No discussion of elegance and fashions ever arises without the mind turning, unbidden, to Paris—capital of elegance and beauty and meeting place of the lovers of fashion. There, along the bronzed walkways, the eye falls on flocks of beauties, and one's gaze wavers amid the glow of their dresses and coats: from jet black to navy to deep crimson to vivid yellow—now hurrying I know not where, now casting their spells—each with her own exquisite costume; and their fashions, for all their variety, bear a particular stamp and a harmony among them. That is because the great houses of dressmaking there work, at the opening of each season, to give the fashions a single Parisian direction, whose lines and features draw close together while some of their secondary details diverge. The inspiration is one.
The distinguishing mark of the coming spring fashions, for example, is drawn from the old Eastern costume. Some may wonder what led the great dressmaking houses to adopt these Lebanese and Turkish costumes, whose style goes back to a distant age. It truly astonishes me what brought these antique costumes to Paris after so many decades—and the wonder quickly vanishes when we learn that an ambassador of Sweden in the lands of the East (he was a writer, a painter, and a politician all at once) chose to satisfy his curiosity and carried these costumes to Europe with his brush; they remained folded away until someone was destined to bring them back to life, as bewitching
gowns that strut upon the most beautiful women of Paris.
As for spring fashions in Lebanon, no sweeping change is to be expected—only some slight modifications along three lines:
The first style is distinguished by a high, closed dress collar like a military collar, called the imperial collar. Its sleeves are cut in one with the dress (kimono), in a way that allows the bust to stand out and the waist to narrow. Its hems end in a generous fullness.
The second style is distinguished either by a high, closed collar like the first, or by a wide open one, round, square, or pointed, so that the chest may appear broad and elongated; and it ends drawn tight from the bust down to the hem, so that every slender figure may not begrudge its beholders what its Creator did not begrudge it. And I do not suppose the dressmaker will overlook cutting the dress that suits such figures.
The third style is a blend of the two. What distinguishes it, however, is its skirt, drawn tight over the hips and pleated in front and behind. By
means of this dress a woman can display two qualities: the beauty of her femininity in the rounding of the hips and the fullness of the dress below—besides which it affords her comfort in coming and going, in walking and sitting, and in riding in motorcar and train.
And there are various finishing touches, such as the collar open at the back, the décolleté on one side, like a wink, the high waist, an abundance of pleats and folds, and fur—now at the bust, now on the shoulder, or the hips, or the back.
It matters to the Lebanese lady to know what the length of the dress will be: any shortening or lengthening from the winter style?
Even the great Parisian houses have not agreed on these two points; each has its opinion and its partisans. Jacques Heim, for example, with Balmain and Raphael, inclines to setting the length at 32 centimeters from the ground, while Lanvin, Dessès, Maggy Rouff, and Jacques Fath range from thirty upward. As for Christian Dior, creator of the present long style, he leaves the dressmaker free to choose between thirty and thirty-five.