I grew up playing dress-up in my grandmas’ basements. A lace tablecloth would transform into a gown for a ball in a castle. A old suitcase filled with the trappings of my grandmothers’ youths would accompany me to a ‘train station’ for an adventure of a grand scale. A seed was planted deep in my soul from a young age - a love for old clothes. An reverence for their history. The stories of the women who wore them.
In my twenties, my mother-in-law pulled a fur coat circa 1970’s out of a closet, laughing. ‘This belonged to my aunt, isn’t it ugly?’, she asked. I was smitten. Wide-eyed I half shouted, ‘it’s not ugly, it’s perfect!’ She shook her head and handed it to me. ‘It’s yours,’ she said. Decades later, this gift from my former mother-in-law is still one of my favorite pieces in my growing vintage collection.
How old does something have to be to be considered vintage? A generally accepted timeline is 20 to 100 years old. Some collectors have stricter stipulations and consider 50 years to be true vintage. (Anything over 100 years old is considered antique, by the way). So, if you’re an elder millenial like myself that means the styles of our teen years are now vintage. (You’re welcome.)
The International Ladies’ Garment Workers’ Union (ILGWU) was established in 1900 and dissolved in 1995. It was once one of the largest labor unions in the country. Throughout its history the ILGWU was strife with corruption, worker strikes, and tragedy.
Still, for me, the fascination with the history of a garment begins when I find a union made label. I can’t help but wonder about the hands that contributed to its creation. Was it sewn by an immigrant woman, new to the country, working to make a better life for her family? How carefully she must have stitched the delicate fabric for it to be perfect after half a century.
Then, I consider the woman who originally owned the piece. I think of her going to the dress shop or department store. Where did she wear it? How did she feel? How did end up for sale in a vintage shop 50 years later?
Vintage clothing connects us to the women of the past in a deeply personal way. I can feel the energy when I wear the items in my collection. Gowns, coats, hats, costume jewelry. Special occasion pieces carry the most reverence. A dress created to celebrate a momentous affair, gets another trip out on the town. More history. More stories.
Some of my most special pieces have been gifts from personal collections. It is incredibly touching to receive an heirloom from a friend. Recently a colleague gifted me her grandmother’s vintage hats. She said she knew I would cherish them and she wanted me to have them. My eyes brimmed with tears. How special to be entrusted with the history and future of these delicate items. Women connected through an invisible string.
Another dear friend loaning me a tapestry coat from her husband’s grandmother. She was a performer in the 1940’s. To think that this coat has seen backstages and opera houses and now, it’s tucked away gently in my closet waiting for another go.
A tragic story of vintage love lost in the form of Dolce and Gabana pumps. I found a pair of camel leather studded pumps, likely from the 1990’s at a consignment store. I took them on a trip to Las Vegas and wore them once. And like Cinderella before me, I came home from that trip with one shoe. I joke that this particular pair of shoes wasn’t interested in a revival. They had had their fun and weren’t up for a second act.
My mom and grandmother have each gifted me their Coach bags from the 1990’s. Rich, supple leather that once held kleenex and cough drops for my younger self, now holds necessities for my kids.
Last year, I purchased a raspberry silk chiffon Jesper Nyboe disco gown online for a fundraiser. It’s an elusive dress. Nyboe moved to New York from Denmark in 1968 and designed under Anne Klein, Geoffrey Beene and Gloria Vanderbilt most notably, but he had his own collection for a brief period in the late 70’s. Pieces under his label are hard to come by, he died at the age of 45 in 1989 from AIDS complications. The drape on this dress is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Did it go to Studio 54? I’ll never know, of course, but imagining its past makes me smile. Like the dress and I share a secret.
Am I romanticizing these clothes, the women who sewed them and wore them and the designers who imagined them? Probably. But, what if romance is what is missing in our relationship with our clothes? We’re constantly searching for the next trend or aesthetic. Watching ‘hauls’ on social media. Items worn a handful of times and then cast off for the next new thing. Landfills and foreign lands overflowing with our unwanted garments. There’s little romance in the way we consume fashion in today’s world.
If you’re curious about starting a vintage collection of your own, a few important notes. Start by shopping in person to try on the items. Modern sizing is much different. In person, you can also inspect the garments for flaws and decide if they can be repaired or tailored. Coats are an easy entry level piece. I’m quite partial to hats and gowns as well. (But that’s not quite as practical, if you’re into that sort of thing…)
At the end of the day, I always come back to how I want to feel in my clothes. Wearing vintage makes me feel on a deeper level. I think it’s the connection to the past. The generations of women who came before me, standing by my side. Ultimately, it’s the heart. It’s always the heart.