My mum, and nanna who lived with us, were both pretty keen on it.
What can I say, we had no automatic washing machine or central heating. Drip-dry, non-iron clothing must’ve seemed heaven-sent.
And my best party frock, in pale blue smocked Crimplene, with white plastic flower buttons.
Here I am wearing said frock, at my birthday party:
When I was not a lot older, I grew to despise Crimplene. As indeed did most of the rest of the population.
The whole perspiration-trapping, hair-raising, static cling-and-chafe of it.
I became strictly a natural fibres kinda girl.
But pattern addiction is a powerful thing. Capable of outweighing even matters of ventilation.
I got this lovely frock in the bargain basement at my favourite local vintage emporium Baklash - for a fiver.
It didn’t quite look like this when I bought it. I am mid-process of adapting it from size “Tent” to something I can actually wear. It’s just tacked at the moment (which is why the sleeves look a little odd), but hopefully you can see the potential.
And not just for sweaty armpits and electric shocks.
It has a lovely twin-keyhole neckline, flared skirt and long back zip.
It may be hard to equate Crimplene with glamour nowadays, but once upon a time…
With my new-found enthusiasm for dressmaking, I’m already wondering if I could make a similar frock myself.
Perhaps for summer… if I stock up on deodorant.
Or then again, maybe it would be better in cotton.