It’s a fashion one today, sorry to disappoint the rest of you who are less than interested in the warped world that is the fashion industry.
There was a vintage fair in Preston last week, and naturally I blew my week’s worth of food money on some new things
thank god for my mother. One thing I bought has been questioned by almost everyone, which would be my band new kilt. Made in Scotland and dry clean only, it’s a gorgeous little red wrap around beauty. The only down side is that some of the pleats are falling out of the fabric, so I’m going to be taught how to press them back in.
The other gem gem I stumbled upon made my heart melt. A good condition brown corduroy jacket. With feather quilting and a detachable fuzzy collar, I was sold the minute I picked it off the rail. I made me think of autumns in New York, though I’m told real New Yorkers would never wear anything other than a black coat.
These two darlings got me thinking about how the majority of my clothing has come from charity shops over recent years. Jeans, jumpers, bags, you name it
underwear excluded because that just weirds me out. It was drawn to my attention that back when you were only a wee hobbit in primary school, charity shop clothes were frowned upon by your peers. Thoughts to the effect of “they can’t afford real clothes” were verbalized, or so I’m told. Nowadays if you’re wearing a nice looking garment from a charity shop, people are amazed! You’re considered thrifty and unique.
How weird. Huh.