Maybe I'm just a cranky person with no joy and no inner light, but when your web page says "A ROMANTIC FLOWING EMBRACE TO EACH OF YOU"? I will mock you. Sorry, that's just the way it is. Anyway, this fugitive tablecloth here pretending to be a dress (don't worry, Tommy Lee Jones is on the way to take it back to the linen closet where it belongs) is at uniqueunusualdress.com. Click on the image if you don't believe me. No price information — I think "Tara" has to read your aura before she knows what you should pay.

Now, I'm totally not anti-tablecloth-as-clothing in all instances (I have a supercool 1970s Scandinavian round quasi-Marimekko one waiting to be turned into a skirt), but this one is just wrong. I mean, you can see the gravy stains from Thanksgiving! And, Tara, don't you think Grandma's gonna be pissed (I mean, "disappointed in you") when she finds out you took her satin bedspread, too?

Anyway, the whole site is cringeworthy in the extreme. There's a lot of "ART" and a lot of exhortations about beauty and peace and joy, which make me, at least, look around for my flamethrower. You may be driven to other kinds of antisocial behavior (like buying one of these atrocities). Scroll down on the linked page for a weird silver puffed-sleeve monstrosity in the background. Don't buy it, though — I'm saving that one to be Morgan le Fay's costume when I film my all-cyborg retelling of the King Arthur mythos.

Ah, I'm just cranky. Sorry. I give A ROMANTIC FLOWING EMBRACE TO EACH OF YOU!

ADAD reader Jenny G. (in addition to saying such nice things about ADAD that I blushed, right here in the steel and glass ADAD world headquarters tower) reminded me of the Thtre de la Mode. I had heard about it a couple years ago, but it hadn't percolated up to the top of my brain now that I allow myself to think of nothing but dresses for half an hour every day. (Not that I wasn't thinking of dresses at least that much before ADAD, but now I don't feel bad about it.)

Anyway, here's what Jenny said about it:
"It's an amazing collection of miniature dresses, separates, and accessories put together in 1944 as a way to save French haute couture at the end of the war. I saw parts of the collection in a museum and it was unbelievable! Tiny stitched shoes, hats, and of course dresses all made to fit small wire mannequins and placed in incredible sets. They even had couture underwear!"

And here's what Amazon said about it, in the blurb for the book Thétre de la Mode: Fashion Dolls: The Survival of Haute Couture:
"Harnessing the romance of the world of fashion and high art, this fascinating story of a collection of miniature mannequins describes the birth of Thétre de la Mode, the Theater of Fashion. Full of stars such as Robert Ricci (Nina Ricci's son), filmmaker Jean Cocteau, and other members of the 1944 haute couture industry, the story follows 237 miniature fashion dolls through their epic tour of Europe and North America, bringing fashion, elegance, and beauty into a war-torn world. Also included are new color photographs of the mannequins, the reconstructed sets, and close-up details of clothing so sewers, designers, and fashion mavens can appreciate the creativity of Paris designers at the end of World War II."

(The collection is housed at the Maryhill Museum in Washington State. Or, you know you could just buy the book on Amazon. Or pick up the Viewmaster reel. I might get a Viewmaster just to get that reel!)

I love the Thtre de la Mode, not just because of the pretty pretty dresses, but because of what it says about the importance of beauty. And, I think, if half-starved people after WWII could take some time to care about dresses, why shouldn't you?

Thanks, Jenny!

Nice article in the NYT today about dresses. [Thanks to flea for the heads-up!]

The dark side of the dress is fit. No other article of clothing must simultaneously fit so many parts of the body – the bust, the waist, the hips – and also hit the leg at a slimming length.

Just because something is difficult, doesn't mean it can't be done …

Check out this Suzy Perette dress in olive shantung with beige polka dots. (Click on the image to see the listing at retrodress.com.) It's a lovely dress … and a very wearable size (B37.5). My only quibbble (and it's a big one) is that $240 is a lot to pay for a dress with five acknowledged pinholes ("one at each shoulder, one at the midsection and two within the folds of the skirt") but, then again, I am notoriously cheap when it comes to buying vintage.

I'm often drawn to this color green, and of course to polka dots, but I'm not sure where I'd wear this one. Shantung is too dressy for my work, but olive and polka dots don't say "evening" to me. A puzzlement. Where would you wear it? And with brown shoes & bag, or black? I'm thinking olive + beige demands brown.

When I had finished I went upstairs to the minstrels' gallery to have a look at the pictures. I knew them well of course by now, but had never studied them with a view to reproducing one of them as a fancy dress. Mrs. Danvers was right of course. What an idiot I had been not to think of it before. I always loved the girl in white, with a hat in her hand. It was a Raeburn, and the portrait was of Caroline de Winter, a sister of Maxim's great-great-grandfather. She married a great Whig politician, and was a famous London beauty for many years, but this portrait was painted before that, when she was still unmarried. The white dress should be easy to copy. Those puffed sleeves, the flounce, and the little bodice. The hat might be rather difficult, and I should have to wear a wig. My straight hair would never curl in that way. Perhaps that Voce place in London that Mrs. Danvers had told me about would do the whole thing. I would send them a sketch of the portrait and tell them to copy it faithfully, sending my measurements.

from Rebecca.

Is anyone surprised that I'm posting this particular dress, out of all the ones I snagged at the estate sale? No? I'm not surprised that you're not surprised, actually. The full skirt. The sleeves in one with the bodice. The interesting bust seam. Heck, the polka dots alone were a dead giveaway …

This one is a little small for me but it's already moved up to the top-five Must Sew list. So cute!

I also got THREE sailor-collar dress patterns. Oh, be afraid, be very afraid.

Most people only know one design of Rudi Gernreich's — the topless swimsuit. Which I think would be a problem if you bought this dress (from thefrock.com, $1500, click on the image to check it out, but you'll have to scroll down). Because they would ask you "where'd you get that amazing dress?" And you'd say, "It's a Rudi Gernreich," and then (inevitably) they'd say "Oh, the topless swimsuit guy?" and where does the conversation go from there? (It goes to "Excuse me, I HAVE to catch that guy by the bar," that's where it goes.)

So I say, if you buy the dress, just lie. Say "this old thing? I've had it for so long I've forgotten." Tell them your grandma made it. Tell them it was on sale at Nordstrom Rack. It's just easier that way. And it's still great without the name. Possibly even better.

I love Vested Gentress. Maybe it's the name, which sounds like a linguistics-class example of something that is possible to say in English but not actually extant, but most likely it's the prints. Wild, hilarious, silly, and whimsical prints, in more colors than are actually found in nature. (I used to have an Ebay favorites search set up for Vested Gentress, but I had to turn it off — there are VG *maniacs* out there! And of course by "maniacs" I mean "people who outbid me by a dollar.")

I would buy this dress today — it's in mint condition, sweetheart neckline, a great size (a tinch on the snug side for me, but that's okay), and at not a bad price at all — $48! However, I did very well for myself at an estate sale this morning and I don't want to be greedy with the great-vintage-dress-finding karma. So I'm setting this one free so that someone else finds it to love. (Kinda like folks do on this site.)

Click on the picture to visit this dress at VintageVixen.com. (It's a great site, by the way — plenty there to see!)

The one on the left is mutton dressed as lamb — I'm sorry, if you're older than 11? No puffed sleeves for you. (Also: not-so-young lady, where are your gloves?) But the one on the right? Wonderful. I like the narrow shoulders, the square neck, and the shirring and lingerie details at the bust. And, of course, the full skirt with at least one pocket.

It's at Cyberattic.com — click on the image to check it out. (There are more pictures, too.) Sadly, this pattern is a vintage size 12 — which means a 30 inch bust. Even sadder, the search is either broken or very very bad, because there's no way to search by size, and the interface is not what you'd call intuitive. But hey — you have to dig if you want diamonds, right?

This is, believe it or not, the FRONT of this dress.

From ThatPerfectLittleBlackDress.com (click on the image to visit this dress) comes this stunning evidence of somebody's monomania. This dress was handmade, so this is the ultimate expression of an individual's singular vision. Who was not content to fasten a large bow behind, like so many other plebian designers — no! The bow must be front and center, where it can command the attention it deserves! No more bringing up the rear for this bow, nossir!

Now, it is only B34 (W26), so perhaps the idea was to accentuate whatever was going on in that area? (Although next to this whopper one's natural assets would have to take a back seat.)

I especially like the ginormous buckle (wherever did they find that?) and the fringy ends, which look to me as if they'd be happier over the top of a piano.

The description at ThatPerfectLittleBlackDress.com seems very sensible: "I would consider using this dress as an 'Victorian/Edwardian' gown base and adding to it/adapting it as costuming for a play or special event." Absolutely. A special event such as "Bow Lover's Appreciation Night." Or perhaps "A Musical Tribute to the Bow!"

Don't get me wrong. I love bows. Just — not that way.