The allure of the summer dress

Nice article here by Alexandra Shulman on the attractions of the summer dress.

Sadly, this summer, there has not been much occasion to get into mine. Living, as I do, at the top of a windy hill, and working in quite a temperate office, it is often cool, and quite often warmer outside than inside.

Add the fact that I've got the house shuttered down on account of my usual summer bronchitis, in a futile attempt to keep out the dust of the ongoing hay harvest, and I doubt it's more than 17 degrees in here. I'm in a brushed-cotton skirt, long-sleeved poloneck and double-layer cotton jacket - it's nowhere near warm enough for a summer frock. 

'Frock' is one of those words that I really like. A dress could be a winter affair, but a frock is decidedly girly. A couple of weekends ago I aired a new one - well, new to me anyway. I made it from a 1970s bedspread I bought on Ebay, and it's in competition for the perfect summer dress. Striped seersucker, so no ironing or messing about, and cut on the bias to create diagnonal interest. I put a knee-length split in each side for easy walking and made a very narrow (half-inch) very long (three yards) sash to wrap around and around it, Claire McCardell style.

I also cut the neckline deliberately high, in order to hide my decollete - something that burns on a hot day - and that proved to be a good decision. Teamed with a little cardi it looks very sweet, but I hope that by the end of summer, I'll have gotten round to making a matching bolero for it. At any rate, I'm very pleased with it.

For me, a summer dress has to fulfill a number of criteria. It MUST be comfortable, it must be lightweight and unrestrictive, long enough to hide my white legs and coolly absorbent. A bias-cut, sleeveless job that slips on over your head is something that I find very useful - I've made half a dozen of these in the past five years, casting off from my measurements. As with anything you make yourself, the perfect fit is the thing that's desireable here - so many shop-bought bias dresses cling in odd places, but this is something you can avoid when you make it yourself.

I also like a sleeved caftan-type of dress, with plenty of air about it, and the sleeves either elbow or wrist-length. I have a few of these from Anokhi in linen and hemp, and although I couldn't pretend any of them are hugely flattering (they make your boobs look enormous), when topped with a jacket or a long summer coat to create vertical interest they can look lovely. 

A shirtwaist is another useful dress, which you can just pop on and go, but a good one is very hard to find. My favourite is from the 1950s in beige silk, with elbow-length sleeves, just enough flare to be interesting and lovely little topstitch details in the cuffs and collar. Sadly, most modern ones seem to be much frumpier - I don't know quite why modern designers have such trouble with this classic look, which is a lifesaver if you've got flabby arms or droopy knees and need that little bit more cover. 

If you want maximum coolth in the heat, however, you can't beat a djallabah. This Arab garment is fabulous in really hot weather because the cut creates a current of air that rises from your feet to your neckline, cooling your body as it goes. Again, a djallabah is not the world's most flattering garment, but I've had glances of admiration whenever I've worn mine because they make you look as cool as a cucumber, which carries its own allure on a hot day. 

If you want to experiment with making  a djellabah, see the instructions in the Features section.