Beauty Culture (Browning)/Chapter 3

Some of my readers may perhaps disclaim against dress being an art in any sense of the word, but surely we need only cast our eyes around us as we take our walks abroad to discover that it is indeed an art, and one that seems difficult to acquire where the great majority are concerned.

Everybody vitally interested in the culture of beauty must fully recognise and appreciate the truth of the aphorism left on record by Lord Chesterfield, viz., "No woman is ugly when she is dressed." Mark the words, not clothed, but dressed. There is a wide difference between these ​two words, though at first sight they may appear to be synonyms. "Dressed" in its original meaning signifies decorated; clothed means covered. A savage may be clothed when she dons "hip-beads" or a "loin-cloth;" a society woman may also be mercly clothed in yards of silk and velvet, or a strong-minded female in ulster and bowler hat; but neither of them is dressed in Lord Chesterfield's sense of the word. To be dressed one must understand the art of dressing. In other words, one must understand how to decorate the human form divine in such a way as to accentuate its beauties and cover up its defects; therefore the three chief canons of this feminine art are:

1. That the clothing should harmonise with, but not coerce, the natural lines of the body.
2. That the colouring of the clothing should be chosen not only for general harmony in itself, but also with due regard to the hair, eyes, and complexion of the wearer.
3. That the clothing should possess a certain individuality, expressing indefinably the tastes and character of the wearer.

Many people lose sight totally of the first point, ​or we should not see so many "parodies" of style walking the streets and filling the drawing-rooms of our homes. There are tall women expecting to look well in clothing that would be eminently suitable for their short sisters, and vice versâ. There are fat women adopting fashions that were designed for slim, graceful girls, and "scraggy" maids trying to appear beautiful in costumes suitable for full-blown matrons only.

Errors of colour lead often to disastrous results where beauty is concerned. Why should we all adopt certain colours merely because they are fashionable, and quite irrespective of their artistic value or their becomingness? Is it not better to make Fashion our slave rather than permit ourselves to become the slaves of Fashion? To ignore fashion altogether is neither wise nor well-bred; but to sacrifice all chance of beauty to it, is both unwise and ill-bred. Let us study our own personal qualifications first, and then make as many concessions to La Mode as appear desirable. It is astonishing what a judicious manipulation of colour will do for most people. A too-brilliant complexion may be toned down by dress, or a dull ​one enlivened. Hair and eyes that look "washed out" with one colour may be made to look daintily delicate by adopting another, and so on. For instance, a brilliant blue will make golden hair look sandy; but that beautiful, dull, cobwebby blue will bestow upon sandy hair a glint of gold. Bright brown will "kill" the auburn tones of chestnut hair, but a dark green will bring them out to perfection. An anæmic complexion will look still more anæmic in conjunction with neutral tints; but a rich deep red will put a touch of colour into the flesh tones. Pink has such a variety of tints that it may be worn by most people, if they choose the particular tone for their own special colouring; but a pink that means loveliness to one woman often makes another, who may strongly resemble her, look "dirty."

Grey is a colour that is very trying to a pale complexion, but it may be worn advantageously both by blondes and brunettes, with rosy cheeks and well-defined eyebrows; it also combines beautifully with pink, green, yellow, mauve, and some shades of red. Cerise is a very good tone of red for the majority of people, and ruby, too. In ​fact, a great variety of red tones can be worn, particularly in winter; but red must be eschewed by women who have very florid complexions or "carroty" hair; and magenta should never be adopted by anyone who values beauty, because its cruel, purple tones are ruinous to every sort of complexion. White and cream suit a good many, but there are a few who look old, haggard, and ghastly in it.

Yellow, in some one or more of its many tones, may be worn by everybody. A brilliant brunette looks charming in greenish yellows; a fresh-cheeked débutante equally well in lemon or primrose; but brownish yellows only should be donned by matrons of mature years, and pale blondes look their very best in daffodil, buttercup, dandelion, and other golden yellows. Indeed, my observation has led me to believe that anyone possessing a nose that turns up—be it ever so slightly—rejoices instinctively in every shade of golden yellow, from broom and gorse down to the humble little coltsfoot. Astrologers would probably tell us that it is the touch of the sun in their temperament that accounts for this. The art ​reason why yellow proves so universally becoming is to be found in the fact that it intensifies all the flesh tones, and enhances the brilliancy of other colours, just as the sun does in Nature. To convince ourselves of the value of yellow from the beauty point of view, we need only stroll through the National Gallery, or any other collection of Old Masters, and notice how fond most of them were of getting it into their pictures and portraits. Sometimes it appears in the form of curtains or draperies; at other times gowns, cloaks, caps, rugs, cushions; but it is constantly there. Sometimes it is pure amber, deep orange, shimmering gold, or a lovely tawny shade; at other times it is shot with pink, green, purple, blue, grey, or silver. Vandyke, Rubens, Paul Veronese, and the whole lot of them, all loved it and used it perpetually, because they knew its value. Moreover, sunlight is yellow, and the sun is the great vitaliser of everything, being himself the source of all colour. But, in using yellow, we must always be cautious about the colours we blend with it. We must not mix a brilliant shade of yellow with a vivid shade of red, blue, pink, or green, or we shall pro​duce an effect so crude as to transgress the very first principles of the science of beauty by setting the teeth of our more artistic neighbours on edge. There is nothing crude, nothing vulgar, nothing inartistic in the natural world. The sky is blue and the grass is green and the sunlight is yellow, yet these tones are all brought into harmony. by the softening effects of the atmosphere; but in dress we have few of these atmospheric effects to depend upon, therefore we must blend our colours to suit the glare of the gas, the lamps, and the electric light of our dwellings. In our murky clime we cannot venture to don the same glowing tints with which a Spanish gipsy or an Italian peasant delights our eye, because our colder skies would render the effect gaudy. In dressing, ourselves it would perhaps be just as well to bear in mind the following general rules with regard to the effect on the complexion of the various colours:

Black deadens a dull skin.

Bright blues cast a yellowish light on the skin.

Grassy greens give it a livid hue.

Dead white throws a brownish tinge on it.

Drab and stone colour give it a leaden hue. ​

Some reds throw a greenish light.

Mauves give an orange shade to a pale skin.

Black suits a good many people, but those who are not in the first flush of youth should be careful to relieve it with some colour near the face. Its hardening effect may also be obviated by bringing into play the softening influence of white or cream lace. Dark people with colour may wear almost any shade of grey, fawn, or green, but they must beware of browns. Heliotrope and pansy are becoming only to a few. Some shades of green are eminently advantageous to fair people. They bring out the delicate flesh tones and show up the golden tints in the hair. In regard to style, a few general rules ought to be borne in mind. For instance, straight perpendicular lines increase the apparent height, whilst lines that run horizontally give the effect of decreasing the stature; therefore, short, stout people should give the preference to straight, long lines, and very tall people should just as carefully avoid these. Full-blown matrons inclined to embonpoint should keep to broad sweeping lines that give an easeful dignity, and no woman, big or little, tall or ​short, fat or thin, should ever wear anything "skimpy."

Women who are naturally all angles need to round them off by plenty of material; and those whose proportions err in the other direction cannot afford to wear anything that tends to contract the figure. Here, too, let me emphasise another point. Have your clothes well-cut and well-made. Home dressmaking is frequently a snare and a delusion. One good, well-fitting gown is worth more than half-a-dozen of those floppy, flimsy garments, which are neither beautiful nor economical.

With regard to individuality in dress, I shall merely say a few words. It is perhaps more the way in which a thing is put on and worn, that gives this soupçon of elegance and individual charm, than any actual deviation from, or addition to, the general fashions in vogue. Indeed, this quality is often quite indefinable. You know it is there, but you cannot grasp it, or classify it, or ticket it. You cannot explain either what it is, or how it got there; but, if you have got it in you naturally, it will always show itself. It is something that is distinctive, and something that is not paid for in any ​of your bills, either to milliner, dressmaker, or florist; and this "aroma of soul" in your costume will invariably carry with it its own peculiar fascination. French, Austrian and Hungarian women possess it in a high degree; English women are somewhat wanting in it, but there is no reason why we should not educate ourselves up to it, so far as I can see.

We ought all to wear our clothes as though they were a part of ourselves. A woman who is conscious of her dress will never be more than a transitory success, because her attention being always divided, her personality must necessarily lose half its power.

French-women accentuate their individuality by using one special perfume invariably, or wearing one special flower (like the Duchess of Portland and her Malmaison carnations). This is in itself a touch of distinctiveness, of course; nevertheless, this is not exactly what I mean. It is, in fact, a little difficult to explain, even in this age of "individualism." The majority of my readers will, however, understand, I fancy, without further explanation. Let us designate it the art by which ​a cultivated woman puts a touch of herself into everything she wears and everything she does.

In our coiffures, as in our costumes, we should always bear in mind the principles of proportion.

Beautiful hair is a strong point, even in the plainest-featured woman; but in order to make its value fully felt it must be arranged to suit the shape of the head and face, as well as to correct or complete the general contours of the whole person.

Short women must take care not to make their heads look too wide; tall women, or those with long, narrow faces, should not dress it too high on the top of the head, and nobody ought to wear it too low on the nape of the neck. Those who are lucky enough to have been endowed by nature with a classic Greek brow should not spoil its beauty by tumbling their hair over it like that of a poodle puppy; whilst those, on the contrary, who possess high "intellectual" foreheads ought not to roll the hair back, or drag it smoothly away from the temples. They will find a few waves or some tiny curls more than valuable from the beauty point of view, on account of their softening effect; ​and, personally, I fail to see why the most straitlaced and puritanical of people should consider it frivolous to curl the hair. Surely there is nothing sinful or immoral in the process!

If you do not possess enough of your own hair for decorative purposes, supplement it by all means; but be very careful that the borrowed tresses match your own both in colour and texture. It is a terrible shock to one's sense of the beauty and fitness of things to see a woman going about with a kind of pie-ball effect in her coiffure. The more simply and naturally it is dressed the more beautiful it looks as a rule. It is wonderful how many defects in the shape of the head and features may be modified by a really becoming arrangement of the hair.

But this is scarcely a new idea after all, though it is evidently one that has lost its hold upon the feminine mind, judging from the large number of unbecoming coiffures we see around us, and also by the want of originality shown in the fact that if any one particular style is "fashionable," the great majority adopt it, irrespective of age or suitability.

Many, many long years ago, Ovid wrote in one ​of his admirable works: "Everyone should consult his or her mirror, and choose the style of head-dress that suits their physiognomy best. A long face demands a parting and a coiffure that is not too high on the top of the head; thus was Laodamia's beautiful hair dressed. Round faces require the hair to be done in a knot on the crown of the head, so as to show the ears. It suits others best to let the hair hang down over the shoulders, like you do, Apollo, when you take your melodious lyre in hand; others, again, should coil them at the back of the head, in the same fashion as Diana. It suits some to have their hair fluffy and wavy; others look best with it smooth and severe-looking. Some will find it becoming to wear it twisted, like the tortoise out of which Mercury made a lyre long ago; whilst others, in order to render themselves more beautiful, must curl it, and form it in tendrils and wavelets all over their heads. We cannot all wear our hair in the same style, because our figures and the contours of our heads and features are diverse."

​Ovid does not say anything about the colour of the hair in his very wise and practical advice to his friends, but nothing is more ridiculous to my mind than the woman who dyes her locks according to the prevailing "mode." Not that it is immoral or wicked to dye the hair, be it understood; it is all decorative art, in its way; but hair that is frequently changing its hue is the sort of thing to bring ridicule upon it, and there is absolutely nothing to be gained by making a laughing-stock of oneself under any circumstances. Another great point to be considered in speaking of the art of dress is attention to detail. The effect of a charming hat and a becoming coiffure may be ruined by a veil that is carelessly put on, and the loveliest costume may be marred by a pair of badly-fitting or soiled gloves. Suitability in dress, too, goes for a great deal. Fancy shoes vulgarise a tailor-made coat and skirt, whilst thick foot-gear "stamp" the wearer of an elegant afternoon toilette.

Nice gloves, nice shoes, dainty handkerchiefs, and unimpeachable skirts, are signs, not only of "good form," but also of good taste and refinement of character.