“Dress may be called the speech of the body,” says Mrs. Haweis.
A woman’s dress should be so much the expression of herself that,
seeing it, we think not of the gown, but of the woman who is its soul.
The true art of dress is reached when it serves only to heighten the
charms of the wearer, not to draw attention from her to center upon
her garments. One writer on beauty in dress claims that “the object is
threefold: to cover, to warm, to beautify,” and in dealing with this
latter point farther says that, “rather than to beautify, it is to
emphasize beauty.” To this statement should be added that its mission
is also to minimize or do away with defects.
Most dressing is done to enhance the beauty of the face, but women
should remember that the tint of the complexion, the color of hair and
eyes, are but a small part of the _personnel_. The physique must be
taken into account. The “type” is a fact fixed and inevitable, and the
woman is wise who sets herself steadfastly to “develop and emphasize
its beauties and overshadow and efface its defects.”
It is only by real study that a woman grows to understand and analyze
her “type” and suit all accessories to her own personality; to adjust,
as it were, her “relations.” Art, after all, is simply, as Edmund
Russell admirably defines it, “relations, the right thing in the right
place.”
Study your own individuality and assert it in your dress. “No woman
need be ugly if she knows her own points,” and some points of
attractiveness every woman has. Lord Chesterfield, that cynical man of
the world, assures us that “no woman is ugly when she is well dressed.”
That is, dressed with reference to revealing good points and concealing
weak ones. Time spent in this study is gain, when one remembers in
how many ways actual outward ugliness is an impediment. “The greater
portion of ill-tempered, ugly women are ill-tempered simply because
they believe themselves hopelessly ugly.” A woman, finding her fairer
friends constantly preferred despite her vain attempts to please, grows
disheartened, then sarcastic, envious, ill-tempered, half unconsciously.
“Knowledge is power; beauty and knowledge combined are well-nigh
all-powerful.”
Stout and Thin.
Texture, color and form must all be considered in relation to the
personal appearance or “type.” The beautiful in itself is not always a
safe guide, but its beauty in relation to the wearer must be the test.
Fair, delicate, slender women make a great mistake when they overweigh
themselves with rich, heavy fabrics, no matter how beautiful these
may be in themselves. Instead, they should keep to clinging, draping
materials, sheer lawns and shining silks.
On the contrary, the very stout woman may wear all manner of rich
gownings that fall in gracious massive folds. Clad thus, her size
will have about it a restful element of repose. Let her beware of
closely fitted gowns. These tend to enhance the size they are supposed
to conceal. Watteau or Princess robes falling from the shoulder in
unbroken lines render her imposing. Little ruffles should be avoided,
or frills of lace, and whatever drapery there be should fall from
shoulder or hip; this gives long curving undulations that follow every
movement.
The stout woman should leave black satin severely alone; reflecting the
light, it reveals form and size relentlessly. “Revealed form is vulgar,
suggested form poetic,” says the high art of to-day, and who would not
be poetic and gracious if she could? “If stout women,” declares Edmund
Russell, “would learn to move in grand, slow rhythm, and wear textures
so heavy that the lines of their figures were concealed, they would
have a grandeur and dignity that no slender woman could hope to attain.”
Women must recognize their defects before they can hope to correct
them. A tall, angular woman must adopt soft, fleecy materials, so made
that they can float and curve about all ungraceful angles, hiding, or
softening them. She of a deficient figure must never wear a plain,
tightly fitting gown, unless it is relieved, and filled out with soft
full vests, or veiled with falling folds of lace.
There is only an occasional perfect form that will bear the merciless
revelation of the plain, tight habit, and even then the suggestion of
a concealing drapery heightens the beauty of the revealed curves. “All
dress should be governed by shawl instead of glove rule,” assert the
latest canons of costume.
Tall or Short.
There are proportionately more women that are too short, than too tall.
Always a little sensitive to this defect, some try to increase their
stature by high heels, which renders their gait awkward, besides being
injurious to health. Others endeavor to add to their apparent height
by cultivating a long waist. This they do at the expense of shortening
the lower limbs, thus making themselves seem shorter than they actually
are. Others strive to attain the same end by dressing the hair high, in
this way too often adding to the apparent bulk of the head and giving a
top-heavy appearance to the figure. It is here that a full-length glass
becomes almost a necessity in the dressing-room, so that the entire
effect of the figure may be observed at once, and defects of this
nature detected at a glance. Sometimes a high ornament worn at the top
of the head apparently increases height, but beware of any bulky style.
Long lines of drapery from shoulder to foot give the effect of height.
Horizontal lines crossing the figure shorten the form.
Short, stout women, by wearing short basques that make a line about the
hips, or ruffles and puffs at the shoulders, increase their bulk and
shorten their stature.
Women too tall and slender use horizontal lines and puffed and ruffled
effects to great advantage, thus increasing the apparent size of an arm
by puffs and surrounding bands, or hips by the descriptive line of a
basque.
The way of wearing the hair, also, may greatly change the whole
appearance. Worn at the nape of the neck it is domestic; lower,
romantic; on a level with the head, classic; on top of the head,
stylish.
Decorations.
A tenet of Delsartean art asserts that, “A decoration is to make
something else beautiful and must not assert, but sacrifice itself.
Ornament that has no use whatever is never, in any high sense,
beautiful.”
A trimming with no reason for being is generally ungraceful. Buttons
which fasten nothing should never be scattered over a garment. Bows,
which are simply strings tied together, should only be placed where
there is some possible use for strings tied together. In short,
according to Mrs. Haweis, “Anything that looks useful, and is useless,
is in bad taste.” For instance, the dress imitating a peasant or a
fishwife is never so graceful or piquant as the real costume, since the
handkerchief covering the peasant’s bare neck is much more picturesque
than a bodice trimmed in form of a kerchief.
Slashes are at all times a most beautiful decoration. At shoulder,
elbow, breast, edge of a flattened cap, the knees, cut just where a
devotee of comfort might cut them to give more freedom of movement.
The slash forms an unrivalled opportunity for displays of color. Deep
blue, parting to display a glimpse of amber, white through black, the
combinations are endless, and the whole gives the idea of a glimpse of
an undergarment through an outer one. The contrast of a lining of vest,
sleeve or panel is also a harmonious ornament.
Decollete Costume.
It is not the province of this work to decide the vexed question of the
low-cut bodice for full dress. In this respect every woman will be a
law unto herself, and every woman knows in her own mind the border line
below which the corsage should not fall. All, however, do not know how
greatly the hard, horizontal line of the low-cut bodice diminishes the
appearance of height. Herein lies the great advantage of the heart or
square-shaped opening showing the throat, since a dress high behind, or
on the shoulders, gives all the height. Last, but not least, all the
lovely curves of the throat are shown in this way, and any suspicion of
angularity of the collar bone is hidden.
A dress should never end directly upon the skin. The line of contact
should always be softened by an edge of lace, tulle, or ruching. First,
for the idea of cleanliness; second, because “nature abhors sharp
edges.” In flowers there are contrasts of color, but they are always
softened, each shade stealing a little from the other as they blend.
A regularly _decolleté_ gown is properly worn only during the same
hours that a gentleman’s dress suit is donned, that is, “from dusk to
dawn.”
Sharp edges should be avoided as much as possible in the entire
costume. A glove that ends exactly at the wrist bone, or a boot at
the ankle joint, with a straight line, is always ugly; so are dresses
when they are cut in a circle close to the juncture of the neck with
the shoulder, giving the neck a decapitated appearance. The line of
contrast should always be softened with an edge of lace, or a necklace,
and only round, pretty throats should dare such a display.
The skirt ought to appear, even if it is not, as a portion and a
continuance of the bodice. That is, “if the bodice be cut to fit
the figure tightly, the skirt ought properly to be plainly gored. If
the bodice be full at the waist line, the skirt also should contain
fullness, for this form signifies a loose, full garment bound at the
waist with a girdle.”
Full waists and plain skirts, or _vice versa_, betray at once that
skirt and bodice do not belong to each other. This course, however,
is admissible at times, for instance, in case of the lovely, loose
tea-jackets worn now, or in donning any cool lawn blouse, or dressing
sacque for comfort.
The trained skirt is a most graceful garb, adding to height and
diminishing stoutness, but it is never suitable for the street. For
house, evening or carriage toilets it is eminently proper and pretty.
All the movements of the form are softened and dignified by its
sweeping undulations until one comes to feel that short skirts are
really a mistake for a house gown, since so much grace and beauty of
motion are sacrificed thereby.
Graceful Sleeves.
Few women have beautiful arms above the elbow. Fatness is not
correctness of form, so that a short sleeve, no sleeve, or the painful
strap which is all so many evening dresses can boast, is by no means
always a thing of beauty.
A sleeve that falls in lace and frills just below the elbow hides many
defects, besides softening, and rendering delicate, the lower arm and
the hand.
A sleeve long enough to turn upward as a cuff, is much more effective
than a simulated cuff, just as the thing itself is always better than
an imitation. A sleeve that stops short at the wrist joint should be
relieved by lace to be artistic.
Full sleeves improve every form. The very stout should never make the
mistake of wearing a very tight sleeve, since to do so simply increases
the apparent size of the arm. A full sleeve bound to the arm between
joints gives an impression of comfort and beauty like the slashed
sleeve before mentioned.
Painters have immortalized beautiful sleeves, as well as beautiful
costumes. Indeed, to decide on really beautiful gowns one must study
the great masters—Gainsborough, Reynolds, Watteau—until the study of
costume becomes what it should be—a study of art.
Purchasing.
There should never be trying contrasts in the quality of the various
articles that go to make up the sum-total of dress. To expend almost
the entire allowance on a gorgeous bonnet that puts every other detail
of the costume to blush, or to wear a shabby cloak with an elegant gown
are examples of injudicious expenditure.
Instead, let it be remembered how many articles must be purchased and
then so expend the sum to be drawn upon that it will not be exhausted
on two or three expensive articles to the neglect of the necessary
accessories.
An important point to be considered is the surroundings in which the
garments are to be worn. Whether one is to drive over country roads
or walk city streets; whether they must last one season or more. In
this latter case care should be taken to choose quiet colors and
inconspicuous patterns.
If the gown must serve many purposes let it be of some plain wool
goods, tastefully made, hat and gloves harmonizing in tint, the whole
bearing the imprint of the true lady and suitable for almost any
occasion. At the same time the entire outfit will have cost no more
than the dearly-purchased silk gown that left no margin for hat,
gloves, or shoes, and must be worn on every occasion, suitable or
unsuitable, to the discomfort of the wearer and the ruin of the gown.
If riding about in the country, choose wool fabrics that will not
crease easily, or show dust, and for summer, cotton materials that will
come bright and fresh from the hands of the laundress.
The Young Girl.
Sweet simplicity alone should be the guide for the young girl’s
costume. The dewy bloom of the cheek, the clear young eyes, the soft
rosebud lips, the sweet curves of the lithe form that come but once in
a lifetime, are what we want most to see.
No heavy velvets or gorgeous trimmings should be worn by any girl under
twenty-one. To call attention to her ornaments is to detract from her
priceless ornament of sweet and fleeting youth.
Simple muslins and wools, soft, clinging silks and gauzes should be
worn. Flowers are preferable to jewels. A necklace of pearls may be
worn, should the complexion warrant, but other than this is a waste of
money, and a waste of beauty.
Soft colors, where the skin permits, simplicity in cut, little if any
trimming, and we have the costume most fitting for a girl to wear, and
when we say “fitting” we have found the key to perfect dressing.
Diamonds and Precious Stones.
Women seem to look upon diamonds as a sort of social _parole_, while,
in truth, there are but few women who can wear them without detracting
from their own brilliancy; without sacrificing themselves to their
jewels.
Dark, brilliant eyes and dazzling teeth may wear them safely, or, very
clear, cool skins with bright, blue eyes may dare them at their own
risk. Yet, to “tip the ear with diamond fire” is sure to call attention
from the best points of the face, and in too many cases simply effaces
and outshines the face itself.
Edmond Russell severely criticises diamond solitaires for earrings and
esteems the stone a difficult one to wear except when small and used in
quantities as settings for other jewels.
The secret of good taste in jewels is for a woman to seek out those
gems whose colors harmonize with or heighten her own tints, as she does
the shades for her gown, and confine herself to them. It is quite the
thing now to have a special stone, as it is to have a special perfume.
For instance, the turquoise is very becoming to some (it is Mrs.
Langtry’s stone), garnets or rubies to others. The pearl, where it can
be worn, softens the face more than any other jewel. The moonstone is
very nearly as effective, as well as the beautiful opal. Rings, some
authorities say, should be worn in barbaric profusion or not at all. A
slender, beautifully modeled hand can afford to be guiltless of rings.
One less perfect in shape, but white, can be enhanced in charm by a
blaze of jewels.
Plump Women.
In the days of the painter Rubens stout women were the most fashionable
creatures that walked the face of the earth. Rubens would paint none
other than those of very firm build, and so artistically did he drape
them, so cleverly did he pose them, and so well did he color them, that
every woman aspired to sit for his pictures. To be painted by Rubens
was a guarantee of beauty, grace and feminine loveliness of every
description.
The Rubens woman is a stout woman of good figure. Stout women nearly
always have fine forms. Their bust line is good. It is low and the neck
curve full, even if not very long. The Rubens artist makes the most of
these good points and conceals others.
In modern times, however, the stout woman finds that the fashions are
rarely meant for her. In view of this, a number of wealthy New York
women have banded themselves together in a Rubens Club, with one of its
chief aims the designing of dresses for the members. For this purpose a
professional designer is chosen, an artist of no mean merit.
The president of the Rubens Club, who is a woman of beauty and wealth
and great loveliness of manner, had the honor of having the first gown
designed for herself. This was an evening robe of great beauty, a
regular Rubens gown.
The materials were dead white cashmere and dull black satin, with a
very little lace and jet. The under gown, or the gown itself, more
strictly speaking, fell from the shoulders in a long, loose robe. In
the front there was a center trimming of black satin and lace and a
heavy ruffle of lace outlined the bust and suggested the waist. A few
jets were added. The back fitted closely, and around the foot extended
a deep band of the black.
Over the Rubens gown fell a robe of the satin. It was caught at each
shoulder and fell into a train three feet long when the wearer walked.
In repose it lay around her feet, giving her height and a becoming
setting.
The good points of this gown are, first, the way it showed off the very
plump neck of the wearer. The fine throat line was visible, but at the
shoulders, where too much massiveness takes the place of fine firm
flesh, the robe was draped. The arms were likewise covered at the top,
their thickest part, and, as the robe fell over them when in repose,
much of their apparent size disappeared.
The robe had one very odd feature. The train was a doublet one. The
back of the robe was little more than walking length, but the ends were
very long indeed. This made a square court train like a monarch’s robe,
and could be easily brought front by the hand, for trimming or drapery
when the wearer was not walking.
Black Satin and Sparkling Jets.
In choosing the color of the gown to be snow-white instead of cream
color, the artist knew what he was specifying. White is a diminishing
color, while cream color enlarges. The same with black satin. Satin,
being full of lights and shades, is uncertain in size, and it is
preferable to silk or velvet, which makes the person thicker. The jets
are dressy, wicked little ornaments that wink at you unexpectedly and
disappear.
Much pains are taken in choosing colors, and then comes the artist’s
real work. The hardest thing is to fit out his patrons with street
gowns that will be conventional, and yet Rubenesque. To do this he
takes advantage of the cape idea. A stout woman in a neat fitting
gown, not too close under the bust, looks picturesque with a golf cape
swinging from one shoulder. It gives her height. The dolmans that open
in front and fall low at each side are admirable also, according to his
ideas.