Deborah Makarios – Page 92 – Deborah Makarios

March 16, 2018

Wardrobe Architect 3: Exploring Shapes

The aim behind this month’s exercise is to figure out – in great detail – what shapes and lines you’re comfortable in, which you wouldn’t be seen dead in, and which are just – meh.

You’ll definitely want the worksheet for this one – pop across to Colette HQ and there it is.

The instructions say to rate everything from 0 (hate!) to 5 (meh) to 10 (love!) but I decided to cheat a bit and have a simpler rating system: A, Y, M, N, HN. Which is to say, Absolutely!, Yes, Meh, No, and Hell No.

The last-mentioned rating I reserved for mid-thigh and mini-length items (yes, mini is shorter than mid-thigh; the mind boggles), tight trousers, cropped tops and dropped-waist trousers. Not Going To Happen.

Unsurprisingly, dresses and skirts rated highly, with ‘somewhat fitted’ my favourite fitting for dresses, and very/somewhat full for skirts (and the skirt part of dresses, naturally). Trousers need to be very loose before I will consider wearing them; indeed, they cannot be too loose.

I will wear a tunic-length garment, but only as a top over a full-length skirt – or loose trousers. Otherwise, it’s “very long or maxi length” for me – though I don’t like my dresses to drag on the floor. If I wanted to sweep, I’d use a broom, thank you very much.

For some reason the longest length shown for outerwear (e.g. coats) is tunic length. My coat is more like knee-length and I live in hopes of finding one closer to ankle length. [Side note: it is terrifying how often I can type “length” and make the same spelling mistake every time.]

It never fails to amaze me how so many people seem content to have outer layers that only come down to the very tops of their legs – even rainwear! Do their legs not get cold? Are their trousers magically waterproof? Bizarre.

I had to look up some of the necklines (sweetheart? jewel?) and it turns out I’m fairly fussy about necklines. I have the anachronistic belief that a neckline should be somewhere in the vicinity of your neck. After all, it’s not called a sternum-line. Nor (since I have narrowish shoulders) do I like wide necklines which either display my underclothing or slip right off one side or the other.

But, despite all my fussiness about skirt length and necklines, I am apparently pretty laid-back when it comes to sleeves. Spaghetti-straps are ruled out by the neckline clause; sleeveless and three-quarter sleeves I’m not mad keen on, but I’m happy to wear pretty much any other length. [Dangit! Still can’t get that word right first go! Who thought four consonants in a row was a good idea?]

So, judging by my Absolutelys, I should be looking for full-length [right first time!] dresses with somewhat fitted bodices and full skirts. Waistlines high or natural; jewel necklines (I actually quite like a collar, but they weren’t under discussion here) and full-length [gah!] sleeves for choice.

What about you? What are your likes and loathes – and what would your ideal garment look like?

March 12, 2018

Over Your Cold Dead Body

Tomb Effigy of Dorothy Bampfield, Lady Dodderage, 1614 — Elizabethan corset: so rigid you can’t even lie down when you’re dead.

If there’s one kind, style, or feature of garment you wouldn’t be caught dead in, what would it be?

March 9, 2018

I Am Not Lazy Either

I have always wanted to live up to my name.

Deborah, that is. Makarios I’ve had for less than seven years; and the name I had before that means swamp – not high on my list of life goals.

The name Deborah means bee, and, by implication, busy as a bee. Hardworking. Industrious. As I say, it’s something I have always wanted to live up to, but for a long time I thought I didn’t.

In fact, if you asked me, I would tell you that I was basically lazy, but just did things out of fear of letting people down, getting in trouble, or the sundry other negative consequences life provides for those who Don’t Do Things. I have the ambition of a potato and the dread fate of couch-potatoitis always seemed to lurk close behind.

When FlyLady said “I know for a fact that I have never been lazy and I will wager the same about you,” I wanted to believe her – but of course, I didn’t. She was writing in a book, after all – she doesn’t know me from a bar of soap.

I even wrote a blog post about how my husband isn’t lazy (still isn’t) but failed to turn the same focus on myself. Indirectly, his tiredness helped me to my realization.

Having worn himself to a shadder with all the work he was doing helping me prepare Restoration Day for publication, he needed some time off. So one day, we arranged that he would stay in bed all day, and I would do any of his household work that needed to be done that day. And bring him meals, of course, because lack of food is not good for lack of energy.

And it was as I was reaching into the cupboard for a small bowl to mould the couscous into an appealing shape on the plate that I realized I wasn’t lazy. Because a lazy person wouldn’t volunteer to take care of someone else for a day (or for a week, as I subsequently did). And a lazy person definitely wouldn’t go to the extra effort of making the meal appealing on the plate – particularly when they were already tired themselves.

Mind you, the moulding didn’t work. The couscous stuck to the bowl and it came out all anyhow. I could have oiled the bowl, I suppose, but if you’re going to pour boiling water into a bowl, there’s not much use in oiling it.

But that isn’t the point. The point is that I could have easily weaselled out of that extra work – no one was asking it of me, no one would notice if I avoided it – and I didn’t. And therefore, since laziness is essentially a disinclination to exert oneself, I am not lazy.

Sometimes unproductive, often disorganized and not infrequently tired, but not lazy.