THE LURE OF A GOOD LINETHE SLIMMING SILHOUETTE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 19013, 7 March 1930, Page 13

THE LURE OF A GOOD LINE—THE SLIMMING SILHOUETTE.

Cheapness And Simplicity Of Clothes Not Synonymous .

(Written for the “Star” by

LADY CHAYTOR.)

The modern woman with all her faults—and the correspondence columns of the Press credit her with many —has at least discovered the importance and charm of ft “line.” Most foreign women have always realised the value of what might be. termed a “complete silhouette”—as distinct from a figure which looks nice in sections—and during certain periods the English woman seems to have done so, too. But in the Victorian, Edwardian, and even Neo-Georgian eras, she concentrat-

ed on elaborate coiffured, rurwieldy hats, ornate “upper parts,” and left the important lower extremities to take care of themselves —and the result has been an entire absence, of definite line. I don't think they had any long mirrors in those days; or if they* did, they couldn't have looked into them. Nowadays your little girl worker, living perhaps in a bed-sitting-room, recognises the necessity for something in the nature of a full-length mirror, even if it is draped instead of framed. And she is right! It is the ensemble which matters.

And now they tell us that we are to have curves again. This is quite possible—although 1 do not see much indication of them at present, except sartorially—but I am sure that even though we may assume curves, we shall do so with discretion, for. having realised the importance of a line, we

shall not lose it in a hurry. And, of course, a line need not necessarily be a perfectly straight one, so long as it is symmetrical. I trust I am outraging no geometrical canons in the foregoing sentence—but. you know what I mean ! Getting the “bean-pole” silhouette was our apprenticeship, and now, having assimilated the importance of an ensemble, our prayers and our fastings can come to an end. The Slender Silhouette. The Spartan manner in which millions of women—with most of whom beautifying is not a whole-time job—have banted, rolled, and exercised themselves into a shape which makes them look as though they have been poured into the gowns amazes me, and convinces me that they* could, were it necessary, assume Rubenesque figures within three weeks! Not so long ago, M. Paul Poiret, the famous Paris fashion designer, said : “Women do not want lovely dresses,” and went on to prove this remarkable assertion by saying that we are wearing nothing but sweaters, pull-overs, jumpers, and little pleated skirts. “They do not dress themselves,” he added, “they just

cover themselves on the pretext of pla>*ing games. They play very few games, these women; what they do play at is economy, and this is a petty form of economy which may cost them dear one day, because they are on their way to extinguish a flame which once it has been put out they will not be able to light again—that, of Elegance and Chic. One day they will have need of both.” I thought at the time, and I still think, that M. Poiret was in the position of a doctor who wants to remove one’s appendix! But the modern fashions from the point of view of those who spent their early >*outh trying to face life with shabby furbelows and a smile, are heaven sent;

and one can keep one’s line with the sports clothes which the great designer deplores. Stag© Fashions. And, even so, I cannot see that the dressmaking salons have much cause for complaint, because the simplest clothes are by no means cheap. In a recent much-discussed play, a French actress, more famous for disrobing than robing in the past, was “discovered,” as the}' say, in a tight, tomato wrapskirt and a camisole—the whole surmounted by* a towel, because she was in the throes of hair-drying. When someone called, she slipped into a skintight biege stockinette jumper with a polo collar, and quickly donned a wide belt—worn at the old-fashioned waistline, by the way—of shiny leather to match the skirt. This innocent little outfit cost twelve guineas, and it had all the guile usually associated with obvious innocence! Talking of prices and silhouettes reminds me that this same actress wore one of the most simple and devastating gowns I have ever seen, combining the picturesqtie with the modern, and depending almost entirely bn line. It was of black chiffon velvet, with a perfectly tight bebe bodice and a “Y” decolletage bade and front. The vol\iminous skirt was gathered in at the waist, somewhat after the style of the famous “Romance” velvet gown, except that it was so skilfully' done that there was no suggestion of undue fullness, except perhaps towards the hips. This frock was knee-length in front, length- ; ening at the sides, and reaching to the ankles at the back; and as it was fined with salmon-pink satin, there was a lovely flourish of pink every' time the wearer walked or sat. Not a single piece of jewellery was worn with this creation, and where it fastened I never shall know, notwithstanding the fact that I was quite close to it on one occasion. Being, occasionally, of a practical turn of mind, I was somewhat worried because the wearer of this frock was, dramatically speaking, short of fortypounds, whereas the garment in question positively shouted “thirty guineas!”- at least to the initiated women, though perhaps not to the undiscerning male, who still labours under the delusion that cheapness and simplicity are synonymous. Nevertheless, those things must be allowed to pass, for I understand they are disposed of or explained away by the phrase “Artistic Licence.” (Anglo-American N.S. Copyright).