Friday, 12 July 2013

a beautiful dress, and a song for friday

First, the dress, from astro vintage. It makes me want to put on a fluffy blue suit and stumble towards it saying me want cookie; it's THAT beautiful. Don't you think you would be more assertive and competent dressed in this? And ready for anything? I do. The description mentions Joan Harris (nee Holloway). I LOVE Joan. The woman, the wardrobe...

I'd wear this dress with emerald green pumps, green earrings, and a great deal of sass. "What's that now?" etc. Or maybe just let my eyes do the talking, like Joan... No, I'll never be that woman. Better work on my sassy conversation.


And the song. I've been a fan of this song since I was a kid; it's so infectious, and so celebratory of life, and the simple act of dancing. It makes me think of women in '60s dresses and bare feet, or young girls in full skirts and flats, twisting around a bar or a summer camp hall with the same abandon. It's one of those songs that is all about the present, and that's just how a Friday afternoon should be. Week's done. Let's twist!

Thursday, 11 July 2013

Wednesday, 10 July 2013

the modern flapper

I should begin by saying I'm not a great fan of the '20s - at least not the '20s that is most often depicted and celebrated in modern times; the excessive '20s of The Great Gatsby. I've read the book twice and hated it both times; I vastly prefer Fitzgerald's Pat Hobby stories, where the protangonist is openly bitter and jaded. Don't even get me started on Tender Is The Night (oh, go on then; did you know he edited several stories out of Zelda's autobiography, which she wrote first, because he wanted to use them in it?! Yet all we hear about is how he her adored so much... I think I could do without that kind of admiration). I guess I'm not a great fan of F Scott Fitzgerald, either.

Anyway, I know the widespread fascination with '20s fashion predates Baz Luhrmann's film, but the film's influence has certainly made flapper outfits less costume-party and more red carpet, and that's been interesting. Cultural appropriation is something that really concerns me - I'll be posting about in depth next week, and one of the problems with it applies here, though in way that isn't nearly as damaging, and that's removing meaning from something so that it becomes what Jean Baudrillard called a simulacrum; a copy of a copy.

See, the original flappers were pretty awesome. What they wore was symbolic of who they were and what they wanted. American women achieved suffrage in 1920, and during that decade of relative peace and affluence came an opportunity to assert themselves, and set their sail for the times ahead. This article from Collector's Weekly (and its links) talk about who these women were, and what they did. Like many appropriated movements, the original flappers came from working class neighbourhoods and radical circles, and as a consequence were both white women AND black women (although popular history barely remembers the black flappers). They rejected restricting corsets and adopted what was considered an extremely androgynous look, with straight up and down silhouettes, and "boyish" bobs. They shocked their parents by baring their arms, and, unholiest of unholies, wearing make-up. The slatterns! They danced, they drank, they smoked, and they openly embraced sexual freedom. The flapper movement was, in all its fun, essentially a feminist movement.

That is, it began as one. By the mid '20s, corporations had latched on to the popularity of the fashion of the  movement as a way to make money, and all of a sudden women of all spheres, values, and agendas were dressing like flappers; the first wave of simulacra. Among these were the women Fitzgerald scathingly describes in Gatsby; vapid creatures who care nothing about anyone or anything. Granted, these women embraced the freedom of the flappers, but they diluted the significance of those freedoms, and used class to separate their freedom from that of women of lower classes, including the women who began the movement. The initial unity of the movement was gone.

That first wave of simulacra makes me feel really sad, especially because it's not an uncommon story. However, today we're focussing on the present: the modern flapper - the newest simulacrum. This group doesn't just dilute the significance of flapper fashion; as far as they are concerned, it has none. Taylor Swift, for example, has had me wringing my hands over many a comment to do with traditional gender roles (see her quotes about not wanting to "wear the pants" and how much she likes "handing over the reins") and her rejection of essential feminism, yet she's worn several flapper outfits. What interests me is: in spite of being copies of copies of copies, and being based in a capitalist desire to exploit a movement for profit, does modern flapper attire retain any of its original meaning? Has it been completely subverted? Or, in spite of most people's ignorance of its origins, does modern flapper fashion subvert the inconsistent values of the person who wears it and doesn't care about the feminist ideals? Does it depend on who most people identify as flappers - the original flappers, or Daisy Buchanan and Jordan Baker? Or, as with cultural artefacts, does it not matter who knows it? Should we try harder to protect (positive - the more people subverting national front gear, the better) political fashion, like flapper dresses and linen hippy shirts, from commercial exploitation?

I should point out that there are things that the flappers began/perpetuated that aren't so great or feminist (feminism = great, great = not always necessarily feminist eg photos of dogs wearing clothes), like fighting our natural body shapes for fashion. Also, this wasn't supposed to be so confusing, or raise millions of questions I'm probably not going to answer this week because I'm too busy creating an empire (aka hiding from the cold)!!! All of this came from this photo I saw on The Sartorialist, of a modern flapper whom I think looks really cool, may or may not know/care about the original flappers; may have fallen into a fountain and had to borrow this outfit from a friend who is a direct descendant of two flappers and Simone de Beauvoir.

Now I'm just rambling. Till tomorrow, friends.

Tuesday, 9 July 2013

sharing time

Did you miss me?! My break was unintentional; I played hostess and tour guide for a few days to a good friend visiting from Auckland, and thought I would have time to blog as well... underestimating how much sleep the elderly need, and how long the elderly take to recover from a night of tv and gin & tonics. It's a wild life we lead down here in Port Chalmers. And there has been DRAMA! This morning I discovered my feedly had disappeared, so I spent an hour re-filling it, and lamenting the fact that if you type in Dogtown Vintage, a million other vintage blogs pop up, even though none of them have 'dogtown' either in their title or their content. I'm tempted to create hundreds of google accounts just so I can follow the blog and improve its position, but that seems too much like something Aaron Gilmore would do... 

Anyway, to the shares.

1. We're still waiting on the builder's report and quote, but I'm getting into the design of the shop and, if you want the truth, it's a bit exciting (sentence structure a tribute to Holden Caulfield). I love community; knowing your neighbours, and saying hi to strangers, and I've always wished there was more of a hanging out on your stoop/porch culture here in New Zealand. If I had my way, shop owners would sit outside their shops on beach chairs until people came in, playing chess with each other, talking to passers-by, and yelling out to people on the other side of the street. My shop is on the first floor which means there'll be no sitting on the street for me, so instead I want to create a sitting-room in the middle of the shop, where people can come and hang out with me, or just sit quietly and read or think or draw. There's a little kitchen off the side, so I'll be able to make pots of tea, and I hope you'll come and visit me, even when you're not in the mood for shopping. There's a guy in Auckland who sets up his chess board at tables near the windows of two of the Burger Kings on Queen Street, and he looks out at people and beckons for them to come and play with him. It's sometimes sad and sometimes weird, but I always like to see him, and I love seeing people playing chess with him. I may become that man.

2. One of the things I love about vintage is that it decreases waste. I'm going to talk further about this later in the month, but suffice to say, for now, that I like things that last, and I like things that give new life to old or obsolete items - even those crazy tyre swans people make into planters. I may not want one, but boy do I respect the attempt. This morning I came across Ocean Sole on dream hampton, a Kenyan company that recycles the jandals that wash up on its beaches, threatening marine life and looking pretty awful, into cute toys and curtains and Christmas decorations. Cool.

3. There aren't many magazines I like. This is one I love. Maybe you've heard of it, but in case you haven't, may I recommend Anthology. It's pricey, but worth keeping forever (and it's a quarterly, so you won't be inundated anyway). They make a little video to go with each new issue, which I think is a really nice idea. This is the video for the second to last issue, which looks excellent.


4. It's exactly three weeks until my birthday. I'm trying not to be too excited because five people in my family have theirs first (and that's not including my Dad, whose birthday was yesterday), but it is NOT EASY. You know what else isn't easy? RESTRAINT. The internet is full things, some of which I would like, and some of which I just like to admire. If you need ideas for a present for somebody, send me an email. I have IDEAS.






















 




1. Crystal cocktail ring from Meadowlark 2. Nausea by Jean-Paul Satre  3. Variegatum Dress from Adored Vintage 4. Octopus from Fab 5. Braided Sky high Swedish Hasbeens 6. Drumkit (sketch from wikipedia) 7. Jackie Ohh by Ray Ban 8. Gav sandals by Dolce Vita at Need Supply Co 9. Beloved by Toni Morrison 10. Simulations by Jean Baudrillard 11. Magenta Cotton Cushion from Trade Aid 12. The Autobiography of Malcolm X

5. A song we've been marvelling over. How was he real? How?

Wednesday, 3 July 2013

a waiata for Rāapa

It's Te Wiki o te reo Māori, a week in which to celebrate the oft neglected one of our national languages, and to enjoy the discomfort of smug news presenters as they grapple with words they should, as part of their jobs, know how to pronounce. That sounds mean, but I love te reo and Māoritanga, and it really bugs me how so many people are content to butcher it without care but would die of shame if they mispronounced claret (although they frequently do), or camembert. There's been a bit of debate in the past few months about whether or not New Zealand is a racist country, and I think the way te reo Māori (not to mention Pacific and Asian languages) is treated compared with European languages is a prime example of the country's institutional racism. But that's a rant for another day.

For a lot of people, Te Wiki o te reo Māori just means having TV3's weather presenters use Māori place names instead of English ones (which I vastly prefer; did you know Auckland was named for a "colonial administrator" who never actually came here; thanks again, Hobson). In posting this waiata, one that is so infectious and ALWAYS makes me want to get up and dance, it's my hope that te wiki o te reo Māori becomes more than that for us this year. Many people in New Zealand worry about what they perceive as a lack of cultural identity (something I think is common to most immigrant countries); they're happy to claim the haka, and maybe to take visiting friends to a marae, but otherwise separate themselves from Māoritanga, largely because of a lack of understanding. To me, understanding comes through communication, and the easiest way to communicate is through language. So hurray for Te Wiki o te reo Māori

I defy you not to sing along with this (I've been trying to learn the words and it's not easy, but YOU CAN DO IT!), and then let's go out and give some others a go! If you're worried about people like me (and I should clarify I actually speak very little Māori, but I'm determined to change that) making fun of you after what I said about news presenters, let me assure you your worries are unfounded; those guys are supposed to know - we are trying, and people love people who are trying to get better at something! (Except maybe neighbours of people learning violin, and occassionally people driving behind learner drivers. But otherwise!!!) And if you're fluent or have just good pronunciation; don't be shy to help people out! Bad things happen to languages when good pronunciators (yes I just made that word up, but it's not English language week, so we'll continue) stay silent. Next time someone says "taw-poe", get in there! To misquote Liz Lemon, the name Waitakere need a defender!


Whaia te iti kahuranga ki te tuahu koe me he maunga teitei.
Aim for the highest cloud so that if you miss it, you will hit a lofty mountain.



Poi E

TE POI !

PATUA TAKU POI PATUA KIA RITE
PA PARA PATUA TAKU POI E !

E rere ra e taku poi poro-titi

Ti-taha-taha ra whaka-raru-raru e
Poro-taka taka ra poro hurihuri mai
Rite tonu ki te ti-wai-waka e

Ka pare pare ra pī-o-o-i-o-i a

Whaka-heke-heke e ki a kori kori e
Piki whaka-runga ra ma mui-nga mai a
Taku poi poro-titi taku poi e

Poi E whaka-tata mai

Poi E kaua he rerekē
Poi E kia piri mai ki au
Poi E-E awhi mai ra
Poi E tāpeka tia mai
Poi E o taua aroha
Poi E pai here tia ra
POI... TAKU POI E!

PATUA TAKU POI PATUA KIA RITE

PA PARA PATUA TAKU POI E !
POI... TAKU POI E !
RERE ATU TAKU POI TI TA' TAHA RA
WHAKARUNGA WHAKA RARO TAKU POI E!

Dedicated to my dear friend (and business mentor!) Heather, who loves this song and celebrates te reo Māori every week of the year.

Tuesday, 2 July 2013

tv inspiration: Colleen Donaghy

I LOVE 30 Rock. Jimmy and I have seen the entire series many times over (excluding the final episode; once was sweet sorrow enough for me), and it just doesn't get old; I actually think it stops me from feeling quite so homesick, because the characters have become like friends (I know that's weird). Liz Lemon is the most significant fictional character with whom I've felt an affinity since I first met Holden Caulfield (I KNOW). 

You wouldn't think a comedy like 30 Rock would have much in the way of notable fashion. But you'd be wrong. There's Liz's "I'm pregnant with a kitty-cat" joker-inspired get-up. There are Tracy's dollar bill shirt and solid gold shoes, and little Tracy's Chewbacca costume made from discarded hair extensions. And there's Jack's "continental" hair part.

But there's only room for one style monarch at 30 Rock, and the crown belongs to Colleen Donaghy. The furs. The hats. The glasses. The vests. The ties. And the diamonds. The only thing sharper than Colleen's outfits is her tongue.

"You're going to have to work your backside. Because chest-wise, you have the measurements of an altar boy."






"This is a disgrace! What are my chums at the Death Shore Retirement Community going to say when I tell them that my unmarried son has knocked up a Protestant?"



"My mother tried to send me to Vietnam to make a man out of me. I was twelve."


"I love my mother, Lemon, obviously because of Stockholm syndrome."

Monday, 1 July 2013

three things

I stayed in bed a long time this morning; partly because I thought I was still too sore from pine-coning yesterday (that sounds funny and potentially dirty, but I was collecting actual pine-cones; and grumpy and let loose with a hammer, I think I was pretty formidable) to get up, and partly because I was reading about Harriet Tubman... Time's a wastin', so I'll get on with it.

1. I spent most of Saturday catching up with things on Jezebel, and read that Prada has cast a black campaign model for the first time in 19 years (the last being Naomi Campbell, in 1994). Between 1993 and 2009, Prada had no black runway models either; the fashion house is notorious, even within a demonstrably racist industry, for rarely using Asian models, and even more rarely, black models. I know there is something to celebrate in this landmark casting, but the time lapse infuriates me, and I won't be featuring Prada or any other house with a similar record on this blog (or buying anything from them) until I'm convinced that something has changed. Do it with me!

I realise some people might not think diversity in fashion and advertising is such a big deal. If you're one of them, you might like to read this, also from Jezebel, about the impact an advertisement featuring a family with parents from different ethnic backgrounds has had on a woman with the same background. It's such a simple but crucial gesture; a sign of acknowledgement and acceptance, and even as a ploy to get your business, it says your business is desirable. Furthermore, for children, visibility means possibility. This was made so clear on Campbell Live a few months ago, when a primary-aged Pacific Island boy was asked to name his favourite player in the Breakers. When asked for the reason for his choice, his answer was that the player was a Pacific Islander, like him, and if he had been able to become a basketball player, maybe the boy could too.

2. There's something I really like about this couple, Sabrina and John, on Two Kools. It might be that she's a babe, and reminds me of Bianca Jagger with her ridiculous bone structure. It might be that I like to wear Jimmy's clothes, and hope they look like this on me. It might be because I love a couple in chucks (particularly when it includes a woman in hi-tops). Or it might be that they look so grown-up and sophisticated and full of genuine inner confidence that even though I would usually laugh at sunglasses like John's, not only would I not dare to do so, I might even compliment him on them out of fear (and deference to Sabrina). Yes, I am the pits.


3. This picture was on stuff on Friday, and I love it. I'm totally partial because I think Marlon Brando is a champion anyway, but his style here is ace.