One thing I will say for my family is that they always manage to get behind my passions. From announcing my profession at 5-years old, to my decision to move halfway around the world, to this crazy love for hunting down embellished vintage amazingness. Even if they secretly thought I was crazy, they never let on. Instead, they would grab the pom poms and throw themselves into cheerleading me with the same fervor that I was chasing down my dreams with.
I was born in the 1980’s, a time where tight rolled jeans, perms, and electric blue eyeshadow reigned. It’s a decade like no other in terms of my poor fashion choices, many of which I have photographic evidence of (thankfully it was in the pre-digital age, where most are hidden in dusty photo albums. But my sister has a scanner, so…). Mix the 1980’s with the tumultuous years of pre-pubescent angst and it’s no surprise that I tend to shy away from all things from that decade. But, much like a basque waist, I’ve really got to stop saying “I’ll…