Sixties: 'Bardot at the Beach' with a sweet Lazzari lace bodice dress, plus a vintage Laura Ashley hat, cream wedges from a market, a vintage silk sash, a lace top from a charity shop and a vintage brooch and bag.
Contemporary: A vintage suede pea coat, a vintage Christie's trilby, my grandma's belt and bag, Office velvet heels.
Sixties: 'Jackie O among the Blossom' in a Lazzari lace shift dress, adding vintage shoes, my great-grandma's gloves and grandma's pill box hat and sunglasses. The bag is Russell & Bromley from a market.
Contemporary: A crochet cardigan from a charity shop, Office sandals and a vintage faux-leather file.
Sixties: 'College Student' wearing a denim Lazzari mini-dress, a vintage blouse and boots, my great-grandma's silk scarf and my grandma's cameo necklace.
Contemporary: The addition of a fifties skirt, a woven leather belt from a charity shop, Carvela heeled brogues and a vintage satchel bag - a present from my mum.
Very, very occasionally I arrive home from college to find an exciting looking cardboard parcel or package. This one was a small, rectangular box, with teal polka-dotted tissue paper crackling inside. When the onion-layers were peeled back, three dresses lay, folded and enticing. It's rare for me to respond to offers to style clothes that can be sent to me, as I like to retain a sense of self on my blog: my own specific taste. However, if the designer’s aesthetic matches my own, and I would conceivably consider buying and wearing the brand (if money were no issue), then I view things differently. Lazzari is one such brand – focussing on good fabrics, vintage silhouettes and beautiful garments inspired by various eras.
Lazzari’s dresses are part of that newly emerged trend: the classic shape reinterpreted for the modern consumer. Here, hints of sixties' camping holidays and Brigitte Bardot’s femininity have been taken and twisted into something new. The results are deeply appealing, from the production values (all made in Italy) to the design and materials (quality cotton fabrics). They allow the wearer to feel some kind of touch or whisper of the decade associated with The Beatles and knee high boots – not a facsimile, but an updated version. The concept of using previous decades as inspiration for design is not revolutionary but has become more prevalent in recent years. In a process that conceivably started in the seventies with re-workings of Edwardian day dresses and other styles, the conclusion can be found in countless magazine articles on the ‘new’ Great Gatsby or the ‘updated’ Dior New Look. We now regularly look to the past to inform present clothing choices and designs.
T.S Eliot, on the subject of literature, once said that, “immature poets imitate; mature poets steal”, and furthermore that, “The good poet welds his theft into a whole of feeling which is unique… the bad poet throws it into something which has no cohesion.” Eliot’s clever rhetoric suggests that when ‘stealing’ from previous generations there must still be a slant of originality applied to any resulting work. The same argument can be applied to designers working today. The best collections that associate themselves with the past are not simple copies, but original pieces that nod towards the rich design heritage – combining elements of the old with the very contemporary. In this way, the designer adds her or his creative stamp to what went before.
Interestingly though, we are not now defined by the style of our eras in the way that previous generations were. Everything moves too fast, and is too fleeting. New trends are born every six months or so, emerging onto the street with blinking eyes and wobbling legs. But by the time they have become solid and steady, they are replaced by another set of looks. This can be viewed in one of two ways. One can lament the loss of any kind of cohesive look – the kind of uniformity that makes every frame in Mad Men such a visual joy. There are no items of clothing, such as the sixties' mini-skirt or the seventies' trouser suit, that we can take up and champion as being revolutionary. On the flipside, this emphasis on individuality is worthy of praise – of the ‘democratisation’ of fashion. All it takes is a good eye and a keen lust for anything from vintage markets, charity shops and jumble sales, or independent designers, or even high-end brands. Countless options for dressing and self-expression are open.
When writing fiction, ‘register’ is all important – the way the authorial voice and characters’ dialogue fits the situation. In daily life, few speak like Lady Macbeth while buying vegetables from a market, and most would think twice before swearing in front of the Queen. Similarly, the clothes we wear have a distinctive ‘register’ – they demonstrate not only something of our personalities, but are usually appropriate to the day’s activities. Much as the idea is strangely hilarious, I don't wear fifties' bikinis and heels to college. I dress perhaps slightly more outlandishly than my peers, but still within some kind of confined structure of what is deemed acceptable. The emperor may have convinced his subjects that his new lack of clothes was not only appropriate, but also innovative, but I doubt that the same argument would convince many today. I thought of ‘register’ while eyeing up the contents of my dressing up box and wardrobe while deciding how to style Lazzari’s delicious dresses. My final decision – one sixties influenced archetype, and then a more modern version, gave flight to thoughts of the way we contextualize our clothes.
Accessories, like the words that frame a description, give an immediate sense of ‘place’. I might wear the buttery yellow lace shift dress with a cardigan and Chelsea boots to college, but perhaps save the sixties pill box hat for home. The finishing details - the gloves, the necklaces, the shoes, the coats – are intrinsic to the ‘register’ of an outfit. Thus the white wedges, and Laura Ashley child’s sun-hat gave the blue dress an airy feel of sunny sixties' innocence, while the vintage leather pea-coat, trilby and Office velvet heels felt altogether more adult. Much of my dressing revolves around this process of characterization. Perhaps it comes of having a mother who is a former drama teacher, and a grandma who was once a successful West End actor. The joy of the ‘theatrical’ seems to be genetic.
Huge thanks to Lazzari for the dresses – they'll have many differently styled outings this spring and summer. Their timelessness means I'll be wearing them for years to come too.
Take a look at the delicious lookbook here. It's something of a visual feast.
Take a look at the delicious lookbook here. It's something of a visual feast.
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