Dresses and bangles and sables, oh my!
It’s been an incredible couple of weeks, vintage-wise. Last Tuesday I paid my weekly visit-slash-pilgrimage to the Age Concern in Cowley, not necessarily to buy, just to bask in all the retro packaging and melamine dinnerware and Crimplene dresses and embroidered teacloths and handbags and books and bits of fabric and jewellery, and to visit my favourite pink and grey dress, which I’ve tried on once but which is £40, so out of my price range. But I pat it every week. Anyway, I said hi to the dress and put another one over my arm to try on and wandered past the jewellery rack and nearly had a heart attack.
For a couple of years I’ve wanted a red carved Bakelite chunky bangle. I saw one in Victorian Gilt in Epsom for $250 in 2007, and one (uglier) in Portobello Rd this year for £125. And there was one (I thought) on the bangle rack, for £8. I freaked out and picked it up, and from the weight of it and the pitting on the inside immediately doubted that it was Bakelite. (Bakelite is smooth and heavy.) But it was GORGEOUS. A vista of me and the bangle travelling together through life’s twists and turns opened up - me creating the outfits, the bangle adding that je ne sais quois... (This always happens with things I really love. If a mental movie starts playing of how a piece of clothing will change my life - much like when Alex puts on the bracelet of Anubis in The Mummy Returns and gets a Motion Master ride across the desert to Thebes - I rarely leave the shop without it.)
I was heading to the counter to pay, and dropped it. And it shattered. And I nearly cried. I was honestly so upset - I’d been looking for this very thing for so long. So I paid for the pieces and took it to an antique shop, which advised me to try Araldite, not Superglue as it would melt the plastic. I glued it and left it for a week and have been wearing it for a week now and love it even more than before. It goes perfectly with my birthday present, a cream 1920s celluloid bangle from eBay. Here they are in their magnificence (against my 1960s baby-blue angora sweater dress and 1970s houndstooth pencil skirt)
On Tuesday I was working in the shop and kept looking at a green wool coat that I tried on weeks ago but concluded was too big. I tried it on again and realised how wrong I’d been - it’s stunning, and ridiculously warm. It’s probably 1960s, a really delicate green, just my colour. I’ve been wearing it all week with, variously, a houndstooth skirt, a 60s ribbed black wool skirt and pink cashmere jumper, and even my blue angora. It’s gorgeous, and was... £11.
Then on Thursday I was working and an unbelievable load of vintage came in. This never happens - at least it hasn’t in the six months I’ve been working there. A lady had died, and her relatives brought in bags and bags of clothes - out of which we pulled Versace jeans and Nicole Farhi shirts and Louis Vuitton bags and branded stuff by the kilo. There must have been a couple of thousand pounds’ worth of stuff there. But the things that excited me were the 10 or so vintage dresses, all preserved in plastic bags. I actually felt like I was in a dream - opening these bags and pulling out the fabric and just feeling the incredible quality for a start, quite apart from the look of the things.
Two of the dresses were jaw-dropping; a printed kimono-type 60s dress in startling lime green and maroon on a white background - almost like it had been screen-printed - and a red, black and white 1940s wrap day dress with tiny puffed sleeves and intricate pleating that made it fall beautifully. It was obviously custom-made for this woman, and even though it’s only cotton, is really heavy - a sure sign of quality. I tried both on and bought the latter - it’s absolutely stunning, and being a wrap dress, will accommodate my growing girth throughout the years. (The vista definitely opened up on that one.) Here's the fabric. Oh, and the best bit - it was £14.
Then I went to Age Concern yesterday (yes dear readers, we’ve only travelled a week through my wardrobe, and it feels like a year, doesn’t it?), patted the pink and grey dress and kept wandering. Then I thought I might as well just try it on again. So I picked it up and was walking to the “changing room” (it’s the landing on the stairs, which are stuffed with junk, and you’re six inches from the mirror the whole time and can’t really see anything and I love it...) and saw a black scarf on the scarf rack. I pulled, and out came four feet of insanely soft fur - I think it’s sable, from what I can find on the net. I put it on over my green coat and felt instantly glamorous. So that was an £8 no-brainer. Then I put the grey and pink dress on again and just loved it. But I couldn’t really see it properly, so stuck my head out of the stairs and asked if there was another mirror.
“Kind of,” said the guy, and showed me another one between piles of junk.
“Do you know how old it is?” I asked him.
“Wouldn’t have a clue,” he said. “But I definitely think it’s the best dress we have... just the style, and the detailing, and the colour... and it fits you so nice...”
“Sold,” I said. Sometimes you just need a random guy in a shop to tell you to spend your Christmas money, you know what I’m saying? Here's the fabric - proper photos in summer when I'm wearing it:
And then the boss of the shop I work in saved me some old hand-done embroidery and cutwork, which I love for its beauty and the effort that’s gone into it. People don’t often buy it so she gives me first crack at it, and this lot was £2:
So I was very pleased with my fortnight’s haul. Best of all, it’s all within budget. Steve and I have £20 each per week to spend on ourselves, and I honestly haven’t felt even a second’s need to go into Coast or Topshop or Karen Millen - it would take me three months to save for a single garment, and I’m having much more fun and getting much more value this way. And of course, all those brands come into our shop on a daily basis, where you can buy them for £7.45.
Of course, I haven't explained why I'm going more nuts than usual over vintage, have I? Well, it's because my clever husband has got a permanent consultant job back in Auckland, starting in August, so I have a mere eight months to buy as much vintage as £20 a week can get me. It's a challenge I'm up to. So see you all in August!
For a couple of years I’ve wanted a red carved Bakelite chunky bangle. I saw one in Victorian Gilt in Epsom for $250 in 2007, and one (uglier) in Portobello Rd this year for £125. And there was one (I thought) on the bangle rack, for £8. I freaked out and picked it up, and from the weight of it and the pitting on the inside immediately doubted that it was Bakelite. (Bakelite is smooth and heavy.) But it was GORGEOUS. A vista of me and the bangle travelling together through life’s twists and turns opened up - me creating the outfits, the bangle adding that je ne sais quois... (This always happens with things I really love. If a mental movie starts playing of how a piece of clothing will change my life - much like when Alex puts on the bracelet of Anubis in The Mummy Returns and gets a Motion Master ride across the desert to Thebes - I rarely leave the shop without it.)
I was heading to the counter to pay, and dropped it. And it shattered. And I nearly cried. I was honestly so upset - I’d been looking for this very thing for so long. So I paid for the pieces and took it to an antique shop, which advised me to try Araldite, not Superglue as it would melt the plastic. I glued it and left it for a week and have been wearing it for a week now and love it even more than before. It goes perfectly with my birthday present, a cream 1920s celluloid bangle from eBay. Here they are in their magnificence (against my 1960s baby-blue angora sweater dress and 1970s houndstooth pencil skirt)
On Tuesday I was working in the shop and kept looking at a green wool coat that I tried on weeks ago but concluded was too big. I tried it on again and realised how wrong I’d been - it’s stunning, and ridiculously warm. It’s probably 1960s, a really delicate green, just my colour. I’ve been wearing it all week with, variously, a houndstooth skirt, a 60s ribbed black wool skirt and pink cashmere jumper, and even my blue angora. It’s gorgeous, and was... £11.
Then on Thursday I was working and an unbelievable load of vintage came in. This never happens - at least it hasn’t in the six months I’ve been working there. A lady had died, and her relatives brought in bags and bags of clothes - out of which we pulled Versace jeans and Nicole Farhi shirts and Louis Vuitton bags and branded stuff by the kilo. There must have been a couple of thousand pounds’ worth of stuff there. But the things that excited me were the 10 or so vintage dresses, all preserved in plastic bags. I actually felt like I was in a dream - opening these bags and pulling out the fabric and just feeling the incredible quality for a start, quite apart from the look of the things.
Two of the dresses were jaw-dropping; a printed kimono-type 60s dress in startling lime green and maroon on a white background - almost like it had been screen-printed - and a red, black and white 1940s wrap day dress with tiny puffed sleeves and intricate pleating that made it fall beautifully. It was obviously custom-made for this woman, and even though it’s only cotton, is really heavy - a sure sign of quality. I tried both on and bought the latter - it’s absolutely stunning, and being a wrap dress, will accommodate my growing girth throughout the years. (The vista definitely opened up on that one.) Here's the fabric. Oh, and the best bit - it was £14.
Then I went to Age Concern yesterday (yes dear readers, we’ve only travelled a week through my wardrobe, and it feels like a year, doesn’t it?), patted the pink and grey dress and kept wandering. Then I thought I might as well just try it on again. So I picked it up and was walking to the “changing room” (it’s the landing on the stairs, which are stuffed with junk, and you’re six inches from the mirror the whole time and can’t really see anything and I love it...) and saw a black scarf on the scarf rack. I pulled, and out came four feet of insanely soft fur - I think it’s sable, from what I can find on the net. I put it on over my green coat and felt instantly glamorous. So that was an £8 no-brainer. Then I put the grey and pink dress on again and just loved it. But I couldn’t really see it properly, so stuck my head out of the stairs and asked if there was another mirror.
“Kind of,” said the guy, and showed me another one between piles of junk.
“Do you know how old it is?” I asked him.
“Wouldn’t have a clue,” he said. “But I definitely think it’s the best dress we have... just the style, and the detailing, and the colour... and it fits you so nice...”
“Sold,” I said. Sometimes you just need a random guy in a shop to tell you to spend your Christmas money, you know what I’m saying? Here's the fabric - proper photos in summer when I'm wearing it:
And then the boss of the shop I work in saved me some old hand-done embroidery and cutwork, which I love for its beauty and the effort that’s gone into it. People don’t often buy it so she gives me first crack at it, and this lot was £2:
So I was very pleased with my fortnight’s haul. Best of all, it’s all within budget. Steve and I have £20 each per week to spend on ourselves, and I honestly haven’t felt even a second’s need to go into Coast or Topshop or Karen Millen - it would take me three months to save for a single garment, and I’m having much more fun and getting much more value this way. And of course, all those brands come into our shop on a daily basis, where you can buy them for £7.45.
Of course, I haven't explained why I'm going more nuts than usual over vintage, have I? Well, it's because my clever husband has got a permanent consultant job back in Auckland, starting in August, so I have a mere eight months to buy as much vintage as £20 a week can get me. It's a challenge I'm up to. So see you all in August!