Dressing-rooms and closets should be necessities, not luxuries, but
alas! our architects' ideas of the importance of large bedrooms have
made it almost impossible to incorporate the proper closets and
dressing-places a woman really requires.
In the foregoing chapter on bedrooms I advised the division of a large
bedroom into several smaller rooms: ante-chamber, sitting-room,
sleeping-room, dressing-room and bath. The necessary closets may be
built along the walls of all these little rooms, or, if there is
sufficient space, one long, airy closet may serve for all one's personal
belongings. Of course, such a suite of rooms is possible only in large
houses. But even in simple houses a small dressing-room can be built
into the corner of an average-sized bedroom.
In France every woman dresses in her _cabinet de toilette_; it is one of
the most important rooms in the house. No self-respecting French woman
would dream of dressing in her sleeping-room. The little _cabinet de
toilette_ need not be much larger than a closet, if the closets are
built ceiling high, and the doors are utilized for mirrors. Such an
arrangement makes for great comfort and privacy. Here I find that most
of my countrywomen dress in their bedrooms. I infinitely prefer the
separate dressing-room, which means a change of air, and which can be
thoroughly ventilated. If one sleeps with the bedroom windows wide open,
it is a pleasure to have a warm dressing-room to step into.
I think the first thing to be considered about a dressing-room is its
utility. Here no particular scheme of decoration or over-elaboration of
color is in place. Everything should be very simple, very clean and very
hygienic. The floors should not be of wood, but may be of marble or
mosaic cement or clean white tiles, with a possible touch of color. If
the dressing-room is bathroom also, there should be as large a bath as
is compatible with the size of the room. The combination of
dressing-room and bathroom is successful only in those large houses
where each bedroom has its bath. I have seen such rooms in modern
American houses that were quite as large as bedrooms, with the supreme
luxury of open fireplaces. Think of the comfort of having one's bath and
of making one's toilet before an open fire! This is an outgrowth of our
passion for bedrooms that are so be-windowed they become
sleeping-porches, and we may leave their chill air for the comfortable
warmth of luxurious dressing-rooms.
[Illustration: By permission of the Butterick Publishing Co.
FURNITURE PAINTED WITH CHINTZ DESIGNS]
If I were giving advice as to the furnishing of a dressing-room, in as
few words as possible, I should say: "Put in lots of mirrors, and then
more mirrors, and then more!" Indeed, I do not think one can have too
many mirrors in a dressing-room. Long mirrors can be set in doors and
wall panels, so that one may see one's self from hat to boots. Hinged
mirrors are lovely for sunny wall spaces, and for the tops of
dressing-tables. I have made so many of them. One of green and gold
lacquer was made to be used on a plain green enameled dressing-table
placed squarely in the recess of a great window. I also use small
mirrors of graceful contour to light up the dark corners of
dressing-rooms.
Have your mirrors so arranged that you get a good strong light by day,
and have plenty of electric lights all around the dressing-mirrors for
night use. In other words, know the worst before you go out! In my own
dressing-room the lights are arranged just as I used to have them long
ago in my theater dressing-room when I was on the stage. I can see
myself back, front and sides before I go out. Really, it is a comfort to
be on friendly terms with your own back hair! I lay great stress on the
mirrors and plenty of lights, and yet more lights. Oh, the joy, the
blessing of electric light! I think every woman would like to dress
always by a blaze of electric light, and be seen only in the soft
luminosity of candle light--how lovely we would all look, to be sure! It
is a great thing to know the worst before one goes out, so that even the
terrors of the arc lights before our theaters will be powerless to
dismay us.
If there is room in the dressing-room, there should be a sofa with a
slip cover of some washable fabric that can be taken off when necessary.
This sofa may be the simplest wooden frame, with a soft pad, or it may
be a _chaise-longue_ of elegant lines. The _chaise-longue_ is suitable
for bedroom or dressing-room, but it is an especially luxurious
lounging-place when you are having your hair done.
A man came to me just before Christmas, and said, "Do tell me something
to give my wife. I cannot think of a thing in the world she hasn't
already." I asked, "Is she a lady of habits?" "What!" he said,
astonished. "Does she enjoy being comfortable?" I asked. "Well, rather!"
he smiled. And so I suggested a _couvre-pieds_ for her _chaise-longue._
Now I am telling you of the _couvre pieds_ because I know all women love
exquisite things, and surely nothing could be more delicious than my
_couvre-pieds._ Literally, it is a "cover for the feet," a sort of
glorified and diminutive coverlet, made of the palest of pink silk,
lined with the soft long-haired white fur known as mountain tibet, and
interlined with down. The coverlet is bordered with a puffing of French
lace, and the top of it is encrusted with little flowers made of tiny
French picot ribbons, and quillings of the narrowest of lace. It is
supposed to be thrown over your feet, fur side down, when you are
resting or having your hair done.
[Illustration: MISS MORGAN'S LOUIS XVI. DRESSING-ROOM]
You may devise a little coverlet for your own sofa, whether it be in
your bedroom, your boudoir, or your dressing-room, that will be quite
as useful as this delectable _couvre-pieds_. I saw some amusing ones
recently, made of gay Austrian silks, lined with astonishing colors and
bound with puffings and flutings of ribbon of still other colors. A
coverlet of this kind would be as good as a trip away from home for the
woman who is bored and wearied. No matter how drab and commonplace her
house might be, she could devise a gay quilt of one of the enchanting
new stuffs and wrap herself in it for a holiday hour. One of the most
amusing ones was of turquoise blue silk, with stiff flowers of violet
and sulphur yellow scattered over it. The flowers were quite large and
far apart, so that there was a square expanse of the turquoise blue with
a stiff flower at each corner. The lining was of sulphur yellow silk,
and the binding was a puffing of violet ribbons. The color fairly made
me gasp, at first, but then it became fascinating, and finally
irresistible. I sighed as I thought of the dreary patchwork quilts of
our great-grandmothers. How they would have marveled at our audacious
use of color, our frank joy in it!
Of course the most important thing in the dressing-room is the
dressing-table. I place my dressing-tables _against_ a group of windows,
not near them, whenever it is possible. I have used plate glass tops on
many of them, and mirrors for tops on others, for you can't have too
many mirrors or too strong a light for dressing. We must see ourselves
as others will see us.
My own dressing-table contains many drawers, one of which is fitted
with an ink-well, a tray for pens and pencils, and a sliding shelf on
which I write. This obviates going into another room to answer hurried
notes when one is dressing. Beside the dressing-table stands the tall
hat-stand for the hat I may be wearing that day.
When the maid prepares the dress that is to be worn, she puts the hat
that goes with the toilette on the tall single stand. Another idea is
the little hollow table on casters that can easily be slipped under the
dressing-table, where it is out of the way. All the little ugly things
that make one lovely can be kept in this table, which can have a lid if
desired, and even a lock and key. I frequently make them with a glass
bottom, as they do not get stained or soiled, and can be washed.
There are lots of little dodges that spell comfort for the dressing-room
of the woman who wants comfort and can have luxury. There is the
hot-water towel-rack, which is connected with the hot-water system of
the house and which heats the towels, and incidentally the
dressing-room. This a boon if you like a hot bath sheet after a cold
plunge on a winter's morning. Another modern luxury is a wall cabinet
fitted with glass shelves for one's bottles and sponges and powders.
There seems to be no end to the little luxuries that are devised for the
woman who makes a proper toilet. Who can blame her for loving the
business of making herself attractive, when every one offers her
encouragement?
A closet is absolutely necessary in the dressing-room, and if space is
precious every inch of its interior may be fitted with shelves and
drawers and hooks, so that no space is wasted. The outside of the closet
door may be fitted with a mirror, and narrow shelves just deep enough to
hold one's bottles, may be fitted on the inside of the door. If the
closet is very shallow, the inner shelves should be hollowed out to
admit the bottle shelves when the door is closed. Otherwise the bottles
will be smashed the first time a careless maid slams the door. This
bottle closet has been one of my great successes in small apartments,
where bathroom and dressing-room are one, and where much must be
accomplished in a small space.
In the more modern apartments the tub is placed in a recess in the wall
of the bathroom, leaving more space for dressing purposes. This sort of
combination dressing-room should have waterproof floor and wall, and no
fripperies. There should be a screen large enough to conceal the tub,
and a folding chair that may be placed in the small closet when it is
not in use.
When the bathroom is too small to admit a dressing-table and chair and
the bedroom is quite large, a good plan is the building of a tiny room
in one corner of the bedroom. Of course this little dressing-box must
have a window. I have used this plan many times with excellent results.
Another scheme, when the problem was entirely different, and the
dressing-room was too large for comfort, was to line three walls of it
with closets, the fourth wall being filled with windows. These closets
were narrow, each having a mirrored panel in its door. This is the ideal
arrangement, for there is ample room for all one's gowns, shoes, hats,
veils, gloves, etc., each article having its own specially planned shelf
or receptacle. The closets are painted in gay colors inside, and the
shelves are fitted with thin perfumed pads. They are often further
decorated with bright lines of color, which is always amusing to the
woman who opens a door. Hat stands and bags are covered with the same
chintzes employed in the dressing-room proper. Certain of the closets
are fitted with the English tray shelves, and each tray has its sachet.
The hangers for gowns are covered in the chintz or brocade used on the
hat stands. This makes an effective ensemble whether brocades or printed
cottons are used, if the arrangement is orderly and full of gay color.
[Illustration: MISS MARBURY'S CHINTZ-HUNG DRESSING-TABLE]
One of the most successful gown closets I have done is a long narrow
closet with a door at each end, really a passageway between a bedroom
and a boudoir. Long poles run the length of the closet, with curtains
that enclose a passage from door to door. Back of these curtains are
long poles that may be raised or lowered by pulleys. Each gown is placed
on its padded hanger, covered with its muslin bag, and hung on the pole.
The pole is then drawn up so that the tails of the gowns will not
touch the dust of the floor. This is a most orderly arrangement for the
woman of many gowns.
The straightaway bathroom that one finds in apartments and small houses
is difficult to make beautiful, but may be made airy and clean-looking,
which is more important. I had to make such a bathroom a little more
attractive recently, and it was a very pleasant job. I covered the walls
with a waterproof stuff of white, figured with a small black polkadot.
The woodwork and the ceiling were painted white. All around the door and
window frames I used a two-inch border of ivy leaves, also of waterproof
paper, and although I usually abominate borders I loved this one. A
plain white framed mirror was also painted with green ivy leaves, and a
glass shelf above the wash bowl was fitted with glass bottles and dishes
with labels and lines of clear green. White muslin curtains were hung at
the window, and a small white stool was given a cushion covered with
green and white ivy patterned chintz. The floor was painted white, and a
solid green rug was used. The towels were cross-stitched with the name
of the owner in the same bright green. The room, when finished, was cool
and refreshing, and had cost very little in money, and not so very much
in time and labor.
I think that in country houses where there is not a bathroom with each
bedroom there should be a very good washstand provided for each guest.
When a house party is in progress, for instance, and every one comes in
from tennis or golf or what not, eager for a bath and fresh clothes,
washstands are most convenient. Why shouldn't a washstand be just as
attractively furnished as a dressing-table? Just because they have been
so ugly we condemn them to eternal ugliness, but it is quite possible to
make the washstand interesting to look upon as well as serviceable. It
isn't necessary to buy a "set" of dreadful crockery. You can assemble
the necessary things as carefully as you would assemble the outfit for
your writing-table. Go to the pottery shops, the glass shops, the
silversmiths, and you will find dozens of bowls and pitchers and small
things. A clear glass bowl and pitcher and the necessary glasses and
bottles can be purchased at any department store. The French peasants
make an apple-green pottery that is delightful for a washstand set. So
many of the china shops have large shallow bowls that were made for
salad and punch, and pitchers that were made for the dining-table, but
there is no reason why they shouldn't be used on the washstand. I know
one wash basin that began as a Russian brass pan of flaring rim. With it
is used an old water can of hammered brass, and brass dishes glass
lined, to hold soaps and sponges. It is only necessary to desire the
unusual thing, and you'll get it, though much searching may intervene
between the idea and its achievement.
The washstand itself is not such a problem. A pair of dressing-tables
may be bought, and one fitted up as a washstand, and the other left to
its usual use.
In the Colony Club there are a number of bathrooms, but there are also
washstands in those rooms that have no private bath. Each bathroom has
its fittings planned to harmonize with the connecting bedroom, and the
clear glass bottles are all marked in the color prevailing in the
bedroom. Each bathroom has a full-length mirror, and all the
conveniences of a bathroom in a private house. In addition to these
rooms there is a long hall filled with small _cabinets de toilette_
which some clever woman dubbed "prinkeries." These are small rooms
fitted with dressing-tables, where out-of-town members may freshen their
toilets for an occasion. These little prinkeries would be excellent in
large country houses, where there are so many motoring guests who come
for a few hours only, dust-laden and travel-stained, only to find that
all the bedrooms and dressing-rooms in the house are being used by the
family and the house guests.
A description of the pool of the Colony Club is hardly within the
province of this chapter, but so many amazing Americans are building
themselves great houses incorporating theaters and Roman baths, so many
women are building club houses, so many others are building palatial
houses that are known as girls' schools, perhaps the swimming-pool will
soon be a part of all large houses. This pool occupies the greater part
of the basement floor of the Club house, the rest of the floor being
given over to little rooms where one may have a shampoo or massage or a
dancing lesson or what not before or after one's swim. The pool is
twenty-two by sixty feet, sunken below the level of the marble floor.
The depth is graded from four feet to deep water, so that good and bad
swimmers may enjoy it. The marble margin of floor surrounding the pool
is bordered with marble benches, placed between the white columns. The
walls of the great room are paneled with mirrors, so that there are
endless reflections of columned corridors and pools and shimmering
lights. The ceiling is covered with a light trellis hung with vines,
from which hang great greenish-white bunches of grapes holding electric
lights. One gets the impression of myriads of white columns, and of
lights and shadows infinitely far-reaching. Surely the old Romans knew
no pleasanter place than this city-enclosed pool.