There is no time that you miss the city quite like during a global pandemic. It started small: a twinge, a mild craving for the bright lights. It grew to invading my thoughts, with taxi cabs and bustling streets dancing before my eyes. And, much like when you tell yourself not to think of pink elephants, suddenly Pepto-Bismol tinted pachyderms are the only things stampeding through your brain: I need me some bright lights, big city!
In a chat with some of my best friends, I’ve come to realize we have all hit (or are very close to hitting) a breaking point in recent months. The reserves that we had a few months ago to power through what we hoped would be temporary circumstances have been depleted, leaving us all with a sense of helplessness and a stress that just won’t quit. The only possible response to this seems to be to find ways to escape – even for a few minutes a day – or to use the dreaded F-word on repeat (and the F-word…
It’s hard to believe it, but it’s that time of year again. This has been such a strange year in so many respects…but one thing that will never change: time just keeps on moving forward. I barely blinked and here we were, at the dawn of December again.
We have most certainly entered a time honored autumnal tradition: Sweater Weather. And I am happy to report, this delightful time of year even occurs in the South. While I love the gentle breeze of Spring and the warm evenings of Summer, there is something about weather that encourages you to bundle up and get cozy (minus the risk of frostbite) that gets me so excited. So, this time of year I inevitably start to scan the horizon for the perfect autumnal sweater.
I have a dark secret to share with you, which is likely to be a very unpopular opinion, particularly in the vintage community. Trust me when I say this confession has raised many an eyebrow and the gasp is often heard around the world. There are memes about my truth. It’s resulted in a bar brawl here and there and I’ve lost friends over it. You may decide to stop reading my blog altogether once you hear my terrible secret. Brace yourself people….
More often than not these days, I’m taking a bit of a hybrid approach to my dressing (and no, I’m not just talking about pairing a cute top that can be seen in my Zoom meetings with some snazzy pajama bottoms). We’re at that magical time of year when Mother Nature is refusing to commit to one temperature, criss-crossing between rain and drizzle and dazzling sun. Truth be told, this is my favorite time of year, because all of my velvet and felt Juli Lynne Charlot circle skirts can come out to play.
This is always the part of the semester where the exhaustion kicks in and you start counting down to fall break, visions of sloth-like movie watching and catching up on sewing projects dancing in my head. However, given this is no normal semester, I pretty much started the academic year already exhausted and, with fall break cancelled, there is no end in sight. The sloth-like movie watching and sewing, however, I still hope to fit in….
I’m not sure about you guys, but I’ve never been much of a hat person. And yet, I find myself wearing a lot of different hats lately. And not just the hats on this most amazing vintage dress from Trunk of Dresses. I have my Exhausted Professor hat. My Disillusioned with the World hat. And I’m sad to say, my Eternal Optimist hat has been languishing on a shelf, not worn for months.
There are some dresses that are befitting a love story. Those who you spot across a crowded internet and fall in breathless, immediate love with. This dress, appropriately named the “Embroidery Dress: Summer Love 1951” captured my heart the moment I clapped eyes on her and is likely to be a love story for the ages…
In a discussion awhile back with my fellow vintage maven Mimosa, we came to realize that we immediately associate certain prints or design details with certain people in our community. Almost as if they don’t have a name. Cat prints = Blue Wren Vintage. Floral = Jamie. Cactus prints = Rose. And (no shocker here), I am synonymous with trompe l’oeil. I’m not sure I even need to justify that one, as my heart literally faints when I see prints that trick the eye into thinking they’re actually leaping off the fabric…