In the summer of 2013 I gathered all my courage to see The Great Gatsby in theaters, and found with delight that I loved it. I thought the film captured all the drama, emotional nuances, and pain of the story, but adapted it to fit a contemporary audience with a eye for spectacle. I may have loved the clothes even more, though. When the May 2013 Vogue spread starring Carey Mulligan hit magazine stands, I salivated over the clothes. It also helps that Mulligan is gorgeous and that her looks are so well-suited for a 20s-themed shoot.
The pictures were so beautiful that I couldn’t help clipping out the photos and making a collage, arranging the photos in a frame that I hung on my wall (I say this like it’s new, but really, half my wall space is filled with collaged magazine spreads). I especially loved that these photos, full of gorgeous 1920s fashion, also incorporated one of my favorite novels. Seriously, it was Keira Knightley’s Pride and Prejudice all over again.
I also typed out my favorite line from the novel and printed it on vellum paper so I could lay it on the photo spread.
It was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness
In other news, now I can’t stop staring at the shoes Carey Mulligan is wearing in the blush pink dress. I think it may be about the time I start another project… 😉
Today I scoured the Internet looking for cream heels in a similar shape. So far, little luck, but that’s never daunted me before. I’m sure a strange blush-pink homemade shoe tutorial is in this blog’s future.
Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction–Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life…This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of “creative temperament”–it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such that I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No–Gatsby turned out all right in the end; it was what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.” (6-7)
It’s passages like these that make me love Gatsby (and Gatsby), and make me drunk on the beauty of Fitzgerald’s prose. I’m such a sucker for a tragic love story and a lonely boy.