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.
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.
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…
Despite the fact that it’s 90 degrees outside, the minute the fall semester starts, my brain immediately clicks into autumn mode, and my wardrobe quickly follows suit. I think it’s been this way since childhood – whether the crisp temperatures have caught up or not, there is just a feeling that comes with a new school year. Without fail, late August always brought with it shiny new trapper keepers and as-yet-unused pens. Fresh fears and new possibilities. You can practically clock the smell of the academic anxiety as clearly as a you can identify the smell of new box of…
When I was a teenager, one of my favorite movies to watch with friends was Rocky Horror Picture Show – it was silly and weird and just on the right side of scandalous. Huge fans of musical theatre, my best friends and I knew all the words by heart and would unabashedly belt them out while zipping to the mall to wander around and buy literally nothing. Our favorite song was the Time Warp (no originality there. But we were 15…).
There are a lot of funny ideas you get in your head as a kid – things you absorb that you don’t realize you’ve carried into adulthood. We all have them – we follow a certain family code, abide by rules of our social group, and accept certain ideas as fact (until we become old enough to question them). We also randomly assign certain aspirational characters that make perfect sense to an 11-year-old brain, but certainly bears re-examination years later…
When I was a kid, I remember getting to watch the Wizard of Oz each year – I can’t remember which aunt’s house marked the annual occasion, but I can still feel the carpet on my elbows as I propped myself up, the excited butterflies that would come a-flutterin’ when the MGM lion would roar at the start of the film, and the brave face I would (un)successfully put on any time the witch would appear (all I can say is, she had some serious unresolved anger management issues).