Sunday, April 25, 2010
Prom Perfection
Monday, April 19, 2010
Introducing Miss Elliette
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Shoes Of Consequence
I recently aquired a huge collection of vintage heels made by Henry Waters, Shoes of Consequence. The woman who had owned them had a voracious appetite for pumps and could not be satisfied until she had every shade, tint, print and texture in her collection. I almost drowned in a sea of shoes in her hall closet. I looked like a crazed moron stuffing them into my jumbo Ikea bag. Her name was Jerry, and Jerry had not one but 14 pairs of lavender springolaters, all in very slight variation of one another. She had at least 20 pairs of gold shoe's... but I know-- who doesn't? Jerry was my kind of gal. She loved beauty and surrounded herself with glamorous things. A lot of Jerry's favorite things will be on sale at Xtabay over the next couple weeks. Come by and feast your eyes.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Summer Dream Dresses and Subtle Sequins
Monday, April 5, 2010
Schiaparelli Spring
So inspired by these beautiful old Schiaparelli advertisements by Marcel Vertes that I actually marched into an art supply store and purchased a set of watercolors. I figured with my almost fine art degree from a fancy east coast art school I'd be able to whip up some of these seemingly effortless watercolors in no time. Well....I made one...a rather stiff and labored upon watercolor, substituting the name Xtabay for Schiaparelli. It completely lacked the immediacy, the effortless charm, the ease and elegance of a Vertes print. It looked like a fantasy art doodle usually found inside a mead trapper keeper. No, I wont be posting a picture of it nor will it be the next Xtabay ad campaign...
Monday, March 29, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The Easy Fix
I know! You've heard it a million times from your mother. But posture really does matter. You probably saw Miley slouching up to the microphone, looking as if she was afraid if she stood up her dress wouldn't make the jump with her. She looked tentative, uncomfortable. Now imagine Lauren Bacall striding across the stage. She moves tall, with confidence, exuding a panther-like grace.
Standing confidently doesn't mean you have to be prissy about it. Katherine Hepburn knew how to lean back and rest a trousered leg on the edge of a coffee table and own the room. Rita Hayworth stood a little too close, a little too open, but filled the scant inches between her and her co-star with tangible sex appeal. No, standing straight simply means moving with the conviction that you know you look good, you're at ease, and to hell with what everyone else thinks.
Curiously, standing straight can even encompass a slight hunching of the shoulders. Carole Lombard was the master of the 1930s elegant slouch, and Maggie Gyllenhal does it well today. But their greyhound-like posture was relaxed and confident. Conversely, a soldier-straight posture can feel contrived.
Vintage clothing especially loves confident posture. Back in the day they were first carried out of boutiques, vintage clothes were worn by women kept straight by girdles, truss-like brassieres, and stilettos that demanded a mincing step. If you haven't shaken your adolescent slouch, a 1950s dress will pooch at the torso and chest and pull up at the hips.
While we're on the topic of posture, another skill to practice until it becomes second nature is getting out of a car gracefully. Sitting in the car, open your door (or wait until someone opens it for you), then swing your legs, together, out the door. Now, using one arm to boost your body, extend a leg and step forward. Stand up. You shouldn't even need to pull down and straighten your skirt.
Really, good posture is more about attitude than mechanics, and attitude is the largest part of looking good. Once you've slid that gorgeous dress over your hips, turn around and look in the mirror. Smile. You look great. Now walk like you mean it.
Friday, March 19, 2010
The Brides of March...and their maids...
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Playing with Color
I don't know about you, but early on my mother drilled into me certain rules about color. For instance, with a blue dress, wear blue or black shoes, or redheads can't wear red. Later, when she'd swallowed the "Color Me Beautiful" kool aid, she branded me an "autumn" and told me I needed to stick to orange, rust, green, and mustard.
In college, I learned black was cool, and wearing exuberant colors and prints was the sign of a rube. I purged my wardrobe of unsophisticated pastels. When I entered the working world with a plum job with the federal General Accounting Office (this is for real), I carefully constructed a wardrobe centered around navy blue, ivory, and camel for maximum practicality and professionalism. My accessories were gold tone. My pantyhose were Travel Buff. My personal style was nil.
This, my friends, was then. Now, I'm a free woman These days I mix plaids and florals with confidence and am never afraid to pin on some acid green rhinestones or tie a red scarf around my neck. I feel better, and I know I look better. All it took was a little playing with color. Here are a few of my discoveries:
Bend the "Seasons" Theory: I'm not going to tell you the whole "Color Me Beautiful" thing is a washout, because it's not. Certain people look best in certain colors, and that's a fact. But, if you think, for instance, that you look better in "warm" colors, like gold, and so had better not wear "cool" colors, like "blue", think again. Nothing wakes up a warm color better than a splash of a blue color.
For example, say you look good in gold. Imagine wearing a pale straw color, wool 1960s sheath dress. Now top it with a blue velvet bolero. Genius! You just created a tension that brings the whole outfit alive. Or, say you're wearing a chocolate brown (in other words, a "warm") cashmere sweater and matching brown pencil skirt. Add a bright red rhinestone brooch, and both items snap to attention. Sure, you could have added a gold brooch instead, and that would have been fine. But it would not have been as chic as the red rhinestone number. Every artist knows the trick of complementary colors.
Toss the old shoe color rules out the window: For some reason, there seem to be more rules about shoe colors than anything else. Well, forget about them. Let's think about a gorgeous 1940s navy blue suit. You might think you need a pair of navy blue shoes to go with it. That would work all right. Black shoes would be fine, too, if a little military. But imagine that blue suit with luggage brown shoes. Nice!
Most people think a black dress or skirt calls for black shoes. Not so! Try taupe shoes with a black dress. Very fresh, and your legs go on forever. If you're wearing all black, definitely wear a shoe with color. Say, satin green or mustard yellow. Also, when in doubt, wear gold shoes. Or maybe silver. If you feel they're too dressy, pair them with colored tights. It pays to have a pair of gold closed-toe sandals in your closet. You'll wear the heck out of them, I promise.
Forget about white shoes all together unless you're a five year old or a nurse. It's very hard to pull off a white pump. Face it, even brides should throw in the towel on that one.
Balance dull with bright: If you, like most of us, find yourself wearing a lot of black, brown, and other dull, neutral colors, toss in some bright. I understand that it's practical to buy a black or grey coat. Well, then, get yourself some lime green or pink gloves, preferably long ones to wear with bracelet sleeves. If you have stacks of neutral turtlenecks or Levis and white shirts or khaki anything, find some turquoise scarves, vivid red nail polish, or a canary yellow purse to wear with them. You love sky blue? Wear sky blue over-the-knee stockings with your black 1960s suit and Mary Janes. Add a dab of map green eyeliner and pink lipstick.
Vintage colors are hard to beat: Vintage clothing has some of the most remarkable colors, from the palest celery green to a true, lush puce, to every shade of red from cherry to scarlet. The colors on vintage clothes turn heads, because people aren't used to seeing them in the sea of black, khaki, spruce green (only because we're in the Northwest), and chambray that floods the streets. I'm addicted to a special shade of peacock blue I've only seen on mid-century cashmere sweaters. The colors of vintage clothing are astounding. Wear them for some real style.
In college, I learned black was cool, and wearing exuberant colors and prints was the sign of a rube. I purged my wardrobe of unsophisticated pastels. When I entered the working world with a plum job with the federal General Accounting Office (this is for real), I carefully constructed a wardrobe centered around navy blue, ivory, and camel for maximum practicality and professionalism. My accessories were gold tone. My pantyhose were Travel Buff. My personal style was nil.
This, my friends, was then. Now, I'm a free woman These days I mix plaids and florals with confidence and am never afraid to pin on some acid green rhinestones or tie a red scarf around my neck. I feel better, and I know I look better. All it took was a little playing with color. Here are a few of my discoveries:
Bend the "Seasons" Theory: I'm not going to tell you the whole "Color Me Beautiful" thing is a washout, because it's not. Certain people look best in certain colors, and that's a fact. But, if you think, for instance, that you look better in "warm" colors, like gold, and so had better not wear "cool" colors, like "blue", think again. Nothing wakes up a warm color better than a splash of a blue color.
For example, say you look good in gold. Imagine wearing a pale straw color, wool 1960s sheath dress. Now top it with a blue velvet bolero. Genius! You just created a tension that brings the whole outfit alive. Or, say you're wearing a chocolate brown (in other words, a "warm") cashmere sweater and matching brown pencil skirt. Add a bright red rhinestone brooch, and both items snap to attention. Sure, you could have added a gold brooch instead, and that would have been fine. But it would not have been as chic as the red rhinestone number. Every artist knows the trick of complementary colors.
Toss the old shoe color rules out the window: For some reason, there seem to be more rules about shoe colors than anything else. Well, forget about them. Let's think about a gorgeous 1940s navy blue suit. You might think you need a pair of navy blue shoes to go with it. That would work all right. Black shoes would be fine, too, if a little military. But imagine that blue suit with luggage brown shoes. Nice!
Most people think a black dress or skirt calls for black shoes. Not so! Try taupe shoes with a black dress. Very fresh, and your legs go on forever. If you're wearing all black, definitely wear a shoe with color. Say, satin green or mustard yellow. Also, when in doubt, wear gold shoes. Or maybe silver. If you feel they're too dressy, pair them with colored tights. It pays to have a pair of gold closed-toe sandals in your closet. You'll wear the heck out of them, I promise.
Forget about white shoes all together unless you're a five year old or a nurse. It's very hard to pull off a white pump. Face it, even brides should throw in the towel on that one.
Balance dull with bright: If you, like most of us, find yourself wearing a lot of black, brown, and other dull, neutral colors, toss in some bright. I understand that it's practical to buy a black or grey coat. Well, then, get yourself some lime green or pink gloves, preferably long ones to wear with bracelet sleeves. If you have stacks of neutral turtlenecks or Levis and white shirts or khaki anything, find some turquoise scarves, vivid red nail polish, or a canary yellow purse to wear with them. You love sky blue? Wear sky blue over-the-knee stockings with your black 1960s suit and Mary Janes. Add a dab of map green eyeliner and pink lipstick.
Vintage colors are hard to beat: Vintage clothing has some of the most remarkable colors, from the palest celery green to a true, lush puce, to every shade of red from cherry to scarlet. The colors on vintage clothes turn heads, because people aren't used to seeing them in the sea of black, khaki, spruce green (only because we're in the Northwest), and chambray that floods the streets. I'm addicted to a special shade of peacock blue I've only seen on mid-century cashmere sweaters. The colors of vintage clothing are astounding. Wear them for some real style.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Sui Generis
Not long ago I saw a photo of a party with Andy Warhol. (I searched and searched but couldn't find the image to show you, unfortunately.) The late 1960s photo showed Le Warhol flanked by women of the Edie Sedgwick persuasion: gamine, slender, clothed in Courreges-style dresses. One woman stood out. She, too, wore a straight-fitting mini dress, but her figure strained its lines. She was busty with a tiny waist and what my family doctor calls "baby machine" hips. In short, she was a 1950s goddess trapped in a 1960s photo. It just didn't work. She looked uncomfortable, ill flattered, and out of sorts.
Oh, how I understand. My voluptuous figure and out-of-time taste often sets me at odds, too. A few months ago I went to a party replete with hip women with long, straight hair and girlish figures. I'd selected a 1950s gold silk Suzie Wong style dress to wear, but I felt positively matronly in the sea of careless 1970s glasses and puffy vests. The only comfort I took was that they drank cheap wine and didn't seem to know the difference. As I walked back to my car in the cold night, I felt like such a loser. Too curvy, too feminine. Too old.
Then I thought of the Warhol photo, and my thoughts flashed to Sophia Loren. Now here was a curvy woman with a sexy, down-to-earth style all her own. She came of age in the late 1950s. But imagine her walking into a bar in Greenwich Village in the early 1960s. She's wearing a simple black sheath dress that skims her figure and maybe a pair of dangling earrings. As she settles at the bar, she's surrounded by a sea of boyish beatniks redolent of Jean-Paul Sartre and French cigarettes. But she is Sophia Loren. She can't be a beatnik. She can only be what she is: shapely, alluring, warm, and sexy. Who could resist? Did she ever question her allure? Did she think she needed to be something different?
In the end, none of us can judge ourselves against anyone else. We are each sui generis: a gorgeous, individual, work of art shaped by our own bodies, experiences, and taste. Sure, it's so easy to pick up a magazine and put ourself down because we aren't Kate Moss or someone else. But who cares? Kate Moss isn't me, either. I can fill out a strapless evening gown like she'd only dream. I have the experience to walk into a party and talk about Petrarch's poetry or perfect farm-raised poached eggs for breakfast or the merits of mutts versus pedigreed dogs like Kate Moss could never do. I am one of a kind. I don't play her game--I'm a game all of my own.
At Xtabay Vintage, we want you to remember that. You are amazing as you are. We want you to be the best you you can be--not anyone else, no matter what cool blogs or magazines say. It's so nice to go somewhere where your style, your vision are paramount, even if you're still feeling around to find them. Welcome.
Oh, how I understand. My voluptuous figure and out-of-time taste often sets me at odds, too. A few months ago I went to a party replete with hip women with long, straight hair and girlish figures. I'd selected a 1950s gold silk Suzie Wong style dress to wear, but I felt positively matronly in the sea of careless 1970s glasses and puffy vests. The only comfort I took was that they drank cheap wine and didn't seem to know the difference. As I walked back to my car in the cold night, I felt like such a loser. Too curvy, too feminine. Too old.
Then I thought of the Warhol photo, and my thoughts flashed to Sophia Loren. Now here was a curvy woman with a sexy, down-to-earth style all her own. She came of age in the late 1950s. But imagine her walking into a bar in Greenwich Village in the early 1960s. She's wearing a simple black sheath dress that skims her figure and maybe a pair of dangling earrings. As she settles at the bar, she's surrounded by a sea of boyish beatniks redolent of Jean-Paul Sartre and French cigarettes. But she is Sophia Loren. She can't be a beatnik. She can only be what she is: shapely, alluring, warm, and sexy. Who could resist? Did she ever question her allure? Did she think she needed to be something different?
In the end, none of us can judge ourselves against anyone else. We are each sui generis: a gorgeous, individual, work of art shaped by our own bodies, experiences, and taste. Sure, it's so easy to pick up a magazine and put ourself down because we aren't Kate Moss or someone else. But who cares? Kate Moss isn't me, either. I can fill out a strapless evening gown like she'd only dream. I have the experience to walk into a party and talk about Petrarch's poetry or perfect farm-raised poached eggs for breakfast or the merits of mutts versus pedigreed dogs like Kate Moss could never do. I am one of a kind. I don't play her game--I'm a game all of my own.
At Xtabay Vintage, we want you to remember that. You are amazing as you are. We want you to be the best you you can be--not anyone else, no matter what cool blogs or magazines say. It's so nice to go somewhere where your style, your vision are paramount, even if you're still feeling around to find them. Welcome.