You can blame Char for this one. Assuming, of course, that you’re the kind of person who likes to “blame” people for showing you amazing dresses, in which case, what’s wrong with you, seriously? Anyway, this morning Char posted a round-up of her favourite Lindybop dresses of this moment, so now I’m going to blatantly copy her. Sorry, Char.
These two are Lana and Isla, which, appropriately enough, makes them sound a bit like 50s film stars. I’ve had my eye on Lana for ages now, because, OBVIOUSLY I have. I mean, if a wicked witch were to wave her wand and turn me into a dress, this is probably the dress I’d turn into. (I’m flattering myself here, obviously, but you know what I mean.) I actually have no idea why I don’t own this yet (I do: it’s because I have an almost-identical one from Trashy Diva. That one has a satin finish, though, which makes it dressy, while this one is cotton, so totes casual, and therefore completely different.), and the fact that it’s sold out in my size is the only thing that stopped me buying it today. On a related note, I’m starting to question the wisdom of me starting this whole shopping section, because it’s just making me want to buy ALL THE THINGS. NOW. GIMME.
Anyway. Lana is on the left, Isla is on the right, and Isla is also amazing, in a different kind of way. I have a Stop Staring dress which has a similar shape, and I really love it, so I’d probably love this too. And it’s green. You all know how I feel about green dresses, right?
Staying with the fishtail shape, but reluctantly wrenching myself away from the colour green, these two are Arabella and Ariel. Now, at first glance, you might be thinking poor old Arabella is basically the demure sister of the racier Ariel – like, if they were in a Regency romance, Ariel would be being groomed to marry the dashing young heir of the local baronet, while Arabella sat sewing quietly in a corner, overlooked by everyone except a visiting earl (disguised as a stable boy), who sees beyond the higher neckline and sensible short sleeves, to Arabella’s true beauty. Then they get married, and everyone’s all, “Who would’ve thought poor old Arabella would land herself an EARL!”, and… I’ll stop now. What I’m trying to say, is that, at first glance Arabella looks almost frumpy next to Ariel, but she’s actually the one I’d be more likely to buy, because she’d be much more wearable. Also, add a pair of killer heels and a quick swipe of red lipstick, and it would be exactly like the scene (in the book about these two I’m now writing in my mind) where Arabella takes off her spectacles and shakes her hair out of its matronly bun, and the Earl is all, “Why, Miss Arabella…!”
(I really WILL stop now.)
(I’ll also try to stop referring to the dresses as “she”, even although it’s hard, because they have women’s names. It feels disrespectful to call them “it” somehow…)
I promised myself I wouldn’t show you any more green dresses after the first two, but, well, here we are. What can you do? These are Cindy and Delphine. They are the younger sisters of Arabella and Ariel. They weren’t actually supposed to go to the ball, because they’re really too young, and it’s not the done thing, but then Cindy threatened to cry until her eyes got all swollen, and mama didn’t want her to spoil her complexion, so they’re allowed to stay until midnight, and we’ll all just have to hope neither of them runs away with an officer. They probably will though. (Clue: it’ll be Delphine.)
This is Ella: isn’t she lovely? Ella isn’t just beautiful on the outside, though – she is beautiful on the inside, too, and never has a bad word to say to anyone. A kind, gentle soul, Ella is particularly beloved by children, animals and old ladies, however, she was always a pale, delicate child, and she dies of consumption in the last chapter, so she never gets to go to the ball, where she’d have met the young Lord Walthamshaw. This is a shame, because he ends up marrying Audrey, who is very chic, with never a hair out of place, but honestly a bit of a bitch:
Stylish, mind you. But a bitch.
And NOW I’ll stop.