The Lost Art of Dress

Subtitled, The Women Who Once Made America Stylish,was written by a history professor at Notre Dame named Linda Przybyszewski (the lost art of vowels?)

I loved this book.  It fits into my reading history along the woof theme as Linda P tracks the rise and fall of home economics in the 20th century's high schools, colleges, and granges.  How could I not like this book:  I am a child of a frustrated designed, born in an era when her father believed it was too risky for her to go Parsons in NYC.  I am the cousin of a boy who in my generation made it there and worked for Halston and then opened his own boutique.

My mother and I had an agreed upon division of labor when it came to sewing:  I laid out the pattern and matched the stripes and plaids so they all lined up, pinned the fabric and she sewed it on the old Singer.  I could not wait to go to the fabric store every month to check out the most complicated styles from Vogue and see if she was up to the challenge.  I would get simpler ones when I attempted to approach the machine and deal with threading bobbins but always working in my favorite material, Italian wool knit.  I wish I never threw out the one that was all rust red in the front and all cinnamon in the back, two colors that always looked good with my complexion.

Going to Catholic school spared me from home economics but the principles of good taste were pervasive.   Yes, uniforms covered my growing tall frame for eight teenage years but when the occasion arose, Mom made a prom gown is glowing white slipper satin with a rolled seam waist and full bodice without sleeves.  (Blue chiffon sleeves were added later and it became my lady-in-waiting costume for The Mouse That Roared.)  Another gown for college came with a full length buttonless wool coat lined in cream Japanese silk our neighbor brought back from a a tour of duty there.  She underlined it with an old baby blanket so I could wear it comfortably for the dance in the dead of winter.

Okay, there are my memories and credentials for reviewing the book.  Linda P is scholarly in tracking down biographical history of the women who were devoted to home economics, teaching not only style, but frugality and practicality.  While home ec was segregated by gender in State colleges, during the decades of the 30s to 50s, it was not the dumb sorority blondes who went, but more often than not the chemistry and engineering girls who were not welcome in the regular science majors.  Many went on to work for food production companies, "ladies" magazines, and high governmental positions.

When Linda P lists out the principles of style, and she's not talking high couture here, it almost seems like a Rosetta Stone of ideas I consumed with my childhood breakfasts of poached egg on toast:  certain colors work best in the office; fabric finishes clash as badly as certain colors do; a concealing dress is more alluring than a revealing one.  The first page I dog-earred down to save as a quote for this review builds on the last premise:  "... the idea of a dinner suit originated with the clothes designed for wear in the speakeasies of Prohibition days.  She does not tell us why.  Maybe women did not like being too bare when buying drinks from gangsters.  Or maybe a suit gave them more confidence when scrambling over tables during a police raid?"  (Shades of Nick and glamorously dressed Nora.)

And another:  "So much was required for good wardrobe planning ... It is not only a proof of our understanding of design and color and texture, of means of creating illusion and expressing temperament, but it also tests the real character of a person in discernment, in farsightedness, in self-discipline and in organization, and in ability to hold unswervingly to principle and purpose.  And you thought you were just shopping."

Not sure of the date of this quote:  "The New York Times proclaimed standardized dress (this must have been either during WW1 or WW2) was doomed - There is and ought to be in the heart of every woman, conscious of being well dressed, a triumphant satisfaction, not untinged, perhaps, with some rejoicing in the admiration, dissatisfaction, or envy stirred in the hearts of other women by the sight of her perfection."

"... planning a wardrobe and sticking to it required skill, knowledge, and practicality.  A thrifty and beautiful wardrobe proved that a young woman had not only mastered the Five Art Principles and understood the Six Occasions for Dress, but was also self-disciplined, organized, and determined.  The qualities that allowed her to dress beautifully without spending a fortune were the same qualities that would allow her to take on a position of "trust and authority." 

The final chapters trace the decline of style starting in the late 60s.  Linda P goes a bit nostalgic:  "The fashion photography of the 1950s reflected (sophistication).  Of course, there were young models, but some models worked into their thirties and forties.  You may object to their impossibly polished up appearance and their girdled silhouette, but notice their superior attitude, their knowing glance.  The older models of the 1950s looked like they could handle the world."   Twiggy, Mary Quant and Betsy Johnson come off rather badly, nay juvenile after such worldly allure.

Finally, and I'm not sure how old Linda P is, but this surely is my conclusion:  "Today's culture seems to have little appreciation for what years of living can do for you.  We all know that growing older usually makes you less of an idiot.  But there's little sense today that age might endow you with sophistication, dignity, grace, stateliness, and wisdom.  Or that we might aspired to dress in a way that expresses all these qualities."  When did yesterday's Dress Doctors become today's Fashion Police?