If you didn’t live in the mid-nineteenth century, the closest you’ll come to Victorian, Edwardian and Regency tchotchkes is etsy. (Not to be confused with regretsy). Today, I am pleased to present a variety of fine hand-crafted items that approach the pomp, fuss and discomfort of my own splendid era. Enjoy!
What’s an elaborate hairstyle without a tiara, yes? For all you crown aficionados, here is a delightful (albeit LONG) presentation of European royal headdresses. Note, my various crowns are nowhere to be found in this line up, thought plenty of my sisters’ and cousins’ bling-ridden hair ornaments are shown. Extra credit to those who can pick them out!
*This just in! For all you royal enthusiasts. Kate’s wedding dress is on display!
For those of you who wish to view yours truly under cover of crown, I submit the following:
Today, I shall dedicate this post to the gentlemen entirely, and our rule will focus on, well, to use the modern parlance, bling.
Again, I turn to the stylization in the recent Tudors series, where King Henry VIII and his retinue are festooned in fob chains, breast pins and all manner of rings. But let us not forget about the last Spanish Habsburg king, Charles II, another so-called King of Bling (though he was more famous for his long, thick curls and the breed of spaniel named for him). Throughout history, there is quite a bit of evidence to suggest powerful men are not afraid to be fancy.
Like these ostentatious monarchs, you, too should beat your drum loudly with flash and sparkle. Gentlemen, by all means wear jewelry! If you have not your own, borrow it, or get it some other way, for you must be sure that you go not into the presence of any woman, whose good opinion is worth having, without layer upon layer of ornament.
Take a page, perhaps, from nature. The peacock, yes? Here’s a little-known fact: it is not that the brightness itself attracts a mate, it is the pomp and sure-cockedness (pun intended) of such a colorful bird defying predators to eat him if they can wrestle him down. It is as if he says, “Yes, I’m easy to find, but woe to the fox that can kill me, for I am one tough critter!”
Like a peahen, we ladies swoon over that sort of brash, self-assuredness. Remember, the bigger the rock, the bigger the … well, never mind.
My Dearest Karl sent me a lovely piece of jewelry, which offered both the time as well as his likeness, all in one special package. A wing of aged brass jutted out the side, like our pullets when they run to escape the occasional fox who slithers in the hen house.
That I might always be aware of time, as it ticks unceasing, until we reunite. That is, indeed, how he phrased it.
Ah, but all round me, evidence that love dies, and along with it, time becomes the cruelest marker. Just ask Mummi! She stares all too often in her gilt mirror, asking too many questions of her weary eyes. Muttering all the while, “Why did I follow my heart, instead of my head?”
The odd turns of the heart were a curiosity, but in my new-found state of smitten, I vowed that my own heart would never grow cold. Once I loved, I promised, I would never un-love. As if in agreement the locket watch ticked against my breast.