Here comes the new one:
How to wear clothes
The lacy look
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday May 27, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]Lace, for all its air of wide-eyed innocence, is a tricky fabric to wear, and one that can trip up even the shrewdest of dressers. Because of this, it tends not to figure overly much in our day-to-day wardrobes. But this summer is different: Chloé's stiff white lace dress has been one of the season's most hunted-for items, despite a price tag of more than £2,000; in its wake, a flotilla of lacy frocks, skirts, blouses and blazers has appeared on the high street.
The meaning of lace depends primarily on the colour. In white, it is virginal and pure (think first communion and bridal dresses); in black or red, it is sexy in a commercial, Ann Summers way. And herein lies the difficulty: while at home in churches and boudoirs, when worn in any other environment, lace can still project either a prissy, buttoned-up girlishness or a vaguely Carry On-ish sauciness. And neither is quite the tone in which we sophisticated modern women would like to project our sexuality, methinks.
So, how to get it right? For a start, I'm afraid the privileged few who shelled out for the Chloé number had it right in one way - quality is essential, since nothing looks more tawdry than cheap lace. Spending thousands isn't necessary, but looking for a deep, matt finish is: shiny lace is for dollies and doilies. The most catwalk-worthy and sophisticated lace right now is "guipure" or "venise" lace, which is a bold, open-work lace that has no net backing, like rich embroidery without the base fabric beneath. Guipure lace is usually expensive, but broderie anglaise has the same sense of being nothing like a net curtain and is widely available on the high street (try Warehouse). If you're still nervous, try lace in navy or brown: no one has figured out what these mean, yet, so you're safe for a while.
How to wear clothes
The lacy look
[FONT=Geneva,Arial,sans-serif]Jess Cartner-Morley
Saturday May 27, 2006
The Guardian
[/FONT]Lace, for all its air of wide-eyed innocence, is a tricky fabric to wear, and one that can trip up even the shrewdest of dressers. Because of this, it tends not to figure overly much in our day-to-day wardrobes. But this summer is different: Chloé's stiff white lace dress has been one of the season's most hunted-for items, despite a price tag of more than £2,000; in its wake, a flotilla of lacy frocks, skirts, blouses and blazers has appeared on the high street.
The meaning of lace depends primarily on the colour. In white, it is virginal and pure (think first communion and bridal dresses); in black or red, it is sexy in a commercial, Ann Summers way. And herein lies the difficulty: while at home in churches and boudoirs, when worn in any other environment, lace can still project either a prissy, buttoned-up girlishness or a vaguely Carry On-ish sauciness. And neither is quite the tone in which we sophisticated modern women would like to project our sexuality, methinks.
So, how to get it right? For a start, I'm afraid the privileged few who shelled out for the Chloé number had it right in one way - quality is essential, since nothing looks more tawdry than cheap lace. Spending thousands isn't necessary, but looking for a deep, matt finish is: shiny lace is for dollies and doilies. The most catwalk-worthy and sophisticated lace right now is "guipure" or "venise" lace, which is a bold, open-work lace that has no net backing, like rich embroidery without the base fabric beneath. Guipure lace is usually expensive, but broderie anglaise has the same sense of being nothing like a net curtain and is widely available on the high street (try Warehouse). If you're still nervous, try lace in navy or brown: no one has figured out what these mean, yet, so you're safe for a while.