Fashion: The Lilly

She has the face and figure of a Courbet bather (“I look kinda round, not lean and lanky”), a home in Palm Beach, three handsome children, and a minor legend of a husband—Herbert (“Peter”) Pulitzer Jr., 32, a grandson of the publisher, who quit the easy, moneyed life to pick and pack oranges. It would be enough for almost any girl. But to her own mild astonishment, Lilly Pulitzer, 30, finds herself hailed as a fashion designer.

Her fame rests on a single dress, unsurprisingly called “the Lilly.” Originally, she designed it as a uniform for herself to wear while selling fruits and juices in her husband’s Pulitzer Groves Fruit Shop.

But customers liked it, literally tried to buy the dress off her back. Lilly hired 18 seamstresses, and the store soon became a chaos of ladies sipping orange juice between fittings.

Somewhere between a chemise and a muumuu, the basic Lilly hangs straight to just above knee-length, has a dart at the bosom, costs anywhere from $25 to $45.

There are six variations; five of them have mandarin side slits, and one is floor-length. What they offer is “sheer comfort.” Says Lilly: “Very few people came into Palm Beach that didn’t go away with one. They’re glad to shed their skirts or shorts and clothes that bind. They wore them all day and all night. And I made them sign a contract to promise not to wear anything underneath; after all, they’re fully lined.” And if she had her way, shoes as well as underwear would be outlawed as accessories. “I don’t own a pair of shoes,” she says, indulging in feminine hyperbole.

Lillies are made of cotton fabric designed by Mrs. Pulitzer, which she has “hand-screened, hand-printed, hand-blocked, hand-somethinged” by Key West Fabrics. Her customers include Jackie Kennedy (“She has quite a few of them, but I hate to use her name as a drawing card” I. Last season alone. 1,600 Lillies were grabbed up in Palm Beach. With her fame spreading, Lilly Pulitzer journeyed last week to Manhattan to sign contracts for nationwide distribution of her dresses, got firm orders from Magnin and Henri Bendel. Using her new-found business aplomb, she announced plans to market other designs: “the Minnie,” a children’s version of the Lilly, and “the Sneaky Pete,” a nightshirt for men.