In our early 30s, Sid and I moved out to Connecticut on sort of a whim. Over the six years we had been together, we had been in a loft on Duane Street, then to Greenwich Avenue in the Village, and then finally, a very small, very wonderful apartment on lower Fifth that we could hardly believe our good fortune in scraping together the down payment to purchase. (The advertisement read PRE-WAR, NOT PRE-TEND.) I pinched myself every time I walked into the lobby of Number 39. But I guess we didn't plan very well. I could toss my pillow from the bed to the crib in the corner and we were expecting another baby. Change was inevitable.
Each night when I was leaving the Condé Nast offices to walk home down Fifth Avenue, my friend Helen was also leaving to catch the Metro-North train home to Connecticut. She described her long, magical three-bedroom apartment situated above a stable on an estate in Darien. This estate dated back to the early 1900s and was located just off Post Road. As in, Revolutionary War-era Boston Post Road. Talk about PREWAR. As it turns out, Helen was giving up the apartment to buy a house nearby. (The world around me was full of upward mobility.) Would I be interested?
I didn't know anything about Connecticut. Greenwich, Stamford, Darien. They were all just stops on the train. But there were real horses living in the stable — we said hello before we climbed the stairs to the apartment — and it was love at first sight. I had to have it. You would have felt the same. Within three months, Sid and I had sold our spot on Fifth Avenue and become renters again. I may have been moving to suburbia… but in my mind I was landing in the French countryside. I will explain.
So I packed up and left my fashion editor life in the city. Baby Louisa was born. Everything was different. To cope with the panic of that impulse decision and all we had left behind, I pulled out my sewing machine and got to work decorating. And whatever my new life was, it was covered in French fabric. I had found several bolts of Provençal printed cotton from some weird fabric sample sale held at a warehouse in New York and greedily scooped them all for future home sewing projects. Charles Demery, Souleiado, Pierre Deux. Much like the Metro-North stops, the names didn't mean much to me — but I loved the patterns. They were intended for home use, and not necessarily for clothing, but that didn't stop me. They felt cheery and happy, not too sweet, and versatile enough that I could imagine a million different uses for them. And I sort of did.
I made curtains and pillows and bedspreads… tablecloths and napkins and chair covers… dresses and bloomers and bubbles for the girls… pareos and headscarves for myself. (I did take care not to match the children.) "Nesting" feels too small of a word for what I was doing. It was much cheaper than therapy — I had just given up the job of my dreams — and also more tactile. I still have all the stuff I made!
Those first few months were a kind of sewing frenzy. I would throw the little girls down for a nap and wouldn't turn off the machine until I heard them cry. It was heaven. (I have since passed down the more gender-neutral clothes I made in that era to my baby grandson… but it appears I have also passed down the obsession with sewing up any scrap of adorable fabric into something useful. My daughter has taken that intensity to a similar level and the baby shows up each Sunday night for family dinner wearing a new pair of bloomers from my old fabric remnants. I have been hauling those pieces around for over 30 years and it brings me so much pleasure to see them made up into something new.)
Today those fabrics feel just as timeless and charming as they did when I first saw them in that warehouse. They are sentimental to me because of this era… but there is a reason they have held up for so many others. Perhaps you were lucky enough to have visited the South of France and seen them firsthand in context. They are familiar, but far enough away from your own home to register as romantic and interesting.
These prints are often called Indiennes for their resemblance to 17th-century Indian textiles. Since my clueless Connecticut days, I have learned that Marseille was an important port for fabric trade and this access to Indian block prints set off a total craze in the region. Soon, Provençal merchants started to imitate the Indian makers by creating their own versions. It was country style: simple, cheerful, easy to clean and maintain in lightweight cotton, and it became an essential part of South of France style. Timeless, warm, slightly imperfect. And I knew I wanted them on the spring line in a big way this year.
When we were sourcing these fabrics — a labor of love for our Raw Materials team — we had one of our favorite Italian mills design some prints inspired by the typical Provençal ones from my Connecticut era, with tree of life motifs and simplified florals. We also used those authentic for-the-home fabrics that I sewed with myself. The quality is more rustic in feel, but it is straight from the mills that have been producing these textiles for centuries.
I cannot get enough of it. There is a top and matching skirt in the prettiest pale blue floral, inspired by a vintage shape, and I like to wear it both forwards and backwards with the tie in the back forming a little bustle. There are straighter, wrap-style skirts, too… one comes in a sunny yellow (that is somehow already almost gone!) with a matching top for another head-to-toe look. Another is reversible, in two very special navy patterns, with quilting that reminds me of my very first taste of the French country look… the Pierre Deux bag my brother got me when their store opened in LA. That one, too, has matching tops for both sides — a feminine blouse and a more tomboyish popover — although I also love it with a plain t-shirt and cardigan. There is a wonderful dress that you will grab over and over again for running around town or taking a trip. Stay tuned, because there are a few more of these prints coming next month. A little goes a long way… but for me, a lot of it is even better.
