LES AMERICAINES
Many Americans swing round the calendar with the fashionable
Parisiennes. Some of them, having married into the innermost circles
of the French aristocracy, belong to the most exclusive French set and
jealously guard their privileges, associating little with their own
countrywomen of the American colony, for there is a world of difference
between the Parisian social standing of the American woman who has
married into an aristocratic French family and the American woman of
the American colony. The latter may be brilliant, popular, and rich,
may entertain extravagantly and live in a whirl of gaiety; but, as
a rule, there are certain Parisian salons to which she has not the
entrée, certain doors stubbornly closed to her, despite her beauty
and wit and wealth. There are exceptions, of course, but, generally
speaking, the hostess of the American colony does not have upon her
visiting list the names of the greatest ladies of the French set. Her
dinners cost more than any given in the Faubourg St. Germain, her
cotillion favours are a nine days' Parisian wonder, she draws round
her a wealthy and amusing circle of fellow Americans and foreigners,
but she has not the open sesame to French doors which other Americans
have gained by marriage,--paying dearly sometimes for their social
privileges.
The American colony is a shifting, transient thing, changing
continually, yet always the same in its general character and always
an important factor in Parisian life. Americans living in other parts
of Europe drift into Paris at some seasons to swell this colony, or
join the crowd on the Riviera or on the Normandy coast; and then there
is always the casual visitor, the American who runs over to Europe for
frocks or frivolity, but makes no pretence of living abroad.
Among this last group are a majority of the smartest folk of American
society, and a number of these passing visitors are accorded social
honours seldom granted to the resident American in Paris. It is
among these women, too, that the Parisian tradesmen find their most
profitable patrons, and a large percentage of the loveliest confections
turned out by the great dressmakers of Paris is carried away in the
trunks of private American customers.
It would be hard to overestimate the importance of the American woman
in the Parisian fashion scheme. She pays out more money to the famous
dressmakers and milliners of Paris than all of their other private
patrons taken together; and, even when she herself is not of the
class that does its shopping in Paris, still she swells the receipts
of Paris tradesfolk, for in order to satisfy her tastes an army of
American buyers goes to Paris twice a year and carries home French
materials, French models, and French ideas, which will be incorporated
into the output of all American caterers to woman's vanity, from the
manufacturer of inexpensive, ready-made frocks to the swellest of New
York dressmakers.
In 1893, Worth went to the trouble of looking up Parisian dress
statistics and found that the value of the material consumed annually
in France for women's dress was two hundred million dollars; that one
hundred million dollars' worth was supplied to the Parisian dressmakers
and that the American share of the whole amount was more than that of
all other countries counted together. The statistics also showed that
fully one half of the Parisian dressmakers' sales was carried off in
personal luggage,--which, of course, means private sales.
All this figuring was done thirteen years ago and at that time the
sales had increased two hundred and fifty per cent within twenty-five
years. Since then the rate of increase has been even greater. American
extravagance in dress has advanced in great leaps, and M. Worth's
figures would doubtless seem small if compared with to-day's statistics.
The dressmakers of Paris are, of course, disinclined to give
information concerning the amounts of money paid to them by their
private customers, but they are willing enough to give estimates
without names attached, and the extravagant expenditures of certain
wealthy Americans are common gossip in the dressmaking circles of Paris.
The most important single order for dress ever placed in Europe came
from an American source, but, for certain private reasons, it did not
find its way to Paris, and there was weeping, wailing, and gnashing of
teeth, mixed with the buzzing gossip of the Parisian ateliers when the
facts concerning this famous order leaked out.
A bride's trousseau was the occasion for the spectacular outlay, and
Drecoll of Vienna was the lucky dressmaker. Just what the bill amounted
to, the firm has never been indiscreet enough to confess; but well
authenticated reports place the sum at two hundred thousand dollars,
and rumour runs it up to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
The items were enumerated in the order, but carte blanche was given in
every case and all that was demanded was that each garment should be
as nearly perfect for its purpose as the firm could make it. Life has
nothing better to offer an artist dressmaker than an opportunity such
as this, and the Viennese firm endeavoured to live up to the situation.
There was, for example, a certain long cloth coat on the list. It was
to be green, of a shade indicated, and it was to have for trimming
six Imperial Russian sable skins. The skins were to be of the finest
quality and perfectly matched. No limit was set to the price. A simple
matter this, in the estimation of the novice, but Drecoll knows better.
Three of the skins desired were obtained without trouble, a fourth was
secured after some search, a fifth was found far from Vienna, but the
sixth proved a will-o'-the-wisp. Buyers chased it from one end of
Europe to another. There were plenty of superb sables, but not one to
match perfectly the other five, and the maker's faith was pledged, his
blood was up. St. Petersburg, Nijni Novgorod, Leipsic, Paris, London,
all the great fur markets knew the hunters of that sixth skin, and
the quarry was finally run to earth and added to the collar of the
unassuming coat provided for an American bride. Not one person out of a
thousand could have gauged the value of the furs, could have understood
the perfection with which they were matched, but one can imagine that
a dressmaking establishment does not organize an all-Europe sable hunt
for any small sum.
In that matter of furs, our American women have become recklessly
lavish. Everyone can remember the time when even the most fashionable
of society women considered one sealskin coat a cherished possession
justifying pride. Now, women of the multi-millionaire set will buy a
twenty-thousand-dollar sable coat as nonchalantly as though it were a
linen duster. One New York importer who caters largely to the ultra
swell clique went abroad last fall commissioned to buy three sable
coats, two of which were to cost any sum up to twenty thousand dollars,
while the price of the third might soar to thirty thousand if the buyer
should find what he would consider good value for that sum. There are
several forty-thousand-dollar sable coats in this country, and sets
costing from five thousand to ten thousand dollars may be counted by
the hundreds.
Moreover, the fashionable woman does not content herself with one set
of furs, but buys them to match her costumes, as she would buy a veil
or a pair of gloves, and will own perhaps a dozen sets, discarding
immediately any that begin to show wear or are not of the latest cut.
One Western woman bought five fur coats in New York this season, one
a superb affair of sable, one a motor coat, and the other three fancy
short coats trimmed in lace and embroidery. Now that no one with money
spends a summer in a warm climate, the fashionable woman's furs are in
commission all the year round, and the American, like the Parisienne,
will wear her sables over a summer frock in August, if she is where the
temperature is chilly. Naturally the wear and tear is greater than in
the old days when furs were carefully put away during half the year,
and the modern élégante's furs have to be frequently replenished.
My lady's furs are only one item of many included in her year's
wardrobe, and the other items are proportionately expensive. The heads
of establishments counting among their clientèles the wealthiest
women of New York and of the other important American cities were
consulted in the compiling of the list that follows, and were asked for
conservative estimates of the sums spent annually for goods in their
lines, by a representative woman of the very smart set. In every case
the authority consulted emphasized the fact that some of our women
spend much more than the sum mentioned, and that occasionally, for some
special reason, a customer will plunge into phenomenal extravagance.
Here is the list, which is, after all, but a fragmentary one, for it
is hard to estimate upon the thousand and one little things of dress:
Evening gowns $3,500
Dinner gowns 3,500
Carriage and reception gowns 3,000
Street frocks 2,500
Automobile and sports 1,500
Negligées 1,500
Lingerie 2,500
Fur 2,000
Gloves, parasols, hosiery, neckwear, etc. 2,500
Hats 1,200
-------
$23,700
The reader who has not looked into the matter may consider this sum
total an exaggerated one; but, on the contrary, it is, while of course
only approximate, a very modest average made up from the figures
furnished by reliable tradesfolk in positions warranting their speaking
authoritatively. Furs, for instance, set down at two thousand dollars
a year, sometimes mount to forty thousand in one season. Twenty-five
hundred dollars may seem an appalling amount to pay out for lingerie
during the year, but one authority quoted four thousand dollars and
another thirty-five hundred, and both added that there were New
York women who spent even more than that. At Mademoiselle Corne's
place,--perhaps the most fashionable of the lingerie establishments
of Paris, an inquirer was shown several trunkfuls of fine lingerie
ready to be sent to an American customer, and among the items were
sets of three pieces priced at nine hundred francs (one hundred and
eighty dollars), lingerie tea-jackets at four hundred francs, lingerie
petticoats at three hundred and fifty francs. At that rate twenty-five
hundred dollars will not go so very far, and in this day of lingerie
marvellously embellished with handwork and real lace, prices mount to
surprising heights.
The elaborate negligée is of comparatively recent acceptance in
America, but now the boudoir gown and tea-gown are considered important
by chic Americans, and five hundred dollars is no unusual price for an
exquisite tea-gown. One New York woman bought three at that price from
a Paris maker last fall, so fifteen hundred dollars is surely a mild
figure for the year's negligées.
Twenty-five hundred dollars will not begin to pay for the gloves, silk
stockings, parasols, fans, and such little accessories bought by a
woman of the class under consideration, during a year and no estimate
has been made upon jewels, for there the scale may slide to any figure.
All this expert testimony as to the extravagance of the American woman
of fashion may vex the souls of the righteous and lead the philosopher
and student of social economy to gloomy prophecy concerning the future
of American society, but the moralizing may be done elsewhere. Here
is only a statement of facts, and it is undeniably a fact that the
fashionable women of America spend more upon personal luxuries than
any other class in the world, save only a small group of Parisian
demi-mondaines.
It is not only the New York woman who is extravagant, though since
wealth is concentrated there, that city is the headquarters of the
spenders. The spirit has spread all over our country, and wherever one
finds great American fortunes, there one finds the woman of the costly
frocks and furs and jewels.
The largest single order ever placed with a Parisian dressmaker was
given to Worth by a Chicago woman--and an elderly woman, not socially
conspicuous despite her wealth. Twenty-five trunks were used for
shipping the order, and one hundred and forty expensive garments were
packed into the trays. Every city of importance and a host of the small
towns are represented upon the books of the Paris houses. The City of
Mexico has a clique of society women famous for dress, and the South
American trade is considered very important in Paris. Dwellers in the
States have a "magerful" fashion of appropriating the term American for
their own private use, and appear to harbour a vague general idea that
south of Palm Beach and Miami a bead necklace is the accepted costume;
but the tradesfolk of Paris know better. Crowds of wealthy South
Americans flock into Paris each summer and spend money lavishly upon
clothes, jewels, and all the other luxuries of a prodigal civilization.
In all the South American capitals one finds the woman of the French
frock, and Buenos Ayres, in particular, has a smart set remarkable for
the fashion and extravagance of its women.
Naturally it is not only in the province of clothes the money-spending
mania of America asserts itself. Among Americans of wealth the cost of
living has swelled to a startling figure. Numerous magnificent homes
equipped with every luxury that money can buy, entertainment on a
princely scale, servants by the score, horses, carriages, automobiles,
steam-yachts,--all these are the necessities of the multi-millionaire
who is in society. The floral decorations for a dinner or ball often
cost thousands of dollars, and five hundred dollars' worth of flowers
for a small dinner in New York or Newport is no unusual order.
Cotillion favours for a large ball have been known to cost ten thousand
dollars, and thousands of dollars go to the caterer upon such an
occasion.
When the Castellanes, during their social career, spent forty thousand
dollars on one evening's entertainment, all Paris was agog, but that
sum has been far exceeded for single social functions in New York, and
from ten thousand dollars to twenty thousand dollars is no surprising
cost for a successful ball.
Every year the social standards mount higher, in point of expenditure,
and new methods of getting rid of money are added to the already long
list. The motor, for example, has added from fifteen thousand to twenty
thousand dollars to the annual expenditure of numerous wealthy men
who have motor mania in its acute form, buy many superb cars, employ
expensive machinists and chauffeurs, build fine garages, and race their
cars.
But all this extraordinary lavishness is confined to a comparatively
small part of our population, affects but a little clique of
millionaires, and while even in smart society a large contingent is
living beyond its means, a majority of the most extravagant American
money-spenders have fortunes ample enough to justify their annual
expenditures--at least from a financial point of view. It is the
increasing extravagance in dress and luxury among the classes of more
moderate incomes that is most interesting to a social student, and the
American tendency is, proportionately, as marked here as in wealthier
circles.
All along the social line American women are spending more for dress
than ever before. Each year marks a rise in the grade of goods demanded
and sold, and manufacturers, merchants, and dressmakers all testify to
the remarkable improvement in American standards of dress during recent
years.
The rise of the ready-made frock has had much to do with bringing
about this result, and few outsiders have any conception of the growth
and importance of this industry. Forty years ago very few models were
brought to this country from Europe, and very few women even of the
wealthiest class knew much about Paris shopping. As for the woman
of humble social position she was quite out of touch with French
fashion. About thirty-eight years ago, A. T. Stewart launched the
first ready-made frocks, and record has it that they were frights.
Shortly after that there were four small establishments in the United
States manufacturing women's ready-made garments. To-day there are
forty-eight hundred houses devoted to such business in New York City
alone, and some of the largest American dressmaking factories are in
towns outside of New York,--in Cleveland, Chicago, Philadelphia, and
Baltimore. Everyone of these manufacturers sends men to Paris at least
twice during the season to buy models, obtain sketches, notes, and
ideas. Even the cheapest of the ready-made costumes to-day has in it
some faint echo of Parisian art, and there are American manufacturers
of ready-made coats and frocks who make no low-class goods at all.
If one walks into Paquin's establishment and pays five hundred dollars
for a frock, one feels that she is paying a good price, but there are
specialty houses in New York turning out ready-made models at five
hundred dollars and making nothing for less than one hundred dollars;
and these expensive costumes find ready sale.
Occasionally a woman retains the old-time prejudice against ready-made
garments and wonders why anyone will pay two or three hundred dollars
for a ready-made gown. Given a choice between a gown made to order
by Paquin and one at the same price from a New York manufacturer, it
would doubtless be the part of wisdom to take the Paquin creation; but
there is no Paquin in New York, and though there are some exceedingly
good dressmakers here, there are also many who charge high prices
without the ability to justify them. Many women who have had disastrous
experiences with such makers claim that, at least, in a ready-made
frock one can be sure of the general effect, and that if it comes from
a good maker, whether French or American, and is well cut to begin
with, it will even after alteration fit better and do more for one's
figure than a made-to-order gown from incompetent hands.
There are still cheap ready-made garments on the market, but demand for
good materials and fine workmanship is steadily growing and, through
the efforts of manufacturers to meet this demand, ideas of better
dressing have been spread broadcast.
Fortunes have been made quickly by men who have kept step with this
improvement in taste and supplied good models of Parisian design and
excellent workmanship for the American ready-made trade.
One manufacturer came to this country twelve years ago, in the
steerage, and went upon a tailor's bench at fifteen dollars a week.
He was a Russian or Polish Jew, which is equivalent to saying that
he belonged to the greatest money-making race on earth. He saved a
little money, opened workrooms. To-day he has a factory in which he
employs nine hundred men and women, he lives in a beautiful home on
Riverside Drive, he goes to business in a big automobile, he has done a
two-million-dollar business within the last year--and all in ready-made
frocks of the better grades.
There is much talk of sweat-shop labour in connection with women's
ready-made clothing, but as a matter of fact only the very cheapest of
the ready-made trade is associated with the sweat-shop. Years ago some
of the better shops declared a crusade against such labour and tabooed
the factories dealing with it. The other big firms fell in line, and
manufacturers, realizing that their trade was at stake, came up to the
mark in respect to the housing, treatment, and wages of employees.
The manufacturer of the twelve-year record has a factory absolutely
sanitary and treats his nine hundred employees admirably, even
supporting a small hotel in which he harbours any of his work folk
who may be ill or in trouble and need help. These workers are chiefly
Polish and Russian Jews and Italians, the German contingent, which was
once large, having almost disappeared, and wages are good. Competent
men tailors are always in demand and can make at least from fifteen to
eighteen dollars a week, while many of them get as high as from forty
to eighty dollars. Some of the manufacturers have salesmen on the road
at fifteen thousand dollars a year, and even pay as high as twenty-two
thousand dollars.
The buyers, too, command large salaries, and these salaried men very
frequently become manufacturers themselves or open specialty shops
for the sale of ready-made garments. One New York salesman, who has
recently gone into the retail business in a comparatively small way,
cleared one hundred thousand dollars last year and will do better
this year. Another man of ability went to the head of one of the big
dry-goods houses here and asked for a good position.
"Why don't you open workrooms of your own?" he was asked. "Haven't you
any money?"
"Only twenty-five hundred dollars."
"That's enough. Go rent some rooms. We know what you can do. Let us
know when you are ready and we'll place an order with you for four
times twenty-five hundred dollars." That was eleven years ago. The
manufacturer retired with a fortune some time since and amuses himself
now by speculating largely in real estate.
One of the few dressmaking geniuses in this country is another
manufacturer of ready-made frocks--but of the highest class models
only. He failed at first,--possibly because he _was_ a genius, but nine
years ago he took a fresh start and now he is a millionaire--but still
an artist. He takes a handful of silk and throws it at a figure, gives
it a pull here, a plait there, and voilà!--an effect better than his
rivals could obtain through careful and painstaking labour. In Paris
that man would be great. Here he is merely rich, and his million keeps
him from Paris.
All these stories of success and these business statistics merely
serve to illustrate the point with which the discussion of ready-made
clothing began, the increasing taste and extravagance of American
dress. The American woman, whether of wealth or of very moderate means,
insists upon having good clothes and is getting them.
Perhaps she buys them ready-made, perhaps she goes to Paris for them,
perhaps she has them made by dressmakers who go to Paris for their
models, but, in any case, she has them. For the same amount of money
her mother spent she will obtain better artistic results,--but she
spends more money than her mother dreamed of spending and more money
than she herself would have thought of spending ten years ago. An
education in extravagant dress comes easily to any woman, and once
educated to the topmost notch of the domestic dress production, the
Parisian frock is the American's next requirement.
There are good dressmakers on this side of the water, quite good enough
to satisfy any save the hyper-fastidious, but our best dressmakers do
not go about their business as do the best dressmakers of Paris. They
are business men or women, their French fellow craftsmen are artists.
There is in Paris the same type of dressmaker we have here, but there
is, too, the artist dressmaker who is something higher in the scale,
and it is through him that Paris is the fountain-head of fashion.
There is little original work in dress here. Good workmanship we have.
Our plain tailor work, for example, is the best in the world; but our
makers are content to copy French ideas and French models and they
have no such high standards as have the sponsors of those models. The
Irish-American dressmaker is said to be, next to the French, the best
in the world, but she adapts, she does not create. Perhaps in Paris she
too might soar, but here she copies French models well, makes money,
and is content.
In the early spring and in August there is a migration of American
dressmakers. By the hundred they go to Paris, and buyers from all over
the country swell the crowd. Some of the important buyers have set sail
long before, but they are men who represent extensive interests, with
whom buying is a fine art and to whose expense account the home firm
sets no limitations.
One American buyer, representing the largest importer of model gowns
and cloaks in this country, a man better known, perhaps, than any of
his profession, in the famous Parisian ateliers, sees the models in
these ateliers before the ordinary buyer is given a glimpse of them.
Yet even then they are no new things to him. He has seen all of their
most striking features before.
He does not drop into Paris with the buying flock, visit the great
dressmaking establishments, and accept as law and gospel whatever
chances to be shown there. He knows what is what. The dressmakers know
that he knows and treat him accordingly.
For months he has been on a still hunt for the fashions of the spring
that is yet distant. He stopped in Madeira at the very beginning of the
winter season, for he knows, as the Parisian dressmakers know, that an
exclusive little coterie of the world's smartest folk begins its winter
with a few weeks in Madeira, and that in the Funchal toilettes are to
be found many hints that will become laws when springtime comes to
Paris.
Early in December the hunter follows the trail to Algiers and on to
Cairo, though since the automobile has made Italian touring a fad, many
of the smart folk spend a part of their winter in motoring, and the
Algiers and Cairo seasons are not quite what they were as gathering
places for the fashion clans.
A little later the cream of the fashionable world is on the Riviera,
and our buyer haunts the Monte Carlo Casino during February. No
smallest fashion straw escapes his watchful eye. He knows the fashion
leaders of all Europe and America by sight. He can cap each striking
costume with the name of the wearer, and, probably with the name of
the maker, and he uses his time profitably until, late in the month,
the birds of fine feathers take wing once more. It is almost time for
Auteuil and, from all over the world, fashionable folk are pouring into
Paris.
Spring models are on view there in the great ateliers, and this
American receives respectful attention at the hands of the dressmakers,
for his orders will be large--and have been large for many years past.
Moreover, he has by this time a very good idea of what he wants, and
he will demand exclusive models instead of taking the models prepared
for the majority of the dressmaking and buying pilgrims. He knew
many of the autocrats of fashion when they first put up their signs
and, through the advertisement and backing of his firm, many a Paris
dressmaker now famous obtained the American clientèle that was the
foundation of his fortunes.
A valuable customer this, and there are other Americans of his class
who see the best that Paris has to offer. Some of the more important
American dressmakers also place large orders, insist upon exclusive
models, and are greeted impressively by the saleswomen; but the most of
the crowd buys as little as possible and sees as much as it can, and
the saleswomen, fully alive to this fact, make a point of allowing the
minor dressmakers to see as little as is consistent with courteous
treatment. Often a group of little dressmakers will form a syndicate
to buy one model and will go together to the great establishment.
There, being really buyers, they are politely received, and they all
take mental notes of every fashion hint that comes their way during
the visit. They study Paris fashions, too, wherever they are to be
seen, on the streets, in the theatres, at the restaurants; and during
their summer visit they perhaps run up to Trouville to see the fashion
show there. They have a jolly time as well as a profitable one, and
after a few weeks come home to spread French fashion news from Maine
to California, and furnish such adaptations of what they have seen as
their varying abilities can accomplish.
The clever buyer usually stays on in Paris after the crowd of his
countrymen and of European dressmakers has departed; for the more
exclusive models and ideas are reserved for the delectation of the chic
Parisienne and the private buyer, and he wants to see what is offered
to this clientèle as well as what is shown to the trade. Finally he
too sails for home, where much of his plunder has arrived before him.
American women often wear a Parisian mode before it has been worn in
Paris, and this is especially true of autumn modes; for Parisiennes are
still away from Paris when American dressmakers and buyers are securing
and sending over their autumn models, and, too, an American woman
travelling in Europe for the summer may buy her fall outfit in Paris
during August, bring it home and begin wearing it in September, before
Parisiennes have left the seashore and settled down to thought of fall
clothes. This applies, however, chiefly to the few American fashion
leaders, and a radical Parisian mode seldom achieves actual popularity
in America before late in the season or perhaps the following season.
The models have been brought over and shown, have been bought and worn
by the knowing and courageous; but the great crowd of American women
is slightly conservative and hesitates to take up any radical Parisian
fad until after the novelty has become somewhat familiar through being
exploited by the ultra-fashionable few.
One of the greatest Parisian dressmakers said recently in a private
conversation that he never felt confident of general popularity for an
original and striking model until after seeing it upon one or two of
his most chic American customers.
"I do not know what it is," he said, "but there is something
distinctive about the way an American wears her clothes,--a grace,
an elegance, but also a naturalness. A Frenchwoman has a genius for
dress, but she makes up for her toilette. She is supremely artificial;
she will wear anything that is launched and make herself up to fit the
mode. Your American doesn't do that. She wears her clothes superbly,
but the clothes must be of a kind she can wear. That a Parisienne looks
well in a model means nothing as an indication of what women in general
will think of the innovation; but when I put the model upon one of my
best American customers, I know at once what to expect. They are lovely
in their chiffons, those Americans, provided they have possibilities
of loveliness. It is a pleasure to dress them."
There are American women who go to Paris regularly three times a year
to replenish their wardrobes, and these private American customers
are the apple of the dressmaker's eye. Madame will perhaps be in
Paris only a few days. Everything is made to bend to her fittings,
her own particular saleswoman gives up the days to her, the heads of
the departments are called in for advice and assistance, the master
himself gives the frocks his personal attention. There is a couch in
the private fitting-room upon which Madame may lie down if she becomes
tired, the daintiest of luncheons will be served to her there if she
has not time or inclination to go elsewhere. Everything is made so
smooth, so agreeable, and if the bills are large, what is that to
the wife or daughter of an American multi-millionaire? There are New
York women whose dressmaking bills in Paris run up to fifty and sixty
thousand dollars in one year, but who could afford to spend five
hundred thousand a year on clothes if they chose to do it.
Occasionally nowadays a fashion originates in America and crosses to
Paris. The tourist coat with loose belted back, the long tailored coat,
the walking skirt, the floating veil--all these were worn in New York
and later taken up by smart Parisiennes, but the fashion tide usually
sets the other way, and we accept slavishly what Paris furnishes.
The great French dressmakers to a certain extent control the fashions,
but they work with the manufacturers. One will see the head of a great
silk factory sitting at a table with Beer or Paquin or Doeuillet in
the Café de Paris, and talking earnestly, seriously. Materials for the
future season are being weighed in the balance. The artist dressmaker
is the manufacturer's critic, his guide, philosopher, and friend, and
in this close connection lies one of the secrets of artistic French
dressmaking. In Paris one can always obtain the wherewithal to carry
out an idea. If necessary the manufacturer will make the material
expressly for Monsieur's purpose, and many an exquisite fabric has
begun and ended with one length run through the loom. The dressmaker
and his customer wanted that especial thing and wanted the gown to
be absolutely unique. Expense was not considered and one can obtain
anything in Paris if one will pay for it. Once an order came from a
great lady in Rome. She wanted a ball gown such as she described for
a certain occasion. The maker had only three days' time in which to
execute the order, and the quantities of white pansies which must
absolutely be the trimming were not to be found in Paris. Discouraging?
Not in the least. Monsieur set a multitude of flower-makers at work
making white pansies for him. The frock was finished and sent from
Paris to Rome by a special messenger. Time was too short to admit of
experiments with express companies.
When the American dressmaker or professional buyer chooses a model,
cards to the manufacturers who furnished the fabric and trimmings
for the frock are given her and she buys the materials for as many
duplicates of the model as she expects to make. She buys other
materials, too, laces, buttons, novelties of all kinds, that will
enable her to achieve frocks differing from those of her rivals, and
skilful Parisian buying is to-day a very vital part of the fashionable
American dressmaker's business. Duties upon the importations are of
course tremendous, and during certain months the New York Custom House
is so choked with French chiffons that there are maddening delays in
getting the boxes through.
Paris would miss les Americaines if they should suddenly lose their
interest in French clothes, but there's no danger of that event. Paris
is the fashion centre and will continue to be the fashion centre. As
for our women--each year they grow more ardent in their worship of the
Vanities.
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Plain print and punctuation errors were corrected.