I like to think an acquaintance of Twiggy's in 1963 would have noted the collar, vertical lines and pink lip with an approving nod. The hair would need to be sleeker. Mods preferred the club or coffee house to an afternoon outdoors. See below.
Think about when you’ve felt out of place. Remember when you used to imagine yourself living in a different historical period. Vintage fiends must find themselves at odds with contemporary culture all the time, romanticising the Blitz, flapper freedom or 1960s Cool Brittania. One of the proud tales of my
misspent well spent youth involves elaborate constructions of myself as one of the great glamourous women in Scott Fitzgerald and Hemingway’s stories, abound with insouciance, knowing glances and literary men.
The photos below make me think of how life would have been slightly trying for the odd bloke or girl who wanted to be a mod but lived in the countryside or someplace else better suited to a Jane Austen lady or gentleman. Mods need motorbikes, cities, rival gangs, danger, garage music and quick access to sharp tailoring. A calm row in a 1920s skiff doesn’t really convey that you’re tuff or boss.
The slightly Mod would approve of the stripes, though the choice of rowing as an activity wouldn't exactly help her street cred.
The sky for the nearly Mod would be cloudy and murky, reflecting her inner identity crisis. She regarded the bridge as an obvious visual metaphor for her desire to escape and journey across to the burgeoning city.
|She liked the checked skirt, with its buttons and box pleat, though wished she could afford a matching blazer.|
The clenched fist reveals the nearly Mod's slight tension. How many other middle class suburban kids just wanted to be in London, Brighton or Liverpool away from green spaces and their parents’ china? Take a moment to mourn the plight of the wannabe mod, circa 1962.
Slightly Mod-ish Outfit. Top, Ben Sherman. Skirt, Marks and Spencer. Bag, vintage. Lipstick, Rosa, Topshop.