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Do the rustle
There is a line between fancy dresses and fancy dress, and fringing -
well, if it doesn't exactly cross, it certainly blurs it. Fringing is a
dead cert for rodeo cowgirls, and essential in any self-respecting
grass skirt, but can it work for the rest of us?
Jess Cartner-Morley: 'So now that Strictly Come Dancing has finished,
is there a place in your life for fringing?' Photograph: David
Newby/David Newby Fringing is designed to be viewed in motion. Really,
to see a fringed dress at its best, you ought to do the charleston. A
fringed dress sitting at a desk all day looks sorry for itself, like a
wallflower sitting out the last dance at a party. It's not quite that
you have to be hula hooping, or on a bucking bronco, but you need at
least to be on your feet.
So now that Strictly Come Dancing has finished, is there a place in
your life for fringing? That depends on exactly how lumpen a day you
plan on having. Sitting looks plain wrong, and standing still makes you
look like a 60s standard lamp; but just the slightest sashay across a
room is given va-va-voom by a fringed skirt. What's more, the
flattering veiled-thigh effect that fringing lends your legs (useful at
this post-mince pie time of year) is totally ruined by sitting down.
But close your eyes for a moment, and listen to this dress. It's the
rustling that wins me over. A gentle swishing, reminiscent of those
bead curtains you find in old-fashioned butchers' shops, accompanies
your every move. Which is perhaps another reason why fringing has been
a popular frock-embellishment for party girls since the flappers: when
all around declare their entrance into the room by virtue of the
identikit click-clacking heels, the lady who announces her presence
with the whisper of silk against thigh surely trumps the rest. |
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