La Cache: Dresses from the past, for today

In the window today, Kris's new dresses. 

She has recently moved from a British Columbia island, a spectacular setting where the whales wear magnificent blue-grey skin and the humans, fleece—to the French-inflected flair of Montréal. She had a hole to fill in her closet; we were, as I posted here,"stretch" shopping.

I took her to La Cache, in the Westmount neighbourhood, to see the designs of April Cornell, a Montréaler who opened her first boutique here, in 1975. Even fifty years ago, the boutique embraced the past, selling nostalgic, romantic dresses, with pintucks, embroideries, back ties, pearl buttons. The manager said it best, "We're from the '70s, and we've stayed there." Even then, the dresses referenced the Victorian to Deco period, a Laura Ashley-meets-Biba vibe.

In the '90s, I wore April Cornell on weekends, and appreciated the pure fibres (most are cotton or linen, the rest is viscose). The sleepwear is a standout, especially the nightgowns, but the majority of the stock is dresses. 

Kris is a petite, fine-boned woman who wears an XXS-XS. (April Cornell sizing runs from XXS to XXL, and larger online.) She wanted dresses that have shape and colour, not quiet neutrals. I was hoping she would find one or two; she found five! (She didn't own one wearable dress.)  

In the viscose Heather dress, the mid-saturation pink made Kris glow. It looks livelier than the photo; the print has scatters of lavender and white. 

At first she wondered, could she wear it everyday, or would it be reserved for an occasion?  When you have not worn dresses for decades, they can feel 'too much', but as Kris tried them before the mirror, she saw their versatility.  This dress is quite casual when worn with white sneakers or flat sandals.

The teal Maggie dress was an instant yes; the fabric is a lightweight cotton gauze; the embroidered pockets add just enough colour. Maybe our mutual favourite. This is the Cornell cut: fitted bodice, eased torso.

The cotton "Porch Dress" in two prints: left, Blueberry dress; right, Strawberry dress, a retro style with a Peter Pan collar and gently gathered skirt. Nostalgia personified, and I love a dress that is solidly summery.

We were charmed by the artful colourways. The Blueberry is strewn with plump berries and graceful leaves. The Strawberry is nostalgic and exuberant, very '40s. The armholes fit perfectly.  

The Sister Garden dress is a cotton interlock fabric, looser than the others and longer. Kris fell for the whimsical print; she belted this with a simple white leather tie.

We were lucky to hit a 40% off sale on all garments (the shop also carries table linens and soft furnishings) which encouraged her to shop a bit more, and take advantage of ample stock early in the season.  These bags held Kris' dresses and a gift for each grandchild:

Kris wore her dresses beautifully—there's a gentle grace to these soft yet structured pieces; they suit her shape and personality. While we were there, two eras of customers came in: those in the Passage, and university-age women. One twenty-something said, "I love this shop because I can get the vintage look in new clothes!"

Before heading home, we dropped by another Greene St. boutique, filled with current styles. The clothes were chic, but I found them bland after the Cornell cornucopia of colour, and the styles were not as richly reminiscent. The 1970s were more freewheeling than the 2020s: no matter our budget, we could dip into every era, from lacy, high-necked Edwardian blouses to Mod micro-minis. 

In the '70s, we were nearly a decade away from Eileen Fisher offering her calm counterbalance (she opened her first store in NYC in 1987); the period ran on high-octane colour with only a few arty types in all-black. Not everything was great or even sane (platform sandals!) but we could just turn the corner: Next!

"I could use a scarf, too."

For her, the La Cache Wayback Machine was, as they said then, perfectomundo. Kris and I ferried the bags out to the sax wail of "Baker Street"; she was delighted with her retro-kissed frocks. When you find a shop brimming with your kind of clothes, what a pleasure!

P.S. May 11 is Another Day!  

I wish to remind you of May 11, my made-up and non-commercial holiday Another Day, open to all, to celebrate simply being here as a constant friend, partner, colleague or neighbour. 

Another Day honours our own acts of service, our showing up daily to get 'er done. Another Dayers replace the furnace filter, fill the prescription, give extra garden trash bags to a neighbour; write the representative; change the cat's flea collar. They are steadfast, responsible, reliable and often unheralded—till now.

To celebrate, do something nice for yourself—have a cookie with your coffee, listen to a favourite piece of music, read in a pleasant park.  Your outfit may be old or new, whatever serves you well; because on Another Day, we say, "Here I am, you can count on me."