High Fashion Fits Them Well

Neil and DeEtta Vincent of Bainbridge Island keep their collection of haute couture - high-fashion "costumes" from the years 1725 to 1970 - in a room stacked floor to ceiling with dress boxes and acid-free tissue.

The 300 gowns and 1,000 accessories were worn to the balls, afternoon teas, cruises, and wedding trips of their eras by such famous names as Vanderbilt and Abigail Adams.

But where they were worn, by whom and for what is of little interest to Neil Vincent, who is writing a book about high fashion from 1890-1914, "The Age of Elegance." His interest is in the craftsmanship, style and history of the designers.

"I don't know at what point I became more interested in the people who made the stuff rather than the people who wore the stuff," said Vincent, "but to me that is fascinating."

One fascination is that facts are associated with who made or designed the gowns (almost all of the Vincents' clothing is authenticated by original labels), whereas fiction tends to rule memories of who wore them.

Factual detail is imperative to Vincent, who as a child wanted to be an archaeologist, but by high school was designing costumes for school plays. Those interests came together when he read about the opening of the royal mausoleum in Germany. The bodies were dust, but the burial court clothes were intact.

"It fascinated me that these things could outlast their owners," he said.

Today the public thinks of haute couture as the outlandish outfits designers parade in front of cameras to provide name recognition for their ready-to-wear lines.

But in the beginning fashion was not so fickle nor so fleeting. Clothes were so well made and of such fine fabric that 18th-century economist Adam Smith called fashion a better investment than furniture.

Almost all fashion had some Paris connection, but how it got to the wearer varied. Dressmakers in Paris authorized copies that could be made in New York or San Francisco workshops. In other cases, a dealer in New York or London could show a model gown or picture to a customer and then send the customer's measurements and even a pattern to Paris where the dress would be made.

One of the biggest appeals of the dresses is their workmanship. Even the finest dresses today have loose threads or lack seam allowance. The Vincents believe manufacturers "get away with murder."

But before the turn of the century almost all women knew how to sew and they insisted on good craftsmanship. The practical didn't always overrule the emotional, however. Fashion always had mystique.

For instance, the Vincents own a scarlet poppy dress that was made of lampas brocade in 1883 by a Mrs. Donovan of New York for a member of the Vanderbilt family. "Everything I've ever seen by Mrs. Donovan is good enough that she could have shown in Paris and easily competed with the very best," said Vincent.

But Americans wouldn't buy from an American dressmaker who didn't buy at least some of her patterns in Paris. In fact, American dressmakers in the 19th century always had either a French or an Irish pseudonym.

"The French women were assumed to know more about fashion than the average American and the Irish women were assumed to know more about needlework than the average American," said Vincent.

The Vincents started collecting almost by accident in 1972 after they saw a 1906 afternoon gown outside a hippie shop in San Francisco. The train was sweeping the sidewalk in the wind. The couple went back that same day to rescue it.

They still have that gown and almost every gown they've ever purchased. The few they've sold have gone because they've found better.

Vincent, who writes and lectures about the collection, has plans to open a museum. His aim is to have a good example of each designer's specialty.

For most designers, the collection would include one outfit, or maybe two made a decade or so apart. But for a designer such as Balenciaga, "it would be one perfect example of practically everything because he was good at everything he did."

Vincent won't say what he pays for the perfect dress, but he will say a gown "is worth what it's worth." He buys through dealers, although he occasionally gets calls from descendants of the original owner.

"If something is a perfect example of something, I'll pay whatever is within reason in order to acquire it," he said. "I don't care what somebody else would be willing to pay for it, so there is no way you can say it's worth this much and no more."

Haute couture already has gone through the ups and downs of investment speculators. The prices went haywire in the 1980s when people bought gowns and put them away expecting the value to rise.

"Every now and then something comes out of the closet and people practically weep because they paid so much for it and nobody will pay that much anymore."

Some descendants of original owners contact the Vincents because they know the clothing will be well-preserved. But the Vincents want only gowns or accessories that are in perfect condition. Once they're purchased, they're never worn again.

Vincent says his interest is intellectual, not emotional, but then he belies himself with other comments.

"I bought this hat a year ago and I haven't come off cloud nine yet."

And as he comes down the stairs from his collection room, gingerly holding first a pair of little girl's shoes from 1725 and then a mantelet that kept a woman's shoulders warm on carriage rides, his excitement seems to have nothing to do with fashion.

"It survived. So much gets lost and somehow this made it through."