SUNDAY, AUGUST ,8 2010 SIDEORDER Who wouldn’t want to raid her closet? BY DIANE ROBERTS Princess Grace presided over
a country no bigger than a bon- bon. Yet 28 years after her death in a car accident, she remains oneof the giants of fashion.From Betty Draper, the icily elegant Grace look-alike on TV’s “Mad Men,” to the Hermes “Kelly” handbag with the five-figure price tagandthe three-year wait- ing list, her influence shows no sign of waning. Now London, one of the
world’s fashion capitals, pays homage with a new exhibition: “Grace Kelly: Style Icon.” On a warm summer morning
perfumed by jasmine, I went to the Victoria&Albert, the mighty museum of applied arts, to take in 30 years’ worth of Kelly chic. The show tracks her transition from Hitchcock blonde, star of “Rear Window” and “To Catch a Thief,” to grande dame of a Ruri- tanian principality. Even as an actress, Kelly, with
her patrician features and slen- der figure, looked like a princess. Shemay have been an Irish Cath- olic, but the movies dressed her as theconsummateWASP. Alfred Hitchcock asked her to pad her bra for “Rear Window”; she re- fused. Ondisplay here is the austere
Edith Head evening gown and matching coat in aquamarine silk satin that she wore to collect her 1955 Academy Award, the classically inspired “goddess” bathing suitandrobe sheworein “High Society,” and the pale pink and gold suit she wore for her
civil marriage toMonaco’sPrince Rainier III in 1956. (The lace and silk faille wedding gown she wore for the nuptial Mass is in the Philadelphia Museum of Art.) There’s also a mouthwatering
selection of her Paris couture, including the grass-green Balen- ciaga ensemble she wore to a WhiteHouse luncheon in 1961, a
DETAILS
Grace Kelly: Style Icon Victoria & Albert Museum Cromwell Road London SW7 2RL 011-44-20-7942-2000
www.vam.ac.uk Open daily 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. through Sept. 26. Museum is free; timed tickets to exhibition are about $11.
groovy Yves Saint Laurent “Mon- drian” shift from 1965 and a Givenchy number in the same fuchsia color as the dress Mi- chelleObamawore on theMarch 2009 cover of Vogue. Princess Grace said that she
—
was as loyal to her old clothes as to her old friends, a charming justification for holding on to almost everything she ever bought. By the time of her death in 1982, she owned 45 pairs of Oliver Goldsmith sunglasses; untold pairs of shoes and kid gloves; hats and handbags,many of which are on display here, along with some of her witty jeweled brooches in the shapes
of lions or birds; and the dia- mond tiara designed by Van Cleef & Arpels (a sponsor of the exhibition) that she wore at her daughter Caroline’s 1978 wed- ding. Her taste was almost infalli-
ble, though there are some un- fortunate examples of the “rich hippie” look of the 1970s: an orange and yellow Dior maxi with an indefensible ruffle at the hem, a couple of overdecorated caftans and a Marc Bohan dress with a bizarre sequined breast- plate. That stuff is put to shame by a 1959Maggy Rouff ball gown in rose pink satin with a cloud of chiffon around the shoulders. It’s so regal I felt like curtseying to it. Afterward, I had a browse in
the V&A’s terrific shop, where you can put together a cheap and cheerful Grace Kelly look: short gloves in pastel colors for about $22, faux pearls for $10 and a smart broad-brimmed hat ($53) similar to the one she wore when she first arrived in Monaco in 1956. Leaving the V&A, I strolled
through Knightsbridge on a fashion reconnaissance mission. Sure enough, Hobbs, an upscale chain boutique, had Kellyesque shirtdresses in navy silk, and halter-top dresses echoing her black and white ensemble in “To Catch a Thief.” L.K. Bennett had sharp sheaths in ladylike pastels with coats, shoes and skittish little hats to match, and every- body from Benetton to the Gap is selling twin sets. Princess Grace would surely approve. The good news for anyone traveling to London is that it’s in
the throes of its annual summer sales, when giant department stores such as Selfridges or Har- rods, as well as small specialty shops, slash their prices by up to 75 percent. I’d give Harrods a miss, if I
were you. These days it’s more of a tourist attraction than a fash- ion leader. Harvey Nichols (just down the road inKnightsbridge) has much more interesting clothes. Besides, it’s the spiritual home of “Absolutely Fabulous’s” Patsy and Edina, though Lacroix has been replaced by younger designers such as StellaMcCart- ney and Thakoon. If you have time for only one
department store, though, make it Liberty (near Oxford Circus). This temple of design was found- ed in 1875, selling cutting-edge pieces in luxurious hand-printed fabrics for London’s more daring artists and edgier aristocrats. It still showcases the best of British design. And if you want to go the full Kelly and invest in some- thing actually touched by Chris- tian Dior,Hubert de Givenchy or Coco Chanel, Liberty has a sec- tion of vintage couture. If the stratospheric prices are
a little much (this ain’t Good- will), you can always go for a pair of oversize, paparazzi-defying sunglasses. Marks & Spencer does a fine $10 version that will make you look and feel like a princess swanning around on the Riviera.
travel@washpost.com
Roberts is a commentator for NPR and the BBC.
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F5 BEDCHECK
ZOFIA SMARDZ/THE WASHINGTON POST Jetsons or Flintstones? Either way, these Airstreams are a trip.
Two retro berths for happy campers
BY ZOFIA SMARDZ I don’t like the word “cozy.”
When writers use it, I mercilessly slash it from their copy. ButnowI was flummoxed. Because stand- ing in the middle of the little aluminum trailer where I’d be spending the night, all I could think was, “Wow, this is really . . . cozy.” Icouldn’tcomeupwithanoth-
er word for it. The mini-space — maybe 7 feet wide by 7 feet high by, oh, 20 or so feet long — was dollhouse dainty. And thorough- ly, forget my claustrophobic ten- dencies, inviting. The rounded contours of the ceiling and sides enveloped me, and the soft lights around the windows set a sooth- ing mood. I couldn’t wait to crawl — literally — into the platform doublebedthattookuptheentire “bedroom.” My husband had been joking
all week about our upcoming overnight in a “double-wide,” which this most certainly was not. It was just what I’d been looking for. I have a fantasy about living
theRVlife (doesn’t everyone?), so I thought it would be a kick to book the 1957 Airstream at the StarLux hotel in Wildwood, N.J., for a test run. It’s one of two vintage Airstreams—those silver sausage-shaped motor homes that dotted the landscape in the mid-20th century, when Ameri- cans started hitting the road for real — at the boutique hotel on the Jersey shore. (The other one, dating from the ’70s, was bigger than ours; good thing for the family of fourwhowerestayingin it.)
Thetrailerswerebroughtin as ALAMY GraceKelly, star of such films as “Rear Window” with Jimmy Stewart, is still a fashion icon. Seewhy at London’sV&AMuseum.
part of a total renovation in 2000, whenthe hotel,oncearun-of-the- mill beach motel, was decked out in high doo-wop fashion, the sig- nature ’50s style and decor—you know, all those neon lights and swooping angles and blond wood and steel-and-Formica — that Wildwood has embraced as its own. At the StarLux, it’s all done
Late again? Check. But not too late. cutting it close from F1
“spill tacks,” “close the door” or “stomp and roar,” and I feel a little childishly selfish. And then I do it all over
again. Take one of my most recent
trips, a June flight to Provi- dence, R.I. It started with a survey of
friends the day before in my dog park. The departure time was 11:35 a.m. I live in Dupont Circle. When would you walk out your door to catch a cab? The consensus was 9:30,
maybe 9:45, although one guy said hewould leave at 8:15. You know, just in case.When I said that I was tempted to leave at 10:30, gasps erupted, so I blushed and backtracked and said, “Okay, I guess I really should catch a cab by 10.” I meant it. This time would
be different. Then, as I found myself
doing laundry instead of pack- ing the night before, I started to doubtmy resolve. And when the morning arrived and I was making coffee, handing off dog and cat to their respective sitters and then just starting to pack by about 9:30 — for a week-long trip that involved wedding and beach — the folly of this attempt to change my ways became apparent. Sure enough, it was 10:20 before I ran out the door.With
my boarding pass printed but with a bag to check, I had exactly 45 minutes before the baggage cutoff time, according to US Airways. (If I were flying out of Dulles or more than a dozen other airports, I’d have to be there in 30.) Well, this time my usual
ability to hail a cab in front of my apartment building was compromised by street con- struction. By the time I caught one a block away, it was 10:35. And I happened to find the slowest, most careful cabbie in the city, who infuriated me by killing every light. By 10:54, about the only thing I could do was catalogue the entire thing for a friend by textmessage. “You’ve got 11minutes left to
check bag,” he textedme. “Yep, I know,” I shot back.
“It’s like an amusement park ride. Sick, I know.” As the cabbie neared the
terminal, I was tempted to tell him to just slow down, open the door and let me drop and roll, but the bag was in the trunk. I practically threwa $20 bill at him (for a $13 fare), and bolted to a curbside kiosk. A credit card swipe, decisively quick choices on the screen and boom! I got the printout of my bag receipt, stamped—you guessed it—11:04. Inside, a mere half-dozen
travelers were in front ofme in the security line, taking their
sweet time. One of them used eight entire bins to stash his things, and another disrupted the line by not removing his laptop first. Amateurs. I felt like George Clooney in “Up in the Air.” No worries. I strolled—okay,
I race-walked — to the gate, where at 11:15 they were just callingmy zone. Perfect. Again. I know what you’re thinking.
One day, hewill learn his lesson. I’m sure I will. And in fact, I
almost have. Once all was on track until I got to security and the TSA agent looked at me quizzically and said, “Jean- nette?” The ticket agent had handed me someone else’s boarding pass. I ran back to the counter, got her attention, and she escortedme through herself. Another time, Iwasn’t able to
printmy boarding pass at home, and then my cabdriver missed the turnoff toAirTran, forcing us to circle the airport. Once in- side, I was surprised to find no check-in kiosks at all — and dozens of people waiting for only two agents. Thankfully, one of them was simply masterful, more efficient than any ma- chine, checking all us latecom- ers in with mere seconds to spare. You’d think these nearmisses
themselves would be lesson enough, that I would changemy ways. But whenever I make the plane, just barely, all the stress
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of getting there turns into a hit of giddy self-satisfaction: My rush leads to a rush. In fact, I’ve seriously considered only one change in my behavior, and that’s to somehow synchronize my watch with each airline’s official time. You know, just in case it might help me leave a little later.
yonanj@washpost.com
with panache and a good dose of cheek.Waiting to check in at the small office behind the soaring AstroLounge, a vaulted space outfitted with butterfly chairs, curvilinear furniture and a glass fireplace, I stared at a paper lampshade that had little metal antennae poking out of the top. “That looks just like something out of ‘The Jetsons,’ ” I thought. Well, what do you know. The
StarLux is meant to feel like “a hotel the Jetsons would stay at,” manager Gordon Clark told me the next morning. Aha. What’d I tell you? Airstreams, of course, fit right
in with this retro nostalgia trip (although honestly they look as
much Flintstones as Jetsons to me). And a trip it is, even if the trailers aren’t going anywhere anymore. The StarLux’s pair is permanently affixed to a deck in the hotel parking lot, with a little Astroturf lawn between them, a table and chairs under an um- brella, and colored lights strung between the fiberglass-and-plas- tic palm trees (almost a Wild- wood emblem) at either end. It feels like a party just looking at them. Inside, they’ve been renovat-
ed, too, of course, with built-in furniture, a kitchenette with mini-fridge (and mini-coffee maker and mini-sink), air condi- tioning, wall-mounted reading lights and two TVs and a DVD player. What more do you need? Well, okay, for the hotel’s free WiFi, we did have to go to the main building. But then, WiFi’s so 21st century.
DETAILS
StarLux 305 E. Rio Grande Ave. Wildwood, N.J. 609-522-7412
www.thestarlux.com Rent a room, a suite, a cottage or a trailer. Rates vary according to accommodation and week of stay. Trailers start at $79 in May and peak at $233 for several weeks in July and August. Continental breakfast included.
There were a couple of other
little drawbacks. The bathroom and shower were about as teensy as they could be. (The foot-pedal toilet was fun, though.) I banged my knuckles against the ceiling when taking off my dress for the night and knocked my head into thekitchencounterwhilezipping up my suitcase. And speaking of suitcases, our luggage took up a whole lot of the “living room.” But even so. According to
Clark, some guests who are booked into the Airstreams balk once they realize they’ll be stay- ing in an actual trailer. (Might have beenmy husband, if Ihadn’t forced him into the whole adven- ture.) But not I. After we had dinner, a ride on
the Great Wheel and a stroll down the boardwalk, screaming with neon signs like a carny of old, it felt perfectly natural to duck back into our little ’50s camper and settle down for the night. Lights off, window shades drawn, it felt so. . . ah, I’ve got the word:snug.Butnotsnugas in too small. Snug as in comfy. Snug as in . . . oh, all right, all right. I give up.
As in cozy.
smardzz@washpost.com
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