Speaking of Hitchcock

And thinking of Agatha Christie ...

Observe these stunning shots from Vogue Italia. These shots evoke that post-War era of intrigue captured so beautifully by Agatha Christie. Murder on the Orient Express, luxurious cruises down the Nile, and that impenetrable, mysterious world of the aristrocracy.

I've been obsessed with the 1920s silhouette for several years now, and montages like this serve to deepen my obsession. My interest in that era of bespoke tailoring really began in the late 90s with The House of Eliott, a BBC program that ran in Australia for a couple of years. I simply fell in love with that post-WWI fashion era. What impressed me most was that the frugality of the times that came with the end of such a devastating war didn't dampen the spirit of innovation or experimentation. And yet there wasn't that exuberant push toward extravagent styling - it was still so restrained, yet so deeply fashionable. The attention to detail, focus on luxury materials, pioneering of new designs (when has that happened lately really? we recycle, recycle; mass-produce, mass-produce) and just good old fashioned hand-sewing (especially the beading!) appeal strongly to me. And not only did the Eliott sisters inspire my interest in fashion, the show cemented the bond I have with my mother.

Sunday nights spent watching the ABC with mum were symptomatic of my late teens - no matter the angst between us the Sunday screening somehow bridged our divides for an hour each week. A chocolate would pass hands, we'd glance at each other at some new development in the plot, gush over clothes once the credits rolled. I was always secretly glad that even though I didn't have a sister, at least I had a mother who appreciated clothes as much as I did. Her sewing of my dance costumes every November played into our joint obsession with fashion and tailoring, as we played with beads and sequins (the more the better) and hemlines (I like them short). My rite of passage after-school-job was as an assistant to an eccentric, Lebanese man in his tailoring and menswear store. It was a cloistered world - Lebanese coffee, warm bread, a store packed with clothes, old-fashioned cash registers and strange customers.

The sound of a sewing machine, pearl-headed pins, tape measures around the neck and spools of thread are the memories I carry of the end of my highschool years, and an obsession with bespoke that will probably last forever.