Air Castles

Excerpts from Journals, again

Previous excerpts here.

L’art de Faire…

Months have passed since my infatuation with the fictional Maria Braun began, yet her strong-willed WWII spirit continues to fascinate me. My current fashion preferences are almost entirely tainted by her decade: the 1940s. With every new interest comes the wish to immerse oneself in its glory. It’s fairly guilt-free and easy when it involves reading Russian novels or eBay-ing for Chanel bags. Less so when the interest in question pertains to the style of a gruesome era during which fashion as an industry could well have vanished indefinitely.

Nonetheless. I shall not make this post a lesson of names and numbers, as far too many fashion reports of the historical kind tend to do. Nor do I wish to promote the ‘fashion means nothing’ opinion likely favored by a few authentic historians. No, I shall simply share some parts of 1940s fashion that seem to me to have survived the decades that separate us.

Fine-combing the wartime archives of French l’Officiel de la Mode is at times a bizarre occupation: while women from one part of Europe were being put on trains to vicious death — women from another part of Europe were busy constructing meticulous facades, inspired by l’Officiel. The mere idea seems tasteless. Still it is simply a reflection of the fact that fashion, then as well as now, has the rare ability to both create distance and to conjure closeness.

Then as well as always, clothes in essence were part of something known as aesthetics. They form with art, music and other creative outlets a place in which the human mind can rest; find itself being encouraged. If the bored women of l’Officiel retreated from their ugly consciences into the safety of satin bedgowns, the fair Mariannes of Dachau may have occasionally retreated into memories of songs and treasures that were left behind. It seems an odd comparison, but the point is: the human mind is intimately entwined with beauty, enchanted by personal aesthetics. In hindsight, the 1940s archives of l’Officiel are invaluable documents. They depict not only the fashions of the time, but they speak quite loudly of people’s minds.

There are a number of treasures in these issues: ranging from innovative advertisements to small details that are difficult not to enjoy. One page is devoted to the various styles of pockets. Another features a tutorial on how to shield one’s head from the winter cold. There are pages upon pages of colorful illustrations. Photographs of women walking their dogs and a spread on how to dress in order to find pleasure in rain.

In contrast to the fashion magazines of 2009, there is very little attention given to celebrities and society: it’s all quite utilitarial, and in that sense timeless. On to the point, and direct: the autumn issues feature scarfs, but instead of placing the scarfs on models they have photographed the various fabrics. We can dissect the actual objects of desire. How often does one see fabrics in French Vogue today? They are there, granted, but often one is expected to prefer perhaps the view of a model’s thin legs.

L’Officiel de la Mode from 1921 until now.

Reverie:

Absentminded dreaming while awake.

Midnight sky. Winter night. A sheet is dragged over us.

Into reverie; into wilderness of space and time. My favorite room in which to act out dreams, escape accompanied by childhood scents and familiar views. As eyelids close, out come actors and actresses of the imagination. The simplest of acts, of minds, gain mythological proportions:

To be kissed is to be injected with poison. Sinister injections that bring forth need. They triumph over the body first: and as one’s limbs are possessed, the mind follows suit. Their success spreads throughout, settles. Somewhere in this room one can hear the beat of a heart — loud as if it is trying to escape from its owner.

A heart cannot be made quiet — it intrudes. Eyelids forced open as I come close to sleep. Awake again to distances still unabridged by reverie.

November Finery

Style tips, part four

Forget elitism.
Contrary to popular belief, an assortment of fine dresses cannot make up for ignorance or a weak attitude. Clothes should merely enhance you and please you — they are not the mind materialized; nor are they a measurement of personal worth. If someone sneers at one’s shoes (perhaps they are last season, or worse, no season!) – whichever the disgraceful scenario – it is their problem. To have an intellect and a personality and a well body is all one needs; subsequently to be coupled with those dresses, one’s discovery of music, love and other divine inventions that can save us from earth-bound decline.

Details, dears.
It is an ancient trick to treat clothes as canvases on which to exhibit further beauty. These additions are known as accessories; often split into two parts — shoes and bags. These two are given absolute attention in nearly every magazine, every style guide and certainly by the confident mouths of prominent It-girls. Put on heels! Carry clutches! And so it goes on, in tiresome seasonal circles. Alas. Accessories consist also of other parts pertaining to an ensemble: details. A silk lining hidden within a coat; very deep pockets in which to store gems; touch and how a piece of clothing actually feels.

Explore decades.
Striped sweaters are practically common fashion property; no need to dwell upon where such needs have originated from. No need to take style cues from anywhere but the A.P.C. catalogue, right? Yes, yes, you must. I urge you. The Russian Navy wore stripes prior to Jean Touitou. And there was more to the 1960’s than miniskirts. Explore history through the eyes of clothes and your style will be infinitely wealthier.

Inventory.
Make an inventory list of your clothes; the ones kept beside you, the ones solemnly thrown and left across chairs and floors. Think about why you like each piece and – more importantly – how they make you feel. How they appear before your eyes. As if they are your friends, almost. If there is too much clutter, throw them away. And do the closet a favor by shopping less. There is nothing romantic about modern excess and hasty hemlines.

Think and Approach.
I’ve always been fascinated by personal style as a concept: how one thinks about style and how ones approaches dressing. With time I’ve become increasingly convinced that style is simply a natural outcome of being aware, in touch and devoted to one’s inherent instincts regarding the subject. Dressing through emotion and to indulge one’s facade.

Dealing with how people think about clothes and how they approach dressing, a few thoughts: why must inspiration predominantly be born out of such limited sources? It frightens me when people in fashion cannot be bothered to look beyond magazines, blogs, advertisements and celebrities. Why not, for example, read real literature; use senses when looking at clothes; draw a piece from your own mind; open your eyes to other realms of interest. Why not question the whole thing? It’s fine not to adhere.