Book Bits: Katharine Hepburn

One of my favorite pastimes is reading biographies, specifically to devour any tidbits about what the subject wore. I recently read Katharine Hepburn's autobiography, and here's what she dished up -

1932: "I had gone to Elizabeth Hawes - New York's highest-priced designer - to have an appropriate costume made to wear getting off the train in California. It was a sort of Quaker gray-blue silk grosgrain suit. The skirt was flared and very long. The coat was rather like a nineteenth-century riding coat with tails. The blouse was a turtleneck with a ruffle around the top of the turtle. And the hat. Oh!

Well, the hat was a sort of gray-blue straw dish upside down on my head... it had been very expensive, the whole costume, and I had great faith in it."

Elizabeth Hawes, 1938

1932: "... I went to Europe fast with Luddy. On the chance that they would call me and tell me that I was a hit, I went to Schiaparelli and got myself a costume to get off the boat in. A three-quarter coat and a skirt and blouse, and a knitted hat of knit 2-purl 2. Very easy to wear... That was my first French outfit."

Schiaparelli, 1930s

1935: "We started to shoot [Alice Adams]. I had bought all the clothes for an insignificant amount of money. The only one which cost anything was from Hattie Carnegie - the party dress. I made it tacky-looking by putting little black bows on it and in my hair."

Hattie Carnegie, late 1930s/early 1940s

1951: "[For The African Queen] I had heard... that the one person to do the clothes was a Doris Langley Moore... She was a charmer and had a lot of all sorts of petticoats and underwear.

So our first meeting with her and Huston and me. He was fascinated by the underwear. I tried on every variety of split-pants, of chemise - and I was terrified that he was going to have me wear nothing but an envelope chemise in the picture".

Resources:

Hepburn, K. (1991). Me: Stories of my life. New York: Knopf.

Why Don't You?

Ever get a suggestion and wonder whether it's meant constructively? Perhaps it wears a white hat, so to speak, but is it really an insult in disguise, or a slight of some kind? The statement "Why don't you..." conjures up many connotations, and depending on its implied meaning could be helpful or vexing. In the context of a fashion magazine, suggestions are everywhere, and in the history of fashion magazines, one suggestion list stands out as the queen of condescending suggestions.

Diana Vreeland wrote a regular column for Harper's Bazaar on this very idea, literally titled "Why Don't You...?". Most of the statements were fashion-oriented, such as "Why don't you hide your hips under an accordion-pleated jacket?". From Vreeland's perspective, the suggestions were "all very tried and true ideas", but from today's perspective, its suggestions parallel only Marie Antoinette in its misplaced statement-making.

Vreeland didn't try to claim that the peasants should eat cake, but she very nearly did. Her first column of "Why Don't You...?" appeared in 1936, and over the years, the suggestions ranged from outlandish to nigh-impossible.

I can't remember when or why I picked up this book that chronicles Vreeland's "Why Don't You...?" columns, but it's rather contagious to read. Here are a few of the most outlandish.

Why Don't You...

• turn your old ermine coat into a bathrobe?
• wear three enormous diamond starts arranged in your hair in front?
• order Schiaparelli's cellophane belt with your name and telephone number on it?
• wear violet velvet mittens with everything?
• tie black tulle bows on your wrists?
• have an elk-hide trunk for the back of your car? Hermes of Paris will make this.
  

As you can see, depending on the status of the reader, the column was either a bit of whimsy, or outrageously silly, or simply misunderstood. It's an odd and fascinating bit of fashion history, and a rarified picture of the fashionable woman of the 1930s.

Resources:

Esten, John, and Diana Vreeland. Diana Vreeland Bazaar Years: including 100 Audacious Why Don't Yous--? New York, NY: Universe Pub., 2001.