Letters to a Dress: FAFANGAN ANTIK SHOP. GOTHENBURG SWEDEN

6 May 2015

FAFANGAN ANTIK SHOP. GOTHENBURG SWEDEN

Earrings coming out of your ears....
If like me you can not stand the idea of pierced ears, but feel like a second class citizen because of the lack of choice these days when you look for clip on earrings, go to Fafangan Antik in Sweden. A bit of a long haul from the UK, but a shop that has a vast choice of clip earrings. And not just any old earrings. They have pristine examples from the 50s, 60s and 70s. For those of you who have had the (oh I wince to type this) hole...or God forbid holes plural... pierced in your ears, there are a lot for you to chose from too.
The clip ons are the highlight. I came away with 2 silver pairs that are classics and will get a lot of wear.The shop is an Aladdin's cave of jewellery, not just earrings, there is bric a brac too.
The charming guy behind the counter told me that the shop had supplied the Rohsska Museum with some Dior pieces for an exhibition....they had more Dior in a case in the shop...but I shut my eyes, gritted my teeth, counted my Kronor and kept walking.
This fab shop has more clip earrings than anywhere I have found in France, Brussels or Southern England.
I shall think kindly of it and Gothenburg every time I wear my vintage silver earrings that CLIP to my ear lobes.

Tack sa mycket Fafangan Antik.

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FROCK TALES

MAR
19

Frock Tales: Clues and Questions in Costume.

I have long been a proponent for social network’s potential in sharing knowledge, and creating unlikely connections between individuals simply through pursuing the same passions. This is especially true of my recent trip to Henfield Museum to attend a talk on dress history.

The trip came about through a chance correspondence in Facebook group Fashion Historians Unite! (wonderful place, highly recommend a browse!) where costume curator of Henfield Museum, Stephanie Richards, regularly shares brilliant images of the garments kept in their archive. Through an exchange of messages, Stephanie kindly offered to host a talk especially to share the lesser-known collection with University of Brighton students.

Simultaneously, I was thrilled and anxious. I love clothes (especially the old ones!) and cherish opportunities to see archival pieces. However, as a typically disorganised person, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat inept at the prospect of organising a group trip. As a Masters student, I don’t see students on other pathways as often, so I had no way of knowing who else would be up for it. After postering the campus, sharing around social media, and a determined word-of-mouth campaign among students and staff, a group emerged who shared my enthusiasm. The attendees from Brighton were a mix of friends, strangers; young coursemates and senior staff. Finally, after weeks of arranging, we were boarding a rickety minibus to get to Henfield.

Costume curator Stephanie Richards handling dress artefacts
As we arrived into the village hall, the room was already bustling with an eager audience gazing over the intriguing spread of garments presented across the front. Stephanie began the talk by quoting Mason Cooley; that “Clothes make a statement, costume tells a story…”, an aphorism which set the tone for the evening. Entitled “Frock Tales: Clues and Questions in Costume”, Stephanie’s talk guided us through some of the gems kept in the Henfield archives. She advised to always approach artefacts with a questioning eye, only then could the stories held between the seams be unravelled.

The collection stems from a small social history exhibition in the 1930s which expanded over time, all the while reflecting the village’s individual character. The pieces in the Museum generally all have some link to Henfield and/or the people who lived there. Particularly within smaller collections, the value of oral testimony is vital to illuminate an object’s relevance. From anecdotal experiences of New Look-styles to in-depth recounts of tragic life-histories illustrated through dress, the tales told all affirmed clothing’s oft overlooked function as readable documents of the past. Clothes are worn by everyone (in polite society), travel across time and locations, and crucially know the most intimate details of an individual. As Stephanie observes, clothes are more than just coverings, they are snippets of their owner’s life.

There are some spectacular items in the collection; a surprisingly sturdy 1860’s crinoline, 1940s parachute-silk shirts, a c1870-80s two-piece dress with patented sweatguards in the bodice armpits, and a beautifully beaded 1920s flapper dress which weighed two kilos! Wherever possible, the stories behind the owners of each garment were meticulously researched, and were equally as compelling as each sartorial detail. In some cases, Stephanie had traced items to the actual stores they were bought, I certainly agree with her observation that finding a maker’s label is like hitting the dress historian jackpot! One example was an exquisite black taffeta 1880s mantle from Brighton department store Hannington’s (though she mentioned that the royal warranted retailer has been mis-catalogued as ‘Harrington’s’) In other cases she retold the life-stories of the wearers, uncovering many remarkable, salacious, and uplifting details of the people once adorned by the surviving pieces.

Mystery dress!

The evening was not without some unsolved mysteries (I'm sure many of us love playing dress detective!) as a plain brown, mostly handsewn dress with medieval-styled sleeves and ruching was curiously embellished with some awfully fancy gold beading. At first glance it appears reminiscent of the Arts & Crafts styles, though it was not the work of the Omega group, and could possibly be theatrical dress or for a pageant? One of my personal obsessions within historic garments is evidence of alteration and re-making, so I was thrilled to see pieces showing evidence of theatrical additions or alteration to their original forms; further nuances within the tales told by dresses.

The most unexpectedly rewarding aspects of the talk was that it was also open to the friends of the Henfield Museum, who kindly provided refreshments for us all. It was such a fantastic experience for all of the Brighton lot to mix with the community. The evening was a true meeting of minds, as budding-historian students chatted with local-history buffs and dress historians could come together cast their eye over puzzling pieces. Many of the locals had not seen these pieces before either so we were all similarly amazed together, and the entire audience left inspired and in high-spirits. We are all extremely thankful to the FOHM for being so accommodating, and to Stephanie for putting together such an inspiring look into the artefact-based approach of a dress historian. After weeks of online correspondence, it was wonderful to meet a likeminded researcher in person!

http://sarahmarygeissler.blogspot.co.uk/2017/03/frock-tales-clues-and-questions-in.html
Sarah-Mary Geissler

A Stitch In Time. Part Three. 1860

Previously in a Stitch in Time

In 1815 Amelia was marking time until Ralph returned from the battle of Waterloo.

They married in a joyous ceremony after his safe return.

In time they were blessed with a son.

But as the years passed, the happy ending got less and less happy.

Now read on…..

Ivywell House

Sussex

August 1860

Dear Florence,

The most extraordinary thing has happened. It would not be out of place in a penny dreadful. No, I shall not tell you straight away, as I have to confess to being more than a little vexed with you. You are my dear sister. But please stop trying to persuade me that I shall enjoy the ball tomorrow. I realise Colonel and Mrs Bell are old friends of mama and papa and our family have been their guests before. I am aware that most young ladies, as you have it, enjoy balls and dancing. Well dear Flo, I am most certainly not of their number. I am more interested in my studies than frivolous dances. Besides. You forget I am twenty years of age. Far too old to be engaged by thoughts of waltzes and polkas.In your position as wife to a busy cleric and mother to a darling brood of cherubs (as mama refers to them when speaking to her friends) you simply cannot comprehend how I much prefer to be left to my books.

Daily life continues as ever. The young ladies of Ivywell School (our home as I prefer to think of it.) remain a constant presence. There are always classes in full flow somewhere in the house. Papa enjoys the geography and mathematics tuition. Mama manages literature and penmanship as efficiently as always. The French master is here once a week and continues to try and push ‘langue et littérature’ into various ringletted heads. Most seem content to be able to mutter ‘Oui’ and ‘Non’ and practise their curtseys to Monsieur. I know there is no money to spare and the pupils are necessary, but our parents work so hard making trying to make polished ladies out of these silly girls.

And now to the extraordinary thing. after breakfast I was summoned to Grandmamas room. she made it plain that she agrees with you over the ball, I am to go. No argument permitted. I demurred, protesting that I had not a gown or shoes fine enough. She directed me to her dressing room and bid me look at the portrait of our great great grandmother Sophia painted a hundred years ago.( It is the very pretty lady in a red and gold brocade gown and lots of diamonds.)

Then she told me the following. After her husband, our Grandfather Ralph, was killed in a duel, the family fortune was decimated by his gambling debts. Her sole desire was to safeguard Ivywell for papa to inherit. Sadly Grandfathers profligate life had robbed her of any illusions as to the eventual fate of her family money. Carefully and over time, preparations had been made. So when she was widowed her first task was to reclaim a trunk she had hidden in the nursery linen cupboard. This held not only the dress in the portrait, but Sophia’s diamond studded shoe buckles and some other jewels. The sale of the jewellery saved the house with a little left over. If this was not startling enough, she suggests I use some of the fine red and gold brocade from the dress to fashion myself a sash and so refresh my old ball gown. Also there is enough lace left on the dress to sew a reticule for me to carry. She further confided that her bridal gown had been fashioned in part from material from this ancient dress. I am almost lost for words. ! (But not quite.)Even I find myself intrigued by this notion and there is no doubt that my ball gown is sadly dingy. I have not worn it since your wedding. Tonight I shall remove the trimmings I sported on that happiest of days (remember the artificial violets I had to match yours?) and set about making the sash and reticule.My best white gloves have a darn, but my satin pumps have no really dark stains. Mama’s lace fan will go to another ball and I shall wear a rose in my hair from the garden and trust to detract from my shabbiness by engaging people in intelligent conversation. So, there we are. I shall go to the ball. But I won’t enjoy it.

I’ll seal this missive after the event, so I may confirm my low expectations.

Grandmamma sends her love.

Your loving sister Clara xx

PS Oh Flo I am writing this after the ball.It is very very late and I have so much to tell you.The ball was the most wonderful evening of my life. As I was hiding in the Winter Garden (so as not to have to dance), I met the son of the house, Frederick Bell. We never met him as children. He has been away at school and then abroad because he is delicate. He too was taking refuge in the winter garden and so we talked and talked about Mr Dickens and his stories. And art and sculpture. Freddy has been to Rome and Paris. He wants to be a historian and has plans to write a work on architecture. And he says he believes that girls may study as well as any man.I never knew one could talk to men and they would talk back as if you were an equal.The only cloud is that as sole heir his father wishes him to confine his studies to taking over the family business empire.But oh oh oh I cannot think of that now. His eyes are the darkest green I have ever seen and his moustache so suits his noble face…

You were right my darling sister. I did enjoy the ball, perhaps not in the way you thought, but I feel that I have met my life’s soul mate.

Clara xxxx

Next time join IMOGEN in 1910. A new century.

Discover how Clara and her green eyed swain arranged their futures.

Read how a fiery family spirit can miss a generation or two, but it will out one day.

Find out what life in a new century was like for women. Better? Worse? Or the same?

6 May 2015

FAFANGAN ANTIK SHOP. GOTHENBURG SWEDEN

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