Through a Woman's Eyes

From the Coffers of the World

(By CORALIE STANLEY McKELLAR.)

The Fascination of the Garter

It has held in captivity many a supple leg, in the days, ye good olde days, when a gentleman lived up to his name — or lay under it, if 'twere carved on a pump-room table. It has lain, en souvenir, within the breast of many a gallant soldier lying starkly grim upon a foreign field. It has been tossed brazenly to the victorious matador in a Spanish arena, by a hundred shouting women. It has been kicked joyously into the stalls of les Folies Bergeres by the delightful and inimitable Gaby, who has left us now. Fashioned by artists, milliners, lingerie experts, and others, it has slid humorously through a varied career. It has been wrought of precious stones, of black velvet inset with medallions of exquisite lace, and adorned with wicked little Pierrot frills, of roses, of ribbons, of braidings, of tissue, of beads, of satins and silks, of pompadour broches, until its frivolous head has been turned. And it has been wrought of plain elastic, sometimes fastened in-a-dickens-of-a-hurry with a blunt safety pin, or tied uncertainly in a Grannie's knot in the Inside. (We've all done that.) The sign of it has hung over many a tavern door, and drawn unwilling (?) victims, where (upon their words of honor) they otherwise would not have gone. Being a more alluring and delightfully imaginative trifle than its cousin, the homely suspender, the garter appeals to the dainty woman immediately. All things have their uses, but why not have a pretty article, especially when, it is so intimate a one, in preference to the usual heavy uninteresting harness? The various salons are offering some delicious garters in various designs and color schemes. It may be we to note that Noel is not far off, and that the mall goes oversea at the most inconsiderate moments; a word to the wise gathers no moss, and a garter on the knee is worth two — in the store. Honi soit!

Bead Ornaments

Well, of course. Still, as Lucille plaintively put it once when defending a garment almost entirely composed of beads in black and emerald glass. "What are a few beads more or less when so much is at stake?" Each nation expresses itself in matters of adornment in devious ways; but in the manner of personal decoration, especially in the bead line, the last and lost tribes have it over us absolutely. The North American Indian could have given points by the hundreds to Salome or Cleopatra, and the vanishing races of the South Seas know more about brilliant head toilets than any genius who ever stepped out of Liberty's. Brads are a craze at the moment, as are most toilet adornments indeed, as most ordinary things are. For Instance, Western civilisation borrowed the slit skirt from the Kayan modistes, the hobble skirt from the Syrian dancing girls. All were things of a day. The latest bead craze put forth by the maidens of the Sarawak people — the most famous of all bead experts — are miniature quoits descending in heavy cascades from the lobes of the ears. They enlarge those members considerably, and are supposed to enhance the beauty to a great extent. So we may yet live to see our fashionable women making a barbaric appearance on the Champs Elysees, in Piccadilly Circus, Fifth Avenue, and Randwick racecourse. Meanwhile, truly beautiful are some of the season's hair bands, necklaces, and hags. The color schemes, particularly the Persian ones, call for careful consideration when purchasing; and it is a wise procedure to look at one head-ornament only at a time, as a number or brilliant, bead colorings are apt to he confusing.

Women of All Nations

Philosophers, politicians, and other foolish men talk about women as if all women were greatly alike — so many eels. But women are all different, no two alike in all the world. Men run to types much more readily than women do. There are business men in thousands, so much alike in their moods and ways that they might all be brothers; but you won't find women like that. And if women of the same nation are different, how different women of differing nationalities must be. There is the Japanese woman, drudge or toy, and there is the women of the Zoroastrian scheme, honored among humans. The Zoroastrian Holy Spirit, Anahita, is of our sex, and so is Amaiti, the Zoroastrian saviour on earth. The Australian woman is genial, and what you call pally, whereas the Spanish woman is subtle and secretive, but gets through no less effectively. The Chinese woman is independent in her conservatism, trusted wife, true house-mother, and the Siamese woman, ardent and gay and uncertain, is a poor house-mother, and is only trusted by her man while she is under his eyes. We hear a lot about the glory that, was Greece, but the condition of the Greek woman was degraded. She was the bond slave of her husband's pleasure, and the mother of the children that be owed as a matter of duty to the State — affection seems to have had little necessary connection with the legitimate conjugal relationship. In many cases the husband never saw the wife until he married her, and, after marriage she spent her whole life in her house. The Italian woman considers all displays of passionate affection the worst of form, and so is a champion of the platonic love that she is seldom inclined to practise; she is probably the most loving woman in the world. The great majority of the women of old Rome were admirable wives and mothers, steadfast and faithful; you must not make any general application of what you read in Suetonius of the ladies of corrupt courts and fashionable circles. Turkish women have no dreams of ideal love; their training and traditions forbid that. Their love, apart from the sisterly, filial, and paternal, is a matter of hot blood during the period of youth's short heyday. Some generalisations have led us into wrong Ideas. The Scotch woman, for instance, is passionate, and the brilliant Irish woman is cold. The true Peggy is a fond mother, but not a very stimulating wife. And every nation has its hundred different main sorts of women. I have never known two women alike yet — I should even be sorry to think that there could be two of some of the sorts I have met. We have something to be thankful for, and the God that keepeth Israel shall slumber not, nor sleep. Which reminds me that the Jewess is a wonderful wife. She is jealous, but tender. Most successful Jewish marriages last as love affairs for a very long time, and the Jew seems to be a perfect lover — of the Jewess.

Are Our Young Girls Over-Adorned?

Yes, emphatically, most of them are. The average girl imagines she cannot put enough on to enhance her charm. If a maiden but realised it, her greatest asset in making a success in any role of life is her simplicity. "Simplicity is the keynote of elegance." To keep that aphorism before her is one of the most beneficial things a young girl could do. A girl is like a spring flower. She is the chief attraction in a garden of faded trees and desolate hopes. Her joyousness should be her diamond wrist-watch; her purity of spirit should be her rings; and her honest young eyes should be her diadem. There Is plenty of time when youth's freshness has passed to consider embellishing Nature's handiwork. Until then the young maiden with aspirations alter diamonds and point-lace should be guided in the more suitable and charming direction of pearls and embroidered muslins.

The Lure of the Georgette

There is a lure about georgette that sings round the heart of every woman. Georgette is so accommodating. It graces the intimacies of the boudoir, and the important demands of both theatre and ballroom, with an equal graciousness of manner. It can be draped, folded, hung in waterfall pleats, or arranged in a thousand and one novel ways to suit the wearer, and each one will give entire satisfaction. Georgette is one of the few materials I know that can be depended upon to live up to its various flattering advertising adjectives, and should never be thought frivolous and too expensive until it has been tried — and found wanting. It should be remembered, too, that georgette is one of the rare fabrics which are suitable for all ages, and which can be procured in all colors; consequently its value is really enormous to the woman who realises the wisdom of looking a little bit ahead in her summer shopping.

The Charm of Individuality

To be individual in one's dress, pleasure, work, or method of entertaining, is to force upon the world that talent of talents, that pearl of price — personality. Personality does not mean by any chance freakishness or frumpdom; nor does it signify bad taste in conspicuousness of maimer and appearance. The individual woman commands attention immediately, and the world, filled with yards of women as uninteresting and colorless as so many miles of cheese-cloth bows down and worships willingly. Individuality has been achieved by many people in various ways. For instance, Mr. Brummel, the gay Beau Brummel, as he was called, of the late eighteenth century, achieved it by inventing the lace cravat. Polalre achieved it by being known as the ugliest woman in Paris. Bernhardt acquired it by her extraordinary acting, coloring, habits, and moods. Maeterlinck radiated it through his books, "The Blue Bird," and others. Laurence Hope wailed it aloud in her passionate verses of India. Georges Carpentier won it by his wonderful smile. Mary Pickford has it written in her fairy-tale eyes. And there are hundreds who possess it, but do not realise it. Individuality has to be cultivated and tended like a garden. It will tolerate no weeds of insincerity or lack of ambition. The world adores it and pays it immediate homage; but no one can simulate it and hope to get away with it. Charm of Individuality is like a camera — from within, out; and it lies on everyone's doormat ready for the opening of the door.

Source: The Daily Telegraph (Sydney), 9 November 1921, page 4.