For some reason, I attempted to channel a vaguely Atlantis: The Lost Empire aesthetic for my first day of the spring semester. Milo Thatch, after all, has always been my number-one fictional academic inspiration.
Will such a style help me with art history, though? Likely not — but if I need to decipher any runes or mythical cartography I might be okay.
rabbits & the moon ♡ my first petticoat! ♡ cosmic & canine
cute & cephalopoda ♡ she buys seashells ♡ return to the sea
tidepool time ♡ rose-y cotton ♡ burgundy every burgunday
Given this general delinquency in terms of my blogging consistency this year, I almost feel like I don’t deserve to pepper this coming week with unwarranted “round-up” posts–but I hope the nostalgic alchemy of year-end reflections will transform my posting malaise into something golden.
I attempted to create a more nuanced title for this post, but let’s face it–with a concept this incredible, there’s honestly not much I could possibly improve with a pun.
Meet the floral fish dress! I’m not sure which Lindy Bop fabric designer is responsible for this quirky land-meets-sea mashup, but they are my type of person. Its triangular collar provides some needed variety to my wardrobe, which is currently so devoted to Peter Pan [collars] that it might as well be a Lost Boy.
Unicorns! How curiously you’ve evolved in the popular consciousness over the past thousand years or so. I’m not one to consume sugary beverages named after these beguiling creatures, nor particularly a fan of the stylized neon unicorn that seem to permeate our visual culture these days – but man, do I love medieval and early modern unicorns.
This dress satisfies my fantasy need in a subtle way: spotting the unicorn amidst this pastel castle landscape is a true challenge, and from afar, the print looks like a simple blend of Fauvist colors. No one needs to know that a fairy tale is taking place on my very skirt!
(By the way, that handsome fellow above is from a sixteenth-century Swiss woodcut, back in the days when unicorns still had teeth!)
There’s absolutely nothing nineteenth-century about this dress–the vintage reproduction company from which I purchased it touted the style as 1940s-inspired, I believe, and collar dresses are sufficiently popular at the moment for my look to pass as something simply romantically contemporary.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been spending an unprecedented amount of time in a house inhabited by a nineteenth-century poet, but for whatever reason, I feel like this simple dress captures some of the Victorian aesthetic nonetheless. At any rate, I’m thinking it will be most suitable for leading historic house tours in the future, assuming I won’t have access to authentic Victorian period dress!
I have never, in fact, purchased a seashell in my life–I much prefer to find them on my own–but a dress with shell embroidery? That I can’t resist!
You’re about to experience yet another classic Mailbox Mermaid dress-acquiring narrative, consisting of the usual progression of:
- discovering a newly-released, retro-inspired garment, likely with marine or nautical influences
- bemoaning its pirate’s ransom of a price
- waiting patiently like a gulper eel for a sale to transform said garment into something vaguely reasonable for my budget
I have to admit that this iteration of the story had a more tragic bent, because I was legitimately saddened when I first glimpsed this incredible dress and then released it retailed at just under $80. I assumed I’d have to wait until fall for a pink and summery mermaid dress to go on sale: but as luck would have it, a surprise one-day-only clearance brought us together, resulting in nearly the same degree of personal satisfaction and delight as finding an unbroken conch or cowrie!
You knew this day was coming, folks. After a yearlong foray into the glories of 1950s- and 60s-inspired fashion, I’ve finally purchased one of those dang petticoats. In fact, it’s a cheerful pastel crinoline consisting of enough layers of yellow, feathery tulle to evoke Big Bird at the ballet.
When I tore open the airmail package on Saturday and came face-to-face with the reality that I had purchased an archaic garment intended to make me resemble one of those bizarre Barbie doll cake toppers, I’ll admit that there was a moment of existential doubt.
- it was only $10 on sale – and that’s probably the equivalent of what one might spend at a certain New England donut and coffee purveyor over the course of three days, so I think I’m all good, and
- I’ve kind of always wanted to capture the aesthetic of one of those bizarre Barbie doll cake toppers, I guess?