Vanity Fair

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 73, Issue 9, 11 January 1930, Page 2

Vanity Fair

"Chronicle" Office, , January 1 Uh, 1930. Margot doesn t mind admitting, in confidence, that she feels more or less hot and bothered; you see, she has been buying one of those simple, unsophisticated little frocks. Any Woman, from the Queen of the Cannibal Islands down, knows how to buy one of the lordly and luxurious gowns which keep the home fires burning for Parisian dress makers, Margot doesn’t care in the least whether a woman most closely resembles a hippopotamus or a strip of spaghetti, she can, provided she spends enough money, buy clothes which make her look at least not altogether unnatural, and sometimes almost human. But it’s a different tale with the dear little ten-and-sixpenny sleeveless frocks which stand in the dressmakers’ windows just now, a mute Warning that summer has come. Take Margot s own case; like the rest of the community, she has days when she wants to read books on the beach, or go for river picnics—little expeditions of that kind. And everybody knows that on all such occasions, one should wear the minimum of frock and the maximum of hat or parasol. So, not infrequently, she has tried quite hard to find the little knockabout frock she wants. And there are such pretty ones in the windows "The blue rayon, Madame, with the flowered top?” the assistant says, with a sort of polite scepticism, when Margot indicates some nice little garment which has caught her fancy, "Certainly Madame—l'll get it—but I’m afraid perhaps it might be a little tight in the bodice—.’’ If people only knew just how annoying it is to be told that the garments they covet will be “tight in the bodice”—or in any other locality—they’d stop if. They would say, instead, “To be frank, Madame, the material in that garment won't Wear or wash, and shrinks the first time you iron it.” Surely there’s some tactful way of weaning customers from inappr opr i a i e choices? By the time Margot has shaken the dust of two or three frock shops from the soles of her tennis shoes, she feels that she must be a few centuries out of date, and built on the lines of the Rubens ladies who were evidently encouraged to indulge their healthy appetites. Trying frocks on, too, is wearing on the nerve s; “This, Madame, will be just your size,” whispers the lass in the shop, consolingly; and you are forthwith enveloped in the folds of some voluminous garment, rather like the robes worn by the saints and m a rtyrs, as depicted by primitive Christians. If Margot possessed a beard and ahalo, perhaps she would n ’ t m ; n j. so muc h t but not having either of these scenic attractions, she’d like to know where the fun c O mes in. And when, from a front view, a little frock s eems to fit as if it had been specially intended for you, isn’t it disconcerting to hear some honest saleswoman murmur, “Er—from a back view, Madame." Turning, you behold yourself in one of those long and annoying mirrors, and realize at once that you just won’t do. Having expressed herself, Margot feels a little better. Anyhow, she’s bought three reels of cotton and some sackcloth, and intends to make her new dr ess . h should be picturesque. Bitterly, MARGOT.