So. Black Friday. What's to say? I joked to Julie that "buying vintage is almost not consuming," and I do often feel caught in the middle between the "buy nothing!" people and the "OMG! Gotta be at Target at 4 a.m.!" people. Today I went out with Mary Beth, aka Vintage Crochet Girl and bought twenty vintage sewing patterns for $40 (watch for scans of them here soon, they were all incredible! Madame Grés!). Surprisingly, there was a line outside the tiny charming antique store in Park Ridge — it seems that this store is known for antique glass Christmas ornaments and only puts them out the day after Thanksgiving, every year. We had to put our names on a list to get inside, and once inside we had to push past the "holiday sweatshirt" crowd to get to the patterns and other non-Christmas stuff.

I do feel fairly guilty about how much clothing I buy, which, compared (price- and quantity-wise) to the rest of the world, is inordinate. Compared to what I think is the target-market expectations of fashion magazines, though, I'm the tightest of tightwads. I make my own clothes! I buy my shoes (NIB, thank you) on eBay! I buy (and am wearing today, much to Mary Beth's disappointment) jeans from the fat-boy department at Target (or, again, from eBay), t-shirts from American Apparel, sweaters from Nordstrom Rack. I find it painful, almost physically painful, to buy something full price, or, worse yet, buy something with a logo on it. (The most I can stand is the red tab on a pair of Levi's or the back label on a pair of Jack Purcell Converse sneakers. I finally gave up trying to take embroidered logos off things with my seam ripper — it never really works, and DAMN YOU RALPH LAUREN TO THE FIREY PITS OF HELL for ruining so many pretty things with that fucking polo player!) So I don't have either the self-righteous comfort of the "I only wear organic hemp and I have exactly two dresses" crowd nor the instant gratification of the women who can walk into Bergdorf's and monopolize a personal shopper for two hours.

And although you can argue that when buying vintage you are consuming fewer resources than when buying new, vintage can also drive a scarcity mentality — when everything you see is one-of-a-kind, the temptation to grab it before it gets away can be overwhelming. (I don't know how many outrageous dresses I have "encouraged" people to buy just by sighing "You'd never find anything like it again …")

So, anyway, that was a lot of rambling to say that yes, it's Black Friday, and I went shopping. The fact that I bought vintage patterns and not cheap electronics or luxury designer goods doesn't really matter. I have plenty of stuff and I still went and I bought more, and it made me really happy (and will continue to as I sew my way through these patterns!). I don't think it hurt anyone, at least except possibly for the next person to come in that store looking for patterns …

from Color and Line in Dress,by Laurene Hempstead, 1939.

The young woman who belongs to the more vigorous type should wear costumes that express her own forceful personality. A basic rule of costume design is that colors should never be more forceful than the physical personality of the wearer. This permits the woman of forceful, energetic character to wear definite, decided colors that are denied many women. Weak, pale colors may make her own coloring appear coarse, while forceful colors further vitalize her appearance. Distinctive and characterful, even bold, color contrasts are frequently advisable.
The quick, active, energetic movements of the forceful woman are at variance with costumes designed with many soft floating ends, fluttering details that appear untidy and bedraggled on the woman of quick, brisk movements. They give her an appearance of being agitated, of poor poise. Simple tailored lines shoudl characterize her costume, with details manipulated so that the entire costume moves with the wearer rather than fluttering out away from the figure. Freedom of movement, so essential to the grace of the woman of brisk, energetic action, should always be permitted by the costume.
Round lines, giving softer, more feminine contours, are hardly consistent with the personality of the woman of strength and vigor. Short, broken lines, destroying the harmony of her vigorous, clear-cut outlines, should never be recommended for the active, aggressive type of woman. Straight, unbroken lines, both in perpendicular and diagonal arrangement are usually becoming to the vigorous personality, emphasizing dignity and poise.
The person of vigorous, aggressive character may sometimes wish to appear more daintily feminine than her natural personality. She may, if she so wishes, wear costumes with softer details, slightly more feminine in aspect than her own personality. She shoudl not, however, make the mistake of wearing extremely dainty garments, which, by their contrast with her more vigorous personality, will give her a suggestion of masculinity.
The severely tailored costume should not have masculine details or accessories, but rather those with a youthful, boyish note. Only the young, fresh-looking woman can afford to strive for a masculine effect, either boyish or mannish. Usually the severely tailored costume is most pleasing when relieved by simple accessories that show feminine thought and imagination.
Designs of striking character, those employing definite, clear-cut outlines, decided contrasts in vivid colors, can be worn by the woman of forceful personality. Opaque materials that assume simple, clear-cut lines or sturdy fabrics that have a strong vigorous character readily lend themselves to costumes that enhance the personality of the vigorous, active woman.

I eviscerated the "fashion advice" section of the U. of Chicago library. I found it hilarious that none of the books available there were published after about 1940, which is when I guess was the last time that there was any pressure at all on U of C undergrads to look fashionable. Or perhaps about the time they discontinued their Home Economics degree (remind me to talk about that degree sometime, which was, in effect, a degree in management, intended for women who expected to run a household staff of at least five and often many more, spread across several locations). Anyway. I have a whole lot of books with advice of this sort, so look forward to more in the near-ish future. I do have them until at least January, unless they are recalled.

Because it's Thanksgiving and all, I was idly googling for "pilgrim collar" (as you do) and I ran across this turkey. Oh, my lord.

Now, as I read in Allure yesterday, the most threatening woman (to other women, when expressing interest in their partners, is this what science has come to? Really.) is one that has a high shoulders-to-hips ratio and a low waist-to-hip ratio, but this is not the way to achieve it. Not in corduroy, of all things. Maybe, maybe this dress would work in black satin, but in stripey corduroy? It just looks really, really odd.

Anyway, if you think this dress is exactly what you need to make your Thanksgiving complete (and you have to admit it probably wouldn't show gravy stains!), it's at Cosmic Cat Vintage Fun, and it's B36/W27; only $45!

I know some of y'all are going to *hate* this dress, but you can leave me comments to that effect, you know how to hit the little button by now. I only wish I had the $250 this is going for (at Another Time Vintage Apparel), a twenty-eight-inch waist to fit into it, and a place to wear it. How I love watercolory oversize florals in odd colorways! And wouldn't this look amazing with a choker of oversize amber beads? With bronze shoes and bag, or deep mustard satin …

I have a piece of very similar fabric, but in deep wine red, that I am hoarding for the day I am asked to attend something for which I would I need a Very Important Dress. For really, if an event is not worth making a new dress for, is it even worth going at all?

Speaking of which, last night I dreamt about a party (a very fancy cocktail-y party) where you came with the fabric and pattern for your dress and spent the whole party chatting with people while you all sewed together, and then you put it on to leave. I have no idea what that means, but it was a very pleasant dream!

Check out this dress from Dandelion Vintage, which features three of my current obsessions: orange, paisley, and a wide midriff band. If this dress weren't way too small for me (B32) it would be MINE, as it is only $30.

I don't know what it is about the midriff band, lately, but it's all I want to sew. I'm not even sure it's that flattering on me, frankly, but I don't care. This puts me firmly into the Diana Vreeland camp, I guess — people who are so in love with the IDEA of some particular fashiony thing that they don't give a damn how it actually looks. I do *hope* that it looks good, but when it comes down to a fight between my aesthetic theory and um, actual aesthetics, I'm afraid my (crackpot) theory will win out every time.

After much urging I have broken down and bought that "Trinny and Susannah book" about what you really, really shouldn't wear. (I bought it on half.com for seventy-five cents, so it wasn't a huge investment.) I'm dreading reading it. I'm sure it will tell me to avoid full skirts and cardigans and bright loud fussy prints and suggest boring streamlined black dresses and low-waisted bootcut pants. Pants! I don't care if pants supposedly make me look better — I don't FEEL I look better in pants. I guess I shouldn't be worrying about what two (admittedly odd) British women might or might not suggest I might or might not wear until the book actually shows up, huh? Sufficient unto the the day and all that.

Don't mind me. I'm just going to be over here, thinking about orange paisley.

I have a habit (bad or good, depending on how over-quota I feel about my eBay purchases in a month) of putting things on a Watch List and then never, ever looking at them again. This one was one of the ones that expired … I'm not even going to link to the sad, sad "This Auction Has ENDED" page. I'm just showing you the picture.

I do this a lot. I have lists and lists of delayed action items; what this really means is that I must do something immediately or it just doesn't get done. There aren't enough hours in the day! And if something isn't great enough for me to click "Buy It Now" or to place a real bid, it's not going to get bought.

This dress is pretty great, though, and I'm feeling slight tinges of remorse, even though I don't usually make sleeveless or cap-sleeve dresses. And even though the cowl really demands a solid fabric to set it off — it would disappear in a wild print. If I HAD managed to be on the ball enough to buy this pattern, I would have made it in a deep green silk shantung, with the A-line skirt. Oh, well. "For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are 'It might have been.'"

I am told by the Rachel McAdams fansite I ganked this from that this picture is from the 2005 Hollywood Film Festival Awards Ceremony. Whatever. I'm posting this because it has pockets! Forget the silly little sparkly bag — pockets! I have no idea who made this dress, and am disinclined to Google further, because I ran across this quote from Rachel McAdams while Googling, and it creeped me out:

The most romantic thing, a lovely boy bought me a dress once. He got my measurements, actually they were from The Notebook (2004) and I had them sitting somewhere, and he found them and bought me this dress, tailor-made, this beautiful little black cocktail dress. And I thought that was very, very classy.

First of all (and I know I've ranted about this before), "classy" is a self-negating adjective. You can't describe something AS "classy" and have it BE "classy." It don't work like that, boyo! Except possibly to say somebody is "one classy dame." That's about it.

This kind of verges on creepy for me. I mean, I can't tell if he was her boyfriend or not, but if he was NOT her boyfriend (as it seems) and he rummaged through her things for her measurements and had a dress made? That's not saying "I want you to be my girlfriend," that's saying "I want you to be my girlfriend DOLL." I dunno. What do y'all think? (And AL, if you're reading this — yes, yes, I was creeped out when you gave me that custom-made shirt back in 1990. That's why I tried to give it back! Sorry.)

Rose sent me this lovely dress — go click through to the eBay auction because the seller has almost obsessively photographed this dress. I know newborn babies who have spent less time in front of the camera. It's the next best thing to holding this dress in your hands, seriously.

Check out the bodice. In the "too much is never enough" category, it wins hands down, being sweetheart AND surplice AND double-bowed.

"

It's gorgeous, if a little on the small side (26" waist) and a Buy it Now for $325.

Thanks, Rose!

Check out this ad from the NYT of 29 December 1929. I love the headline! Sorry it is so huge and slow to load … if you want a huger version, click on it for full-page.

I can't remember if I have or not, although I probably should have if I haven't. I mean, look at this thing.

My favorite part is the collar, and the gathering under the bust. I'd shorten the skirt and make the short-sleeve version, but I am very much in favor of the brown and cream polka dots, yes, I am. I'd also like it in a tiny feathery bandanna-print silk (if such a thing existed outside my fevered imagination) or a 1950s silk with a pattern of little squares.

I once had some gorgeous celery-green/pink/lavender dot print silk with a dupioni slub that I made a wonderful dress in. A wonderful dress (complete with belt with a mother-of-pearl buckle) that made me look horrible. Like Alice on the Brady Bunch horrible, like a sack with a string around the middle horrible. Matron with a capital M. It was truly distressing. And of course the fabric was gone when I went back for more. It's still a great dress, it just needs someone other than me to be inside of it. Someone taller and bustier, who would make it look statuesque instead of matronly. That debacle confirmed my theory that the prettier the fabric (and I loved the dress pattern, too) the more conscientious I should be about making it in some fabric I don't care about, first. (But, of course, I was rushing. Haste, waste: have you met? Here, let me introduce you.) I can't remember what I did with that dress. I thought I put it up on eBay but perhaps not. If I find it, I'll post it here.

And speaking of eBay, I am planning on selling a bunch of vintage over the next couple months … my closets are getting to that state of density where I'm worried about generating spontaneous black holes. Do people want me to link to my auctions here, or should I not sully A Dress A Day with filthy commerce?