Jackie's contribution
This is a story about an accessory that I owned, and how this fashion item changed my life.
When I was 21 living in Paris I bought some winter gloves in a sale from a grand couturiers house just off the Champs Elysees.
Stylish, smart and very expensive they were my pride possession. A pair of gloves made of blue suede, a rich royal blue like spilt petrol on a dirt road shining in the sun . They had 6 suede fringes of 20cms long on either side of the cuff and were lined with white rabbit fur. Sewn with co ordinating blue linen thread around each finger the stitches perfectly aligned and matching blue linen embroidery on the backs of the glove. The suede was as soft as silk. Lightweight and pliable they fit perfectly and most importantly kept my hands warm as toast even on the coldest of days. When I wore them I felt like a million dollars with the fringes of the cuffs swinging back and forth adding a personal expression to any outfit I was wearing.
I wore them on special occasions - going to dinner in Paris, to an evening at the Opera or on a very cold winters night and once very exceptionally to walk the dog in the early morning. I had adopted a beautiful old labrador from a lady who had moved back to the UK . It was my routine to walk the dog round the block before going to work.
It was on one of these morning walks in the January fog and that I stopped to have a coffee in the local café - I was young and pretty at that time and a young man flirted with me at the bar. He was charming - as tall as myself, wearing a camel cashmere overcoat with buttons made of bone and handmade shoes. (I always look at a man’s shoes don’t you as they say so much) I could see he appreciated quality and as I took off my gloves and laid them on the counter to drink my coffee, he admired them pointing to his own leather ones on the counter and we compared notes on how best to protect hands on a cold day. He was reading the newspaper and we chatted for a while about current events - More importantly he patted the dog on the head and told me how much he loved animals. I man after my own heart. He asked me for my phone number but I shied away to a complete stranger so I declined and hurried on my way. The next day I discovered that I had lost one of my precious gloves. Looking everywhere I overturned tables, looked under carpets - emptied the fridge - down the throat of the dog in case he had swallowed a large blue suede glove with rabbit fur on the inside …mistaking it for a rabbit. To no avail. I felt a sense of nostalgia remembering the places I had worn those gloves - the compliments I had received and most of all the feeling that I had when I wore them. At the risk of being very late for my job I re-walked the path I had done a few days before and scoured each bush, checked under cars and examined people as they walked by to see if the lost glove wasn’t on someone else’s hand ……well quite unlikely but possible. I pondered wistfully on who could have found this glove, after all, what use was it to someone else - perhaps a one handed person pleased to find just the right glove to fit his disability or someone who just liked the colour blue
In a fit a fury and exasperation I threw the remaining glove in the rubbish bin !
When you loose something dear to you it’s first of all very upsetting, then frustrating, infuriating, mixed with feelings of disgust for oneself and one’s brainlessness. I would never ever find another pair of gloves like these and was doomed forever to have cold hands.
It wasn’t until another month had passed that I was on my morning “dog walk” trying to go a little faster as I was again late for work; that I passed the local café and just as I was passing by I heard “Mademoiselle” “Mademoiselle” - attendez svp …. And there was Prince charming handing me my lost glove. I could of kissed him so excited I was to see it again. Then, I remembered the other glove deep in the depths of the Parisian poubelle system …. Oh dear, my smile turned to tears and seeing this, hearing my story, I was whisked off to Christian Dior in the Avenue Montaigne and very quickly “my Prince charming” bought me a new beautiful pair of gloves.
As I got to know him better it turned out that he had deliberately hidden one of my gloves in his newspaper that day at the café as an excuse to meet me again never realising how much I would be upset at loosing them.
We were married two years later and from then on every birthday I received a wonderful pair of gloves for summer or winter either with rabbit fur or silk linings. You can imagine how many “thanks you’s” have passed my lips since then.
Jackie's contribution:
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2nd story:
When I was growing up and about 13 years old other girls started to bud breasts - I begged my mother to buy me a bra even though my chest only had two fried eggs on a plate. The lady in the Californian department store called it a brassière which made me feel foreign, French and grown up. I wore it for a while and I was proud to pretend its use but in the end as it remained uninhabited for quite a while I found myself forgetting to wear it. Then followed a period of no bra, just a vest - It wasn’t until I was about 35 years old that I started to wear pretty lacy bras and panties bought by my charming husband. Never would I believe that later in life I would advise other women on their lingerie needs .
Getting into the lingerie world was a fluke! I bought a small business trading in haberdashery and lingerie in my local medieval town. I bought from a girl who sold a bit of everything - threads, buttons, ribbons, a few clothes and a few boxes of bras. I had never even seen another woman’s boobs before I opened my shop. As my first passion is embroidery I had the naive idea that I would be able to make a living in a town of 4500 habitants selling silk threads, buttons and tapestry kits. Really ?
Early on I realised that the only way to survive was by helping women of any shape and size get the bra they needed and have fun doing it.
When I first opened the shop I stacked up the lingerie boxes by size and thought this is going to be easy - the customer tells me her size then I hand her the box and cash in. Wow! not so facile. First of all a lingerie boutique is a woman to woman’s business and all day is about women - women’s talk, bodies, identity, issues and secrets. Listening is the key. I started to write in the local magazine each month about different size issues and did interviews for the area radio. It was such a satisfaction to have a woman arrive with a problem for example; weight loss, childbirth, weight gain or a medical reason and see her go out of the shop content. Determining the size and shape for each type of woman was challenging …help chose a bra for different moods - seduction, dressing up, sports, everyday - and even workday uniforms was routine. Lingerie is not just about bras and breast size and shape. Tummies are there in a big way. Of course 90 % of lingerie boutique shop talk is about these flabby, too white, too loose, flaccid, slack, bits of flesh and I could go on all day. In other words women are never happy about the way they look. My motto : The three P’s : Patience, Persuasion Perseverance. Perhaps though not always in that order.
In my shop, at least one woman a day swore, “ I have been a 34 b my whole life” “Why are you giving me two sizes more? “ Well guess what, nine out of ten woman are not wearing the right bra size. It’s called denial! Gravity is a bummer (excuse the pun) and takes its toll even with the slimmest of women.
When clients would say - “Oh this feels so perfect, snip off the price tag will you I’ll wear it now”. Or “I felt so self conscious before I came into your shop - now I’ve got the right size bra it is such a relief. I’ll be able to wear that dress I bought now and it’ll look great and I will feel more confident.”
These were my best “thank you” moments
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