Vintage Vexations

Back in The Day, when I was just a wee young thing with stars in my eyes about being a Famous Fashion Designer, I used to haunt all the thrift shops and vintage clothing dealers in my city.  Vintage - and I mean anywhere from late 19th century to 1960s - was plentiful and it was cheap.  There was The Umbrella Room on Rundle Street, Mabs' Emporium wayyy down the end of Grenfell Street.  There were standard run-of-the-mill op shops in the south end of the CBD that sold truly divine 50s dresses for $2.  I LOVED them.  As a 17 year old, I had long conversations with the owners of these Houses of Divineness about the downfall of fashion and how sad it truly was that women no longer wore hats and gloves to go out anymore.

(I understand completely if at this point you want to kill my 17 year old self: permission granted.)

I have such intense memories of the fabulous cherry-print twirly skirt with tulle underskirt that I wore with my 1940s sequinned cardi (sometimes on backwards) and bobby sox, with a white cane doctors bag style purse.  I was It And A Bit. 

Somewhere along the way, life changed course and I became more interested in what a Significant Other thought of me and that certainly didnt involve having me poncing around in pretty clothes.  Which is a great shame, because I did pretty clothes very well.  Now the passage of time means the clothes that were fashionable at that time, the things I had decried as the End Of Fashion, are now Vintage themselves.  I shudder, and I will never ever be caught in a bubble skirt (again).

I was pondering upon all this today, and on the demise of the cheap vintage store in our city.  An out-of-the-ordinary trip into the city today to farewell my Bestie to the Canadadia led me past a small, put-baby-in-the-corner boutique.  Vintage. Vintage!  My heart skipped a beat!  Perhaps it has come full circle? I thought giddily.  Perhaps I can relive those moments I gave up too easily 20-something years ago.

I stepped inside the unrenovated, heritage-listed building. Tiny.  Gorgeous clothing surrounded me.   A brooch from my childhood (Avon, contained solid perfume) was displayed on a bust on the counter.  I was in my element.  1960s mod mini dress...Cotton 1950s shirtwaist dress...Cornflower Blue 1950s tea dress....  Then I reached for the price tags.  Not one thing under $150.  Tea Dress? $295. 

TWOHUNDREDANDNINETYFIVEDOLLARS!!!

Back in The Day I could (and did) buy such things for $5.  It almost made me weep.  OK, so maybe I'm just pre-menstrual, but there was sadness there.  Sadness that clothing of such beauty can now be so far out of the reach of regular folks.  Sadness that now our clothing history is so highly priced as to make the true celebration of that history - the wearing of the clothes and the continuation of the style - unattainable.  THAT, I think, is the real death of fashion.

Get This Blog Gadget