Valentine’s Day means a lot of different things for a lot of different people, because love comes in many forms. Some might head out on the town with their significant other. Others stay in. Some use it as a great excuse to celebrate with their ladies and have a full on Galentine’s. Some wear all black and avoid the day all together. Others might decide it’s a day to love themselves, complete with pampering session and a perfect, dry glass of champagne. However you decided to be present on Feb 14th, whether it was to celebrate or let it pass by as another random Thursday, is exactly the way it needed to be done.
This Valentine’s Day, the Mister and I are getting all frocked up and heading out to dinner (Thursday didn’t work for us, so we repurposed the holiday). Regardless of how busy we get or how many distractions there are to trip over, we always try to take the time to celebrate each other on a daily basis. But, we like to go all out on Valentine’s. Pull out our vintage finest and get a bit extra schmoopy.
In keeping with the theme, my normal V-Day posts from year’s passed (case in point here & here) would generally be a bit of a love letter to my beloved – a way to share what he means in my life and reflect on the way our love has manifested over the 10 years we’ve been together. But this year I decided to write a love letter to someone else…
A few weeks back I acquired several pieces from the closet of a woman named Virginia via the amazing vintage shop Two Old Beans. Virginia had lived in Birmingham, and from what lovely proprietresses Jessica and Ellen were told from Virginia’s niece, she was a socialite and part of Birmingham’s upper crust between 1940’s to 1960’s. She went out on the town frequently and was (more than) a bit of a fashionista. Apparently, she can be seen all throughout the society pages of that era, hobnobbing with celebrities and dressed to the nines. She never married and carried this spunk and sass until the day she passed well into her late 90’s.
And I reflected on all of this while I was getting ready for my own night on the town with my Mister, closing zippers and fastenings. As I finally slipped my arms into the finishing touches of this silk coat, lined in a rainbow of hues that feels like a secret, I felt a kinship to this woman I had never met. And so this year, I decided my love letter would be to her.
Dear Virginia from Birmingham,
I don’t know you. But I know you. Pieces of your past have made their way into my closet and by extension, you. This inevitably means you have made your way into my life, woven into the fabric of my celebrations, my big moments. My little ones too. Like the way my husband’s eyes sparked alight when they focused on me tonight as I came down the stairs, smiling that secret smile only he can make.
As I pulled this beautiful vintage appliquéd Lillie Rubin set from its carefully wrapped parcel last week, and sat them carefully beside your golden princess coat, I realized I have been entrusted with your memory. It’s a weighty responsibility. One I hope I can carry well. You don’t know me, but you should know I take my responsibilities very seriously.
I started to wonder about the kind of woman you were. I started to piece together parcels of your past as I ran my hand over those perfect felt flowers. Admired the rainbow lining that no one else would see, but you knew was there. As I zipped up the skirt and realized we were the same size, separated only by decades and geography, I wondered what else we might have shared. If we would have been friends. I wondered then who your friends had been, and what role they played in your world. Who you loved, what you cared about. If you had been happy.
I could tell as I slipped this coat over my shoulders, that you were not a woman afraid of luxury. I could feel your sass and arched eyebrow through the folds of fabric. I could almost hear your tinkling laughter over the smoky din of a nightclub, as you caught a man’s eye across the room. I could feel the skirt start to swish on a night where you went to dance, twirling around the dance hall floor with abandon, confident in who you were and your place in the world.
I don’t know you, Virginia from Birmingham, but I feel the need to keep your memory alive. To embody the kind of woman who would have owned these beautiful garments. Who felt worthy of beautiful things. To believe that there’s a part of us that lives on in the things we leave behind. To hope that you, as an older woman, left this world feeling happy with the stamp she placed upon it.
I may not know you, but here’s what I do know – that life is short. That whether we live to be 90 or are taken from this world far too young, the only thing we are supposed to do is live the life we were given to its fullest. And I feel as though you did that. I can see that life tucked safely inside these garments, in the legacy you left behind. I hope one day when these pieces fall into the hands of another woman, she will hold them with the same reverence that I hold these. Carrying both you and I and a bit of our spirit as she closes the zipper and clasps. And I hope she heads out and has the night of her life.
On this Valentine’s Day, I felt that I owed you love. I wanted to tell you how much I love these garments. And how much I love that they were entrusted to me.
I will take good care of your memory.
xoxo
Outfit Details:
Skirt & Top: Two Old Beans (similar modern & vintage here, here & here)
Jacket: Two Old Beans (similar here)
Bracelet: gift (similar)
Hair clip: c/o Maison Murasaki (similar)
Handbag: Gift (similar)
Shoes: D&G, thrifted from Bettina Darling (similar here & here)
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