What Can *You* Make From Three Bath Towels?

Another installment in my "Adventures in Vintage" series.

I posted this on the BDV Facebook Page a couple days ago:

You'd think I'd already know what I'd bought when I return from a buying expedition, right? Well, not always, or rather, not completely. 

Sometimes there's insufficient time/light/space/patience to assess each item fully. You get a gut feeling, and it's only once you get it back to the studio and give it all a good going-over that you see what's what. 

I just discovered something that I'd thought was "kinda interesting" is actually over-the-top neato. Blog-entry worthy. So... first into the wash, and then onto a blog post. 

Preview: What can YOU make from 3 bath towels?

Guesses included a skirt and top set, and a shower curtain. Close, but nope. So what was it?

First, some background on the previous owner.

Dorothy E.'s wardrobe was impressive. Clues told me she'd come to Atlanta from Southern California, where she worked closely with celebrities. She wore high-end labels from the finest stores and well-crafted home-sewn beauties, most of which were created using Vogue patterns.

She clearly took pride in her work. The fabrics are top notch, the finishing meticulous. Only the label and close inspection reveal whether she'd purchased a garment or made it herself. 

I'd bought armloads of her late-40s through early 70s dresses and separates. And I'd sold 17 of the items to another buyer before I'd even got my key in the ignition. As we quickly sorted through my haul, I set aside pieces I refused to part with, and gave my new acquaintance a shot at the rest. I easily gave up anything yellow. It looks awful on me, and (squee!) Dorothy and I are about the same size. 

One item I'd grabbed was unlike every other, and odd enough to pique my interest. My colleague turned her nose up at it, but I thought it had potential. It looked like some sort of ultra-plush dressing gown (that's a bathrobe you can wear beyond the bathroom, for you youngsters), but I'd figure it out later, when I could examine it closely.

And when I did, wow! I was even more impressed with Dorothy. Not only could she sew at a couture level, she was creative and seemed to have had a sense of whimsy, too. Check out, friends, the world's coolest bathrobe:

Sure, you can see its bold-narcissus renaissance-fair boho medieval fringed and tasseled ethnic fabulousness. But what you can't see is how soft, thick, thirsty, cozy, and plush it is. Beats the heck out of a Snuggie.

It was only when I'd turned it inside out to look for labels that I realized it was constructed from towels. Whole, uncut towels -- three of them -- with the edges serving as fringe at the hem and cuffs. Brilliant.

I brought it to show my husband, who was duly impressed. For one thing, you don't feel towels like this nowadays, unless you're staying with a sultan. Really, when's the last time you bought a towel (even a better brand at a nicer store) that survived more than a few years without fraying edges or unlooping loops? Towels of this quality will set you back $100 or more today. Each.

Check out how nicely this robe is made. The pattern is perfectly centered front and back, and across the shoulders. It's constructed kimono-style, and I'd guess the zipper was added after the towels had been joined. Don't you love how the brown stripe forms the side, underarm, and empire waist seams? Smooth cotton strengthens and protects the neck edge, and Dorothy added a tassel to the zipper pull.

I wondered how this interesting robe had come to be. Had Dorothy seen the towels in a store and inspiration struck? Did she repurpose towels tossed aside when she redecorated the bath? And had she come up with the design on her own, or perhaps seen the project in a women's magazine, or used an actual pattern? Which came first -- the boldly patterned towels or the idea for the robe?

My husband looked at me funny when I announced, in all seriousness, "I'll just go back and ask her!" Quickly realizing the absurdity of my statement, I was once again struck by the disarming experience of missing someone I have never, and will never, know. It's happened so many times now, you'd think I'd be used to it. But I'm not. How I wish I could talk to Dorothy, and Elizabeth, and Mrs. Miller, and others I've yet to share with you. Instead, I must be content admiring and enjoying their beautiful, quirky, wonderful clothes.

Update: Our friend Jody (of the beloved and now-defunct Couture Allure), showed us this free pattern, pointing out that robes of this sort were popular in the late 60s and early 70s, in various lengths. Makes sense, as this would fit right in with all the crochet, macrame, and decoupage popular at the time. Still, I'd say that Dorothy's version takes the project from hippie chick to homespun chic!