Posts Tagged ‘Pierre Cardin’

The missing Pierre Cardin pyjama

December 18, 2013

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One of my most perplexing conundrums has been my missing pyjamas. It was some years ago when my dear wife gave me a pair of exclusive pyjamas. They were a Pierre Cardin’s creation with a special French fly in the pants giving easy access in any emergency. Very French. It gave our marriage yet another re-newel. A jewel of night apparel. Even though I wore it mainly in the dark, I slept contently in the knowledge that Vive La France and Pierre were kept alive with Liberté, Égalité but not so much with Fraternité. I am reasonably hetero but have no objection to anything in between. Go for it, has always been my motto.

It was during our sojourn of over fourteen years on our alpaca farm. We were very much into getting the histograms down on the fine fleeces that the alpaca is capable of producing. A histogram is a precise method of measuring the thickness of a fleece. The thinner the fleece’s fibre the more the price given for the fleece. We had bought a very good male with dense and fineness of fleece. It was up to him to make sure this fineness of fleece would be reproduced in his progeny. Hence his much desired matings when put in front of a willing female. His name was Ruffo’s- Ledger. He did his best and not once complained, never had a headache or sore foot.

We used to travel around with him in a trailer and take him for mobile matings to other alpaca farms. Like true troubadours, his legendary successful matings were sung far and wide and we soon made an income from him. He was keenly sought after by other alpaca breeders.It was also a social event. Coffee and cake inside, while Ruffo was ‘at it’ outside. We were always giving him his freedom unencumbered, onlookers were banned. Privacy above all, please.

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Afterwards, having had our fill of coffee, Klassische Wiener Apfelstrudel and a thousand dollars in our pocket, we would head home. Ruffo was given an extra portion of Lucerne hay. Multiple matings to different females by Ruffo would be at a discount. He would be given a rest of an hour or so in between with an extra handful of Lucerne hay. Boy, was he happy. However, never more than three matings a day. We had principles and did not want Ruffo to succumb to post coital depressions or a heart attack. It did happen to other greedy breeders.

The reader can well imagine our interest in fine fleeces and fine apparel. This was a period of natural fibres and a strict avoidance, even a loathing, for anything artificial, acrylic or plastic. That’s how the beautiful woollen Pierre Cardin pyjama came about. The perfect pyjama. The dream gift from my lovely H. I used to sit around wearing it during the day, occasionally walking past the mirror, casting a quick glance at my magnificent clad exterior. Almost like wearing a suit. I would not have stood out, even at a wedding. Or perhaps I would have ?

It was a light powder blue in colour with a darker blue collar. The pants had a dark blue stripe at the bottom of the legs as well. I even wore it outside to the farm gate and back. The cows next door used to look up in admiration and gave a loud bellow of approval. Can you believe it?

It was during the move to our new address in BowraL that, after a while, I felt something was missing in my garderobe. My pyjama was missing. I am sure, the reader has similar disturbing events of missing items. It seems so inexplicable. How can pyjamas disappear on their own?

We sometimes got visited by Jehovah’s witnesses on the farm. They were remarkable. Always dressed immaculately. They were polite and most civil. When I had finally accepted that my pyjamas were gone for good I started to reflect on possible explanations. On the farm we always felt safe and when going to town hardly ever locked doors. It is likely some people visited us when we were not on the farm. Who amongst those visitors could have filched my pyjamas? That is the question. Pyjamas never disappear on their own.

I can only think that perhaps someone got in and stole my pyjamas. It is too preposterous an extrapolation to even consider the Jehovah witnesses. They are good people. Apart from Jehovah’s disciples there were also visits from a more Evangelical persuasion. Again, always fastidiously dressed.

Perhaps, is it possible? Can this have happened?

We know men are fallible. We so easily fall down with the lurking of temptations everywhere. Did a well dressed Evangelical person knock on the door? No one answered, but at the same time he might have noticed through the glass door, my Cardin pyjama slung casually over the arm chair. Was the temptation too overwhelming? In a moment of weakness the pyjama was snitched and hidden in the brief case, next to Moses’s sixth book; “repentance, and conversion — the great trumpet, the redemption of the world and life ….. Spirit, take three small pieces of wood from the Oosterman door-sill over which the thief passed in …”

Perhaps this is what happened. Stranger things have happened. We all know that.

The Art of dressing fashionably with Pierre Cardin

January 10, 2012


Years ago, looking back at my old photos, I could not help but be impressed how people dressed. We left the boat in Fremantle in 1956; all dressed in Sunday’s best. It was a Sunday, so that might have been one reason! However, at that time, women dressed in flowing frocks, wore seamed nylons suspended from jarretels; men wore button down jackets, nicely creased pants and lovely shirts and ties. Both sexes wore hats as well. The public pulling up of a stocking that had slipped out of that little button higher up a female thigh’s girdle was then as erotic a sight as anything available staring for hours at shavedporn.com of today.

Presently, this has all changed into an astonishing fashion indicating a kind of hobo homelessness made cool- chique. The more worn out the cool people dress, the better and the more expensive it will be. At no stage during the history of fashion have holes in material cost that much. It has to be suitably threadbare. Isn’t there a fashion label by that name? On the train today there were many men and boys in singlets and thongs, coke in one hand, mobile or apps in other. Girls and women dressed in terribly worn out looking shorts or raggedly dresses, also some in singlets with bodily parts swinging hither and dither, as well as thongs and mobiles. I am informed that those shorts don’t come cheap and that the impoverished look is deliberate. There I was, thinking to get out needle and thread and offer to do some repairs. Mothers used to work their knuckles to the bare bone preventing kids to look like Charles Dickens’ urchins. Now it is high fashion to look poor, bare boned and homeless. They all utter and talk a kind of threadbare English as well, with, ‘and like, oh my god,’ or even better, a resolute ‘stuff like that’… it all falls into place, even makes some sense.

At the back of the railway line where we live is a huge Salvation Army shop. It is situated in a semi industrial zone next to a large rural produce store. It is so big one can hardly see the end of it. It has three huge industrial fans blowing circulating the air which has a barely concealed air of stale perfume. The very high corrugated ceiling and steel framed structure gives it all a rather theatrical feel, making browsing very pleasurable. On offer are all those fascinating items from glorious pasts donated for a good cause and hoping for a revival in a good home.

Here one can find the discarded and sometimes fashionable items from yesteryear. The second hand dresses are especially intriguing. Who wore this silk dark dress, size 46 with a single strand of long blonde hair still clinging forlornly at the back of it? Was she tall with that flaxen blond hair and did the tri-coloured sash next to it drape over it or did she tie it around the waste? Did she talk a lot and was she happily married? Where did she live and did she treat others with consideration? I would have thought that wearing this beautiful dark dress and sash could not have been worn by a fish curer from Woolloomooloo. You never get that sort of feeling of historical haute couture looking at the endless cloth racks of David Jones or Myers.

At The Salvos, ‘at the back of the railway line’, were many other items that would have cost a fortune in the sixties or even seventies. There were top fashion label lingerie frilly items including brassieres that would have cost a fortune new. I couldn’t help myself and felt inside the cups of a ruffled cashmere bralette made in Italy. The ticket said ‘new over $ 260.-. It was a steal for $5.-. What lovely breasts had nestled there, I reflected pensively? No one would ever do this with new items. There is just no point to it, is there? New clothes are sterile; no living has occurred in them yet, let alone warm breasts.

In my shared wardrobe and for many decades now hangs a pure woolen jacket I have worn many times in the past, especially weddings but lately more funerals… It is as good now as it was fifteen years ago. It is a dark blue-black colour and was given to me by my son who found the arms a bit short. It fits me still perfectly and even though I have not found much use for it lately, I’ll keep it forever. The jacket was first given to my son and rumored to have been originally bought by a well known lawyer. Inside the jacket at the back of it is the label: Designed by Pierre Cardin ‘Paris’. Another label pronounces in smaller letters, exclusively tailored in Australia, Berkeley apparel.

It will most likely end up at the Salvos as well…eventually. A steal for just $3.-