Vintage or Heirloom?
Mainstream fashion can seem bland and mass-produced; knowing how to assemble a unique look is one way to salvage an individuality distinct from that of the general populace. Clever clothing selection, in a bid to disclose an authentic self, is what vintage dressing is all about. But in the pursuit of the ‘authentic’, do you risk losing it amidst the ever-growing mass of vintage stores?
The adroit fingers of practised shoppers quickly comb through rails in search of vintage classics. They have an eye for originality. But true individuality cannot be bought from the rails of a vintage store – at best they offer means of deft mimicry. It is a tragedy that ‘vintage’ has fallen victim to its very own categorical cliché. It should never be about wearing vintage for the sake of it, as though clothes become a social tool. A vintage piece is bought, at least in part, for its individual, unique history. Take for example Austrian company Retrofame, who have long recognised how worthwhile the concept of history can be. For each of the vintage shirts it sells, a fictitious former owner and history is created.
It is companies like this who remove aloof elitism from vintage shopping; pieces are allowed to have a sense of humour. Vintage is about diversity; shops stock a kaleidoscopic array of items that represent fashion from all genres and fads from various time periods. It is difficult to be a snob about an affectionately hideous t-shirt from the 80s with Mickey Mouse on the front. It is even harder to be stony-faced about your raggedy old Brownies sweater that your mother bought far too large and it still fits, because this sort of vintage is inextricably bound together with the merriment of family stories and fond childhood tales. Whilst true originality is largely unattainable, individuality is not – you just have to look in the right places. They might not be so far away.
On my sixteenth birthday I was handed a large flat velour box by my mother. It was piped with gold but otherwise plain. Inside, a simple and beautiful string of white pearls. This summer I turn twenty-one; once again to be handed a flat box piped with gold. This time it will contain a string of black pearls. Neither the white nor black pearls are particularly extraordinary. But, to me they represent something that cannot be bought in a vintage store. These pearls are worn in the knowledge that my mother has worn them before. This is the embodiment of true family history, a materialisation of that precious link between mother and daughter.
To understand vintage in this sense is to add a more emotional dimension to a superficial aesthetic appreciation of antique attire and accessories. Now is the time in our lives when we will most value this. Looking round our rooms at university, now that we have been ejected from the warm nest of home, we are thankful for those set of beautiful cream 1950′s suitcases from our grandmother that, though slightly cumbersome now, remind us of home. We are also eternally grateful for that Mulberry bag that we only have a glimmer of hope of affording while in this bleak and dismal financial hole.
Before you peruse the rails, try looking closer to home. Showcase instead what it is that makes you uniquely you. You are your parents, your grandparents, your adolescent adventures and old friends. Don’t be blind sighted by a marketed idea of authentic history, instead find an actual one.
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