Let's Talk About "Little Women"

“Little Women”, 2019 version

“Little Wonen” is having a moment. Again. Greta Gerwig’s adaptation is the fourth filmed version of Louisa May Alcott’s 1868 semi-autobiographical novel. They have been:

1933 with Katharine Hepburn as Jo

1949 with June Allyson as Jo

1994 with Winona Ryder as Jo

2019 with Saoirse Ronan as Jo

Jo March, based on Louisa herself, is the heroine and the one most girls claim as their favorite. She's the writer and reluctant proper young lady, always railing how unfair the world is to women. She has spunk and ambition and is fiercely loyal to her family.

We are all probably different combinations of the sisters—practical Meg, unbridled Jo, fanciful Amy, and shy Beth. That might be the secret to the book's staying power. It's never been out of print and can be downloaded for free.

As we are talking fashion here, I recommend seeing this new "Little Women" if for no other reason than to bask in the beauty of the sets, cinematography and costumes. The joy in the latter is that they are so well done they become what they should be—clothing, not costumes. The linen is wrinkled, the cotton unstarched, the collars come undone. If this film doesn't make you pull out your vests and prairie skirts, nothing will.

As "Little Women" progresses we see Meg wearing simple garments befitting her reduced status. She is goaded into buying 20 yards of fancy fabric for a new dress when she really meant to buy her husband a winter coat.

Jo resembles a Victorian "Annie Hall", especially when in the man's world of New York City.

Grown up Amy is seen in Paris tightly corseted in the latest fashion. It's a wonder she can breathe let alone walk. These styles seem designed specifically to keep women "in their place".

And I confess I couldn't stop looking at the delicate tucking and trim on Beth's white nightdress as she lay dying.

This is not meant as a movie review. If put to the task I will quibble with 2019's non-linear approach and casting Timothée Chalamet as Laurie. Every adaptation has its own reasons to watch: 1933 for Katherine Hepburn's exuberance, 1949 for Amy as played perfectly by a young Elizabeth Taylor, 1994 for the best Laurie in Christian Bale, 2019 for the pure pleasure of traveling back in time with the talented Greta Gerwig.

Timeless

Yours truly making a statement

 
I just bought the October 1967 issue of Glamour Magazine that had been eluding me for years. I was a "house model" (meaning I worked there so didn't have to be paid) and appeared in several issues, especially in the early days of my 25 years in the art department.

Somewhere from here to there I lost my collection of magazines and have been trying to replace as many as I could remember. October 1967 finally appeared on ebay. Let's just say what was 50 cents then cost fifty times as much to replace and is worth every penny.

Besides revisiting my much younger self, it was great fun to flip through the whole issue. 1967 was not entirely the swinging era we think of as the '60s. There are plenty of ads for girdles, home permanents and other implements of torture as well as several for silver patterns and china to fill your hope chest. The fashions, however, are eerily modern and would not seem terribly out of place today.

Take a look at this gallery of "after" models in their 1967 looks:

Oh boy, do I still love this one...

 
The feature I appeared in was a makeover story. Glamour (and its readers) loved makeovers, and we did as many of them as we could dream up. For the most part they were 100% authentic. I remember one where we even made-over 50 employees in a mid-western bank.

This one, called "Please Make Me Over" was followed by an interview, "Men Talk About Makeovers," and a quiz, "Do You Feel/Act Like a Beauty?" Many of the thirty subjects came from Glamour's staff and friends. I did not ask for a makeover, but who wouldn't want some free fashion advice and a day off work?

We shot in Central Park. Designated for the October issue, this was probably in mid-June, thus the incredible lushness of the surroundings. My story's "hook" was, as a small girl (5' 3 1/2" at the time and smaller now), I was wearing a too-big coat. Well, that coat was really mine. I wore it all the time, and loved it. I'd worn it all through art school in frigid Cleveland and couldn't seem to let go. Today we'd call it "oversized", just another style option.

The "after" coat was a green, pink, yellow and black plaid with black velvet collar and cuffs. It was adorable and cost $100, or $718 in 2019. I would no more spend that on a coat today than I would have spent $100 in 1967, but there's probably not a winter goes by I don't remember it fondly.

It was impractical. Back then any purchase would have to go with x amount of things rather than be its own glorious statement. The years may have changed my tune some. There are times you just want to make a statement. But that was then, and the clothes budget was very, very tight.

I was, however, no fool. At the time I had just met my now husband of 51 years. He was headed off to Army Reserve summer camp, and that photo was the one I gave him to remember me by.





   

The Thrill of Thrifting

Two friends, both a Ms. D, have brought to mind the subject of shopping second-hand, one that resonates with many people in this time of too-much and too-poorly-made.

For many years fashion trends whizzed by at the speed of light. We're now in a traffic jam where anything goes. Who's to say it isn't fashion when no one plays by rules that don't even exist? Common sense would be the only one left. Sometimes even that seems in short supply.

"They just don't make them like they used to" can apply to anything from houses to Hot Wheels. This was never so true when high-end brands began selling polyester (at their high end prices). Where have silk and wool and cotton garments gone? To the thrift shop.

The Etro T

Then there's money. In what universe does a t-shirt cost $290? In the Etro universe, I guess. Why is this luxe Italian brand selling what once was a mall staple, the graphic t? Because someone will buy it? Well, that someone will not be me. I still don't get paying over $100 for pants or $200 for anything. I've long been a fan of off-price retail like TJ Maxx and will admit to making the rounds weekly.

The for-profit thrift shop (more properly called resale) is where I usually take my cast-offs. I wait anxiously, like Scrooge's housekeeper, while a millennial rummages through my stuff, looking for a brand she recognizes, only to receive pennies on the dollar for what that cost.

But I've found some gems at the thrift shop. For a time someone regularly dropped off Marc Jacobs in my size. I've bought brands I could never afford at full prince, like Vince. I've splurged on some sparkly stuff that, frankly, is still sitting unworn in my closet and some wonderful vintage pieces (a leopard wool swing coat, Pendelton high-waisted plaid pants) that I wear often.

Ms. D wearing a find. Photo by Richard Lewin

Now the first Ms. D not only has a thrift picker's eye herself, she volunteers in her local Village Improvement Society Thrift Shop. She says it's to get a first look at the donations, but she also coordinates the displays on the level of a professional visual merchandiser, AND she shops for me. I look forward to the box she sends on my birthday, full of personal picks, including—one year—a beautiful Etro dress.

Ms. D's new dress

The next Ms. D recently discovered her local church thrift shop and realizes her style is very much suited to the classic, well made pieces the local grandes dames are donating. She wrote me about the dress she just found—a dark floral shirt dress in a soft fabric that fits like a dream and somehow looks very Today. It's perfect for her office Christmas party and cost $14. She's not a grab-and-go kind of shopper and ultimately rejected a number of dreamy finds, but she'll be back.

So we've established thrift shopping is good for the planet and good for the wallet, and can be as much fun as Robinson Crusoe finding Friday. There's something else no one has yet to mention.

When you bring something home that has never been worn, it essentially has no life until you give it one. Your secondhand piece has gone places and seen things before you plucked it from the rack. I find myself thinking of that.

I wonder, "Why would someone donate this?", especially true of clothes that still carry original price tags. After the initial excitement of finding something brand-new in a secondhand store, I start to feel bad for the person who made the mistake. I understand; I've been there. It must have hurt to admit, but I'm proud of her for clearing it out, whether Marie Kondo told her or she came to that conclusion herself.

Did BB wear my coat?

I think about where my previously worn piece went. What was her life in that leopard coat? Did she live in Houston? It must have been a very different city then. She might have worn it one evening downtown, a place that barely exists today but once did. I've seen pictures. She wore it to death; the pocket lining was ripped when I got it. Why did she finally let go?

My previously worn clothes have stories I wish I knew.

Am I

the only one

who wants to

hear them?