“Dress may be called the speech of the body,” says Mrs. Haweis.

A woman’s dress should be so much the expression of herself that, seeing it, we think not of the gown, but of the woman who is its soul. The true art of dress is reached when it serves only to heighten the charms of the wearer, not to draw attention from her to center upon her garments. One writer on beauty in dress claims that “the object is threefold: to cover, to warm, to beautify,” and in dealing with this latter point farther says that, “rather than to beautify, it is to emphasize beauty.” To this statement should be added that its mission is also to minimize or do away with defects.

Most dressing is done to enhance the beauty of the face, but women should remember that the tint of the complexion, the color of hair and eyes, are but a small part of the personnel. The physique must be taken into account. The “type” is a fact fixed and inevitable, and the woman is wise who sets herself steadfastly to “develop and emphasize its beauties and overshadow and efface its defects.”

It is only by real study that a woman grows to understand and analyze her “type” and suit all accessories to her own personality; to adjust, as it were, her “relations.” Art, after all, is simply, as Edmund Russell admirably defines it, “relations, the right thing in the right place.”

Study your own individuality and assert it in your dress. “No woman need be ugly if she knows her own points,” and some points of attractiveness every woman has. Lord Chesterfield, that cynical man of the world, assures us that “no woman is ugly when she is well dressed.” That is, dressed with reference to revealing good points and concealing weak ones. Time spent in this study is gain, when one remembers in how many ways actual outward ugliness is an impediment. “The greater portion of ill-tempered, ugly women are ill-tempered simply because they believe themselves hopelessly ugly.” A woman, finding her fairer friends constantly preferred despite her vain attempts to please, grows disheartened, then sarcastic, envious, ill-tempered, half unconsciously.

“Knowledge is power; beauty and knowledge combined are well-nigh all-powerful.”

Stout and Thin.

Texture, color and form must all be considered in relation to the personal appearance or “type.” The beautiful in itself is not always a safe guide, but its beauty in relation to the wearer must be the test. Fair, delicate, slender women make a great mistake when they overweigh themselves with rich, heavy fabrics, no matter how beautiful these may be in themselves. Instead, they should keep to clinging, draping materials, sheer lawns and shining silks.

On the contrary, the very stout woman may wear all manner of rich gownings that fall in gracious massive folds. Clad thus, her size will have about it a restful element of repose. Let her beware of closely fitted gowns. These tend to enhance the size they are supposed to conceal. Watteau or Princess robes falling from the shoulder in unbroken lines render her imposing. Little ruffles should be avoided, or frills of lace, and whatever drapery there be should fall from shoulder or hip; this gives long curving undulations that follow every movement.

The stout woman should leave black satin severely alone; reflecting the light, it reveals form and size relentlessly. “Revealed form is vulgar, suggested form poetic,” says the high art of to-day, and who would not be poetic and gracious if she could? “If stout women,” declares Edmund Russell, “would learn to move in grand, slow rhythm, and wear textures so heavy that the lines of their figures were concealed, they would have a grandeur and dignity that no slender woman could hope to attain.”

Women must recognize their defects before they can hope to correct them. A tall, angular woman must adopt soft, fleecy materials, so made that they can float and curve about all ungraceful angles, hiding, or softening them. She of a deficient figure must never wear a plain, tightly fitting gown, unless it is relieved, and filled out with soft full vests, or veiled with falling folds of lace.

There is only an occasional perfect form that will bear the merciless revelation of the plain, tight habit, and even then the suggestion of a concealing drapery heightens the beauty of the revealed curves. “All dress should be governed by shawl instead of glove rule,” assert the latest canons of costume.

Tall or Short.

There are proportionately more women that are too short, than too tall. Always a little sensitive to this defect, some try to increase their stature by high heels, which renders their gait awkward, besides being injurious to health. Others endeavor to add to their apparent height by cultivating a long waist. This they do at the expense of shortening the lower limbs, thus making themselves seem shorter than they actually are. Others strive to attain the same end by dressing the hair high, in this way too often adding to the apparent bulk of the head and giving a top-heavy appearance to the figure. It is here that a full-length glass becomes almost a necessity in the dressing-room, so that the entire effect of the figure may be observed at once, and defects of this nature detected at a glance. Sometimes a high ornament worn at the top of the head apparently increases height, but beware of any bulky style.

Long lines of drapery from shoulder to foot give the effect of height. Horizontal lines crossing the figure shorten the form.

Short, stout women, by wearing short basques that make a line about the hips, or ruffles and puffs at the shoulders, increase their bulk and shorten their stature.

Women too tall and slender use horizontal lines and puffed and ruffled effects to great advantage, thus increasing the apparent size of an arm by puffs and surrounding bands, or hips by the descriptive line of a basque.

The way of wearing the hair, also, may greatly change the whole appearance. Worn at the nape of the neck it is domestic; lower, romantic; on a level with the head, classic; on top of the head, stylish.

Decorations.

A tenet of Delsartean art asserts that, “A decoration is to make something else beautiful and must not assert, but sacrifice itself. Ornament that has no use whatever is never, in any high sense, beautiful.”

A trimming with no reason for being is generally ungraceful. Buttons which fasten nothing should never be scattered over a garment. Bows, which are simply strings tied together, should only be placed where there is some possible use for strings tied together. In short, according to Mrs. Haweis, “Anything that looks useful, and is useless, is in bad taste.” For instance, the dress imitating a peasant or a fishwife is never so graceful or piquant as the real costume, since the handkerchief covering the peasant’s bare neck is much more picturesque than a bodice trimmed in form of a kerchief.

Slashes are at all times a most beautiful decoration. At shoulder, elbow, breast, edge of a flattened cap, the knees, cut just where a devotee of comfort might cut them to give more freedom of movement. The slash forms an unrivalled opportunity for displays of color. Deep blue, parting to display a glimpse of amber, white through black, the combinations are endless, and the whole gives the idea of a glimpse of an undergarment through an outer one. The contrast of a lining of vest, sleeve or panel is also a harmonious ornament.

Decollete Costume.

It is not the province of this work to decide the vexed question of the low-cut bodice for full dress. In this respect every woman will be a law unto herself, and every woman knows in her own mind the border line below which the corsage should not fall. All, however, do not know how greatly the hard, horizontal line of the low-cut bodice diminishes the appearance of height. Herein lies the great advantage of the heart or square-shaped opening showing the throat, since a dress high behind, or on the shoulders, gives all the height. Last, but not least, all the lovely curves of the throat are shown in this way, and any suspicion of angularity of the collar bone is hidden.

A dress should never end directly upon the skin. The line of contact should always be softened by an edge of lace, tulle, or ruching. First, for the idea of cleanliness; second, because “nature abhors sharp edges.” In flowers there are contrasts of color, but they are always softened, each shade stealing a little from the other as they blend.

A regularly decolletÉ gown is properly worn only during the same hours that a gentleman’s dress suit is donned, that is, “from dusk to dawn.”

Sharp edges should be avoided as much as possible in the entire costume. A glove that ends exactly at the wrist bone, or a boot at the ankle joint, with a straight line, is always ugly; so are dresses when they are cut in a circle close to the juncture of the neck with the shoulder, giving the neck a decapitated appearance. The line of contrast should always be softened with an edge of lace, or a necklace, and only round, pretty throats should dare such a display.

The skirt ought to appear, even if it is not, as a portion and a continuance of the bodice. That is, “if the bodice be cut to fit the figure tightly, the skirt ought properly to be plainly gored. If the bodice be full at the waist line, the skirt also should contain fullness, for this form signifies a loose, full garment bound at the waist with a girdle.”

Full waists and plain skirts, or vice versa, betray at once that skirt and bodice do not belong to each other. This course, however, is admissible at times, for instance, in case of the lovely, loose tea-jackets worn now, or in donning any cool lawn blouse, or dressing sacque for comfort.

The trained skirt is a most graceful garb, adding to height and diminishing stoutness, but it is never suitable for the street. For house, evening or carriage toilets it is eminently proper and pretty. All the movements of the form are softened and dignified by its sweeping undulations until one comes to feel that short skirts are really a mistake for a house gown, since so much grace and beauty of motion are sacrificed thereby.

Graceful Sleeves.

Few women have beautiful arms above the elbow. Fatness is not correctness of form, so that a short sleeve, no sleeve, or the painful strap which is all so many evening dresses can boast, is by no means always a thing of beauty.

A sleeve that falls in lace and frills just below the elbow hides many defects, besides softening, and rendering delicate, the lower arm and the hand.

A sleeve long enough to turn upward as a cuff, is much more effective than a simulated cuff, just as the thing itself is always better than an imitation. A sleeve that stops short at the wrist joint should be relieved by lace to be artistic.

Full sleeves improve every form. The very stout should never make the mistake of wearing a very tight sleeve, since to do so simply increases the apparent size of the arm. A full sleeve bound to the arm between joints gives an impression of comfort and beauty like the slashed sleeve before mentioned.

Painters have immortalized beautiful sleeves, as well as beautiful costumes. Indeed, to decide on really beautiful gowns one must study the great masters—Gainsborough, Reynolds, Watteau—until the study of costume becomes what it should be—a study of art.

Purchasing.

There should never be trying contrasts in the quality of the various articles that go to make up the sum-total of dress. To expend almost the entire allowance on a gorgeous bonnet that puts every other detail of the costume to blush, or to wear a shabby cloak with an elegant gown are examples of injudicious expenditure.

Instead, let it be remembered how many articles must be purchased and then so expend the sum to be drawn upon that it will not be exhausted on two or three expensive articles to the neglect of the necessary accessories.

An important point to be considered is the surroundings in which the garments are to be worn. Whether one is to drive over country roads or walk city streets; whether they must last one season or more. In this latter case care should be taken to choose quiet colors and inconspicuous patterns.

If the gown must serve many purposes let it be of some plain wool goods, tastefully made, hat and gloves harmonizing in tint, the whole bearing the imprint of the true lady and suitable for almost any occasion. At the same time the entire outfit will have cost no more than the dearly-purchased silk gown that left no margin for hat, gloves, or shoes, and must be worn on every occasion, suitable or unsuitable, to the discomfort of the wearer and the ruin of the gown.

If riding about in the country, choose wool fabrics that will not crease easily, or show dust, and for summer, cotton materials that will come bright and fresh from the hands of the laundress.

The Young Girl.

Sweet simplicity alone should be the guide for the young girl’s costume. The dewy bloom of the cheek, the clear young eyes, the soft rosebud lips, the sweet curves of the lithe form that come but once in a lifetime, are what we want most to see.

No heavy velvets or gorgeous trimmings should be worn by any girl under twenty-one. To call attention to her ornaments is to detract from her priceless ornament of sweet and fleeting youth.

Simple muslins and wools, soft, clinging silks and gauzes should be worn. Flowers are preferable to jewels. A necklace of pearls may be worn, should the complexion warrant, but other than this is a waste of money, and a waste of beauty.

Soft colors, where the skin permits, simplicity in cut, little if any trimming, and we have the costume most fitting for a girl to wear, and when we say “fitting” we have found the key to perfect dressing.

Diamonds and Precious Stones.

Women seem to look upon diamonds as a sort of social parole, while, in truth, there are but few women who can wear them without detracting from their own brilliancy; without sacrificing themselves to their jewels.

Dark, brilliant eyes and dazzling teeth may wear them safely, or, very clear, cool skins with bright, blue eyes may dare them at their own risk. Yet, to “tip the ear with diamond fire” is sure to call attention from the best points of the face, and in too many cases simply effaces and outshines the face itself.

Edmond Russell severely criticises diamond solitaires for earrings and esteems the stone a difficult one to wear except when small and used in quantities as settings for other jewels.

The secret of good taste in jewels is for a woman to seek out those gems whose colors harmonize with or heighten her own tints, as she does the shades for her gown, and confine herself to them. It is quite the thing now to have a special stone, as it is to have a special perfume. For instance, the turquoise is very becoming to some (it is Mrs. Langtry’s stone), garnets or rubies to others. The pearl, where it can be worn, softens the face more than any other jewel. The moonstone is very nearly as effective, as well as the beautiful opal. Rings, some authorities say, should be worn in barbaric profusion or not at all. A slender, beautifully modeled hand can afford to be guiltless of rings. One less perfect in shape, but white, can be enhanced in charm by a blaze of jewels.

Plump Women.

In the days of the painter Rubens stout women were the most fashionable creatures that walked the face of the earth. Rubens would paint none other than those of very firm build, and so artistically did he drape them, so cleverly did he pose them, and so well did he color them, that every woman aspired to sit for his pictures. To be painted by Rubens was a guarantee of beauty, grace and feminine loveliness of every description.

The Rubens woman is a stout woman of good figure. Stout women nearly always have fine forms. Their bust line is good. It is low and the neck curve full, even if not very long. The Rubens artist makes the most of these good points and conceals others.

In modern times, however, the stout woman finds that the fashions are rarely meant for her. In view of this, a number of wealthy New York women have banded themselves together in a Rubens Club, with one of its chief aims the designing of dresses for the members. For this purpose a professional designer is chosen, an artist of no mean merit.

The president of the Rubens Club, who is a woman of beauty and wealth and great loveliness of manner, had the honor of having the first gown designed for herself. This was an evening robe of great beauty, a regular Rubens gown.

The materials were dead white cashmere and dull black satin, with a very little lace and jet. The under gown, or the gown itself, more strictly speaking, fell from the shoulders in a long, loose robe. In the front there was a center trimming of black satin and lace and a heavy ruffle of lace outlined the bust and suggested the waist. A few jets were added. The back fitted closely, and around the foot extended a deep band of the black.

Over the Rubens gown fell a robe of the satin. It was caught at each shoulder and fell into a train three feet long when the wearer walked. In repose it lay around her feet, giving her height and a becoming setting.

The good points of this gown are, first, the way it showed off the very plump neck of the wearer. The fine throat line was visible, but at the shoulders, where too much massiveness takes the place of fine firm flesh, the robe was draped. The arms were likewise covered at the top, their thickest part, and, as the robe fell over them when in repose, much of their apparent size disappeared.

The robe had one very odd feature. The train was a doublet one. The back of the robe was little more than walking length, but the ends were very long indeed. This made a square court train like a monarch’s robe, and could be easily brought front by the hand, for trimming or drapery when the wearer was not walking.

Black Satin and Sparkling Jets.

In choosing the color of the gown to be snow-white instead of cream color, the artist knew what he was specifying. White is a diminishing color, while cream color enlarges. The same with black satin. Satin, being full of lights and shades, is uncertain in size, and it is preferable to silk or velvet, which makes the person thicker. The jets are dressy, wicked little ornaments that wink at you unexpectedly and disappear.

Much pains are taken in choosing colors, and then comes the artist’s real work. The hardest thing is to fit out his patrons with street gowns that will be conventional, and yet Rubenesque. To do this he takes advantage of the cape idea. A stout woman in a neat fitting gown, not too close under the bust, looks picturesque with a golf cape swinging from one shoulder. It gives her height. The dolmans that open in front and fall low at each side are admirable also, according to his ideas.

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