The Cold Weather Uniform

Summers are a cinch. Toss on a cotton dress and some sandals, and you're set. But what do you wear when the weather cools? What can you count on that is warm, easy, and flattering? 

I've pondered this for a few seasons now, and I'm just starting to hone in on something that works for me. For too many winters I've been caught in a vortex of plaid wool. Show me anything vintage and Pendleton, and I wore it. I had enough tartan in my closet to kilt up Edinburgh. Wool plaid is warm and easy to wear, but it just plain isn't sexy. At least, the pleated plaid skirts I wore looked less "tempting schoolgirl" than "dowdy schoolmarm". 

Since I'm a dress and skirt devotee, I'm shifting from thick plaid wool to plain wool gabardine and crepe, and I'm always on the lookout for cashmere sweaters to top it off. If it's cold, I'll add a cardigan and wear tights. Boots are de rigeur. Add a thick bracelet and a brooch, and the look is complete.

My goal is to be less Laura Ingalls Wilder and more Mad Men Joan. Oh, I'll still have vintage plaid in my wardrobe. I can't help it. But I'll do my best to choose straight-cut skirts and remember the high-heeled calfskin boots when I do.

Just today I bought a black wool Dalton 1950s pencil skirt from the Xtabay (there were more skirts on the rack, by the way, including a devastatingly sexy red wool pencil skirt and a gorgeous pale turquoise A-line). It will go with just about all my cashmere sweaters and silk scarves. It's too narrow to bicycle to work in, but I'll roll it up in my bike bag and wear expedition-weight fleece leggings under my coat until I get to the office--they're warmer, anyway. Top the whole ensemble off with one of my dozen fabulous vintage coats--also mostly Xtabay finds--and I should be in good shape.

What is your winter uniform? Do you like Levis, turtlenecks, Frye boots, and wild 1970s astrakan vests? Or maybe you're more about 1980s fold-down boots, skinny jeans, and cowl-necked sweaters? Let the rest of us know. Finding the perfect winter uniform isn't easy.

Orange Crush: John Galanos Silk Chiffon Evening Gown

Just in today!

A 1950's Galanos silk chiffon evening gown in "Hermes" orange. Imagine my delight when the daughter of a glamorous 50's fashion model brought in her mother's gown. She told me she was a model for Neiman Marcus in Dallas during the early 50's. Apparently this was one of the perks of the job. Available at here at Xtabay. It's the ultimate tangerine dream....

The Most Beautiful Dress in the World

There's an old affliction, popular during the 19th century, called the "Stendhal Syndrome". People--especially women--who saw great works of art or heard lush music sometimes felt their heartbeats accelerate and even occasionally fainted because of the beauty. I was always skeptical of this reaction. I figured maybe Victorian ladies didn't get out much, you know?

Then I saw the early 1960s orange brocade Arnold Scaasi cocktail dress and matching jacket Liz brought to the Xtabay. By God, I shivered all over. My breathing grew shallow. I didn't faint, but my pulse went from waltz to samba. Now I'm a believer.

A lucky, last minute invitation to the Oregon Historical Society's History Makers' Dinner came my way, and I had to find something black tie to wear. I knew that men would wear tuxedos, but what does "black tie" mean for women in Portland? Leave the fleece and crocs at home but anything else is fair game?

I have a 1940s gown tucked away, and although it has a few stains (it has sequin trim, so it can't be safely drycleaned) I decided to steam it out at the Xtabay, pair it with MAC "O" lipstick, and take it to the party. In the light of day, it looked a little dingy. Still, the dinner was just a few hours away, and I didn't have any other options.

Then in walked Liz with the Scaasi dream set. As a special favor, she said I could wear it to the dinner if I paid for dry cleaning afterward and made sure to protect the jacket's delicate silk lining. I stripped down in the dressing room to try it on, and as soon as I slid it over my hips, I knew it would be perfect. The dress is a strapless, sculpted brocade, and it zipped over my torso firmly enough that I wouldn't have to adjust the girls all night, but loosely enough to be comfortable. The skirt fell in an artful, centered pleat, strategically located over my stomach. No sucking in the gut required. The matching jacket--I'm swooning now just thinking of it!--has the high, tight armholes and narrow shoulders typical of the era. But guess what? I have narrow shoulders and small arms! Plus, I had a pair of gold Prada stiletto sandals at home that might have been made just for the ensemble.

That night, I dolled myself up and headed down the red carpet leading to the dinner. Immediately, Norma Paulus, a former Oregon Secretary of State, complimented me on the dress and wanted to talk about her mother-in-law's fabulous 1950s wardrobe (which I suggested she tote off to Xtabay right away). I'm telling you--every waiter, state senator, timber heiress, and security guard I saw touched my shoulder to tell me I looked great. Michael Powell, bookstore kingpin, stopped me and said, "You're in the wrong place. You look too good to be here." The head of the Heathman's catering said, "I noticed you as soon as you walked into the room". A waiter asked if he could have my phone number. I gave away a stack of Xtabay business cards on my first trip to the restroom to a line of waiting ladies--including Gert Boyle. That dress was pure magic.

And, of course, the next day I had to turn it back in to Xtabay. (Cue the funeral music). I had felt the most beautiful I've ever been in that dress. How could I live without that feeling again? How could I go out at night knowing I might see someone else wearing it? Who else would look as good in orange brocade?

I told Liz I'd pay whatever she wanted for the dress. I need it. If my portrait is ever painted again (the last time I was wearing a boring old black thing) it needs to be in that dress. I want to be buried in that dress. Give me a choice between Sean Connery circa the Goldfinger era and the Scaasi, and I'd choose the dress. It is the most beautiful dress in the world.

Now all that's left is to cross my fingers while Liz figures things out and pray that a person can't die from the Stendhal Syndrome.

"I could never pull that off"

At the Xtabay, we tend to hear a lot of the same comments over and over. "My grandma had one just like this", for instance. And, "People sure were small back then". Another comment we hear from time to time, and one that breaks my heart is, "I love that dress, but I could never pull if off".

People, if you love something, and it fits, wear it. I remember years ago trying on an Adrienne Vittadini knit dress in a department store. It was a simple black and white dress with a high neckline, but it hugged my every curve. It looked fabulous, but I wasn't used to showing my shape like that. The friend I was with said, "Do you want to grow old saying you were afraid to wear a dress?" Excellent point.

Sure, it's going to feel a little scary the first time you meet up with friends while you're sporting your new red 1960s sheath dress if most of your wardrobe comes from the mall. But remember how great you felt when you put the dress on in your bedroom? Remember looking at yourself in the mirror and thinking that the dress expressed a glamorous or chic or romantic or even goofy side of you that you love? 

Take that feeling on the street with you. Wear it with pride. When you choose a dress that you love, even if it scares you a little, what you're doing is making a commitment to the person you really are. It's time to stop hiding your light. We think you look gorgeous. Isn't that what you want to remember in you dotage?

The Fabulous Vintage Coat

It's so hard to say goodbye to summer, especially when fall and winter mean months of cold rain. But cold weather does have at least one bright spot: vintage coats.

Coats are one of the great steals of the vintage world. For one thing, back in the day, coats were made to last. Lay a 1950s wool coat on the bed next to a brand new coat from a department store. The 1950s coat still has a strong lining with a silky hand. You might even find extra fabric reinforcing the armpits. The new coat most likely has a thin, scratchy lining that I can guarantee you will be shredded within three years. Now feel the wool of the 1950s coat. It might be pure wool, or blended with alpaca, camel hair, or cashmere. It undoubtedly feels thick and supple. The wool of the new coat, on the other hand, is stiff, thin, and rough. The buttons on the old coat are works of art, while those on the new coat are generic plastic. Heck, even the label in the new coat looks cheaper. The kicker? The vintage coat cost less than $100 and the new coat close to $300.

Also, vintage coats are loaded with style. Some vintage coats have linings with gorgeous patterns--pumpkin coaches or swallows, for instance--or are striped in wild colors. The Xtabay has a houndstooth jacket with braided trim and a black velvet lining. You don't find that in a new coat. Vintage coats also come in a rainbow of colors and styles, from 1960s double-breasted town coats to 1940s wide-shouldered evening coats to 1950s swing coats with bracelet sleeves. 

Vintage coats are the perfect gateway item of clothing for the person who likes the look of vintage but is shy about wearing it. You mostly wear black? Perfect! You can collect a wardrobe of vivid coats--red, purple, sky blue, and hot pink--and they'll always match. You don't dress up much? Great! Nothing complements jeans and boots better than a sassy evening jacket (the Xtabay has a silvery brocade jacket with a mink collar and rhinestone studded buttons that cries out for denim). Tie a 1950s patterned chartreuse scarf over a vintage coat, or pin on a giant brooch, or pull on elbow-length plum-colored gloves to show off the bracelet sleeves on your navy blue jacket.  

Winter lasts a long time. You may as well face it with chic.

A New Beginning

It's back to school week. Even now, I can still feel the thrill of it. Each September was a new beginning. I went to school with a few new pieces of clothing carefully selected from the Montgomery Ward catalog (that's "Monkey Ward" to those of us in the know) and some fresh pencils and notebooks. I saw my friends again and had a new teacher. The year was a blank slate. My hope wrote all sorts of stories on it.

The chunky September issues of Vogue and Harper's Bazaar bear witness to how meaningful fall is to so many of us.  Somehow a new fall wardrobe makes us feel that we have the potential to be something even better this year. Maybe with that cunning scarlet velvet cocktail dress we'll hold a party that they'll talk about for years. Or maybe with a thick 1950s mohair sweater and 1970s Frye boots we'll end up on a stone bench next to a roaring fire at a ski lodge. Or, wearing a nip-waisted coat with dolman sleeves, a fluffy hat from the 1960s, and fake fur trimmed galoshes, we'll walk to a café one snowy morning and meet someone tall, dark, and handsome.

It's the perfect time of year to become more like yourself. Clothing reflects who you really are and what you're capable of. Chances are good that you're more glamorous, open, insightful, and, well, beautiful than you've been letting yourself be. 

Come down to the store and try on a few things you've admired but never thought you could pull off. Maybe it will be just a pair of hot pink 1960s earrings or a structured 1950s handbag. Or maybe you'll shoot the moon with a maribou-trimmed hostess gown. If you have the courage to wear that beautifully tailored 1940s suit you've admired to work, you'll see how easy it is and how fabulous you are. After all, a fresh new year of adventure awaits.

The New Basic Wardrobe

So many fashion magazine articles and even a few books try to tell us what the basic wardrobe looks like. "Black pants," they say, "and a white cotton blouse. Khaki pants, a trench coat, and a black suit. A string of pearls and loafers." 

I don't know about you, but if I showed up to work in a white button-down shirt, pearls, and khaki pants, my coworkers would think I'd been taken over by aliens. I'd like to propose the New Basic Wardrobe. Adjust to meet your particular needs.

12 Cotton Sundresses from the 1950s and 1960s: This should be enough dresses to get you to the next time you do laundry. These dresses have usually already been washed enough times to have a soft-as-silk hand, and they come in patterns that are hilarious and beautiful. One of my favorite is a wrap dress with pastel scenes from Montmartre.

4 Cocktail Dresses from the 1940s, 1950s, and/or 1960s, depending on your body type: O.K., some people might want to slip in a few poly 1970s dresses, too, with swishy skirts and halter-style tops. You'll need two each for cold weather and warm weather, and ideally one for each season should be form fitting, while the other allows for times when you can't bear to hold in your stomach. 

7 wool skirts and 10 cashmere sweaters to wear with them: I like plaid Pendleton, but the Xtabay usually has a few classically cut Evan Picone skirts, too. Snap up Pringle, Braemar, or Dalton cashmere pieces whenever you see them--you can thank me later.

2 Nice-But-Not-Cocktail Dresses from the 1960s or 1950s: One for cold weather, one for warm. These dresses are perfect for weddings, graduations, and when you want to look nice but don't want to seem like you're trying too hard. I have a 1950s polished cotton dress with a criss-cross top that I wore with a Tortolani bracelet and 1940s-style red sandals to a private concert at Thomas Lauderdale's loft. From my vantage point on the pink vintage sectional sofa, I noted that my outfit reigned supreme over the crowd of Ann Taylor separates.

2 1940s or 1960s Suits: Depends on your body type. One for winter, one for summer. These suits will see you through job interviews, weddings, and big meetings and can easily be sexed up with tough shoes and a naked face but for red lipstick.

One Super Fancy Dress: Who knows when you'll need to nip off to a ball? Be sure to pick up some rhinestones to go along with it.

Two dressing gowns, a drawer of silk and rayon nighties, and a vintage Pendleton robe: Hey, a girl needs her underthings.

All the vintage coats your closet can hold: They're so cheap! And durable! And stylish! Get a few for daily wear, one 1970s fake fur chubby, a velvet evening coat, and a warm shearling or mouton coat for when it snows.

Two hostess gowns or Chinese silk pajamas: Lounge wear is what separates the ingénue from the woman of the world.

What have I missed?

Jewels!

The vintage goddess has smiled once again on the Xtabay. Beautiful jewels have descended into the store's shelves and jewelry cases, glittering in the display lights and sparkling tantalizingly in the mirrors. Jewels for cocktails at twilight, and jewels for parties that last until breakfast. Jewels for trashy movie matinées, and jewels for clandestine rendezvous in motels on Interstate Avenue.
O.K., you say. Enough with the purple prose. What have you got for me?

Well, how about a dozen pair of Czech crystal earrings from the 1950s? Liz scored some gorgeously cut crystal earrings in amber, red, and carnival green as well as the usual dazzling clear crystal. (I'm not mentioning the milky blue crystal earrings that seem to glow from within, because I don't want you to buy them before I do.) They are screw-ons, so they're the rare pairs of non-pierced earrings that are easy to wear. In candlelight, your eyes will seem to glow in their reflected light.Make sure you try on at least one of the three pairs of delicately branched earrings with rhinestone-centered flowers. I've never seen anything like them. They're designed to showcase a spider's web of golden branches and sparkling flowers up over your ears rather than hang down from them. These earrings are worth learning to twist a chignon for.
Not feeling so fancy? Then check out the racks of 1960s lucite, plastic, and spun nylon earrings in bold geometric shapes and colors. I love the pair of clear, stacked globes that drip to the shoulder, and I have my eye on some lucite hoops that will go with anything. Plus, on the jewelry cabinet is a rack of brilliantly gaudy plastic earrings that would make Twiggy wildly jealous, and they're only $12 a pair.

Liz also snagged some beaded 1920s lariats in gold and red, among other colors. They will look smashing with a richly colored cashmere sweater in fall. Or, try a lariat with a blouse with the top few buttons undone so that it dips into your cleavage.

Here's the real secret, though. There simply isn't enough room for Liz to put out all the fabulous jewelry she found last week! As soon as one case empties, she'll be refilling it with more glamourous brooches, dangly bracelets, and sexy necklaces. Let the rest of the lemmings spend a couple hundred dollars on mass-produced jewelry at the mall. The good stuff is at the Xtabay.

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I know you, like me, love browsing in vintage stores, spend hours in bookstores, and value a locally-grown tomato over a grainy, flavorless vegetable shipped in from somewhere else. We also love getting a deal. Unfortunately, browsing local bookstores and then buying the books we find online at a discount--rather than at the store--is killing our neighborhoods.

Check out http://www.the350project.net/home.html. To keep our neighborhoods healthy, vital, and full of the character we love, we need to shop close to home. That means choosing locally-owned restaurants, video stores, and clothing stores when we make our purchases. It means a little more thought and intention, but the pay-off is big. Nothing could be more heartbreaking than being stuck with Quiznos and the Gap and little else. Shop local.

Save Your Favorite Brick and Morter Vintage Shop!

Holly Andres Portraits of Xtabay

The beautiful and talented Portland photographer Holly Andres stopped by the shop recently and took my portrait. Here are some of the images she came up with. Now if she could only make me look like this in real life...
Liz wearing a 1960's Travilla evening gown.

Thanks Holly for immortalizing us!