As
someone whose idea of style and the power of female
sophistication was irrevocably formed by the sight
of Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not at the
age of 13, I’m having a brilliant time with
fashion this winter. Practically anything to do
with the Forties – big shoulders, pencil skirts,
crêpe dresses, floor-length Adrian gowns,
platforms, costume jewellery – is right up
my street.
It
happens to suit me, and has done so ever since
fashion gave full rein to “retro”,
thanks to Barbara Hulanicki and Yves Saint Laurent
in the Seventies, and it was possible to play
at dressing like a silver screen star at the weekends.
Sort of like Angelica Huston did – all cheekbones
and stylised hauteur – as shot by Helmut
Newton, only on a Saturday night at the church
disco.
If
you’re in the vintage age bracket and know
what I’m talking about, put out the bunting,
because the Forties are back – and favouring
grown-ups before girls.
Forties
design saw a woman, not an ingénue. Hollywood
studios and Britain’s wartime designers
alike knew with whom they had to keep confidence:
a woman who had the responsiblities of working,
providing for children single-handedly while men
served their country overseas, who could make
something out of negligible rations – and
who still cared about looking groomed and spiffy.
My
grandmother Maisie was one of them, pressing her
Singer sewing machine into service on the home
front with six children, as was her youngest sister,
Greta (a tonic for the troops, who must have blinked
and thought they’d just glimpsed Marlene
in the mess room, judging from family snaps).
She’s just celebrated her 100th birthday
– hooray!
But
back to this winter’s re-runs of wartime
dressing. Variants turned up at houses as diverse
as Lanvin, Prada, Dries Van Noten and Hermès.
Between them, they cover all the screen-siren
possibilities, from tailored, tweedy or houndstooth
suits and coats (Ingrid Bergman) to glamorous
evening gowns Rita Hayworth would not have sniffed
at.