It’s 1970. London’s swinging, Biba’s buzzing, Carnaby Street’s a riot of colour, an extravaganza of satins and velvets. Life’s fun. Still, it’s time to get down and serious and think of ways to make some money.
It’s 1970. London’s swinging, Biba’s buzzing, Carnaby Street’s a riot of colour, an extravaganza of satins and velvets. Life’s fun. Still, it’s time to get down and serious and think of ways to make some money.
Fashion seems the way to go, if only because somebody’s dumped a mountain of white T-shirts on our doorstep. It’s the sort of thing that happens where we live in Hanover Gate Mansions, a stylish pad facing Regents Park, in the heart of North London’s hippy, artsy, creative scene.
What to do with a pile of white T-shirts? Tie-dying seems the way to go. Knot them up, swirl them in bathwater, learning as we go,.
We’re living with Gifi’s mum Nancy. She’s a philosopher and educationalist which is lucky because she’s, almost, philosophical about our learning process which starts in the bathtub, progresses to the washing machine and splatters colour dyes everywhere, wall to ceiling. it’s a big mess, but we get those groovy psychedelic whirls we’re looking for. All we have to do now is sell them.
Gifi’s the front man, fresh back from the Afghan trail. Gordon I. Fields Junior, aka Trotsky Ragfreak, aka Gingernut later Coppernob, a zany 19-year-old force of nature hidden in a mass of curly copper hair and beard.
And he can sell. Up and Down the Kings Road, he sells them here, he sells them there, he sell those T-shirts everywhere. He sells to Granny Takes a Trip, the coolest store in town. We make enough money to go the next level: Black Rabbit Fur Muffs!!!
There’s a rattly old Singer sewing machine in the bedroom. I don’t know where it’s from, probably some junk stall on the Portobello road. All day, every day, I stitch away at this thick, furry black stuff, rabbit hair flying in all directions, up the nose, in the bed, in every crack and orifice (putting it politely). And out come super-long, slender black rabbit fur scarves and gorgeous fur muffs, lined in shimmery scarlet satin with thick black curtain cord to hang around the neck.
They’re a nod back to Victorian and Edwardian elegance. They’re warm and cuddly in those deadly London winters. Harrods buy them, and Biba. We’ve climbed another rung of the ladder.
Next project. Liberty silks. And satins, and cottons and crepe de Chine. In 1970s London, Liberty’s is an Aladdin’s cave of dazzling draperies and haberdasheries, transcribing timeless oriental dreams into modern western idiom.
The designer Annie Baldock is a neighbour in Hanover Gate Mansions. Using Liberty fabrics she designs fabulous silk summer dresses for us, and skirts with matching blouses. One popular pattern we use is called Country Cottages. We use it in several different colour ways. It’s a visual feast.
Annie's flatmate Rosie is a forager. Local church jumble sales are full of old chenille curtains, floral patterned, peonies and lilies in incredible colours. Fashionable in the 1930s, nobody wants them now. Rosie reconstructs them into long, flowing flower-child coats. It’s the age of Aquarius. They sell like hot cakes. Hash cakes anyway.
Then there’s the apron dress, skimming the silhouette and fetchingly flared to just above the ankle, in a small floral print against a deep blue background. Like Laura Ashley, but better. Another best seller.
And the floral velvet hot pants. Worn over black tights to match my long black hair, with silver and gold 1920s-style wedge heels, I have to say I did look good in those.
The thing is, none of us girls wanted to look like our mothers, fashioned by economic depression, austerity and war.
And in our hot pants, we didn’t.
Ah, those were the days, my friend.
About the Author
Claudia Barbieri is a free- lance roving arts reporter based in Brighton. Left UK in 1975 living in Singapore, Rome and 30 years in Paris. Writing for New York Times, The Art Newspaper, Apollo Paris Update and Artlyst amongst other publications.