I truly discovered vintage when I was around 20. I had been asked out on my very first date, and I hadn’t ever kissed anyone yet, so I was extremely nervous, and needed a little something to wear to make me feel cool and confident. Shopping that day was so deflating. I was almost 6 foot tall, very curvy, and not very feminine, and the predominant fashion at the time in London, was, for lack of a better description, little Victorian ghost girl. If you’re not a skinny, elfin white woman, you can look somehow look even creepier in this style. You couldn’t swing a cat for a smock, a frill, a long white sock, a Peter Pan collar or a petticoat. It was intense.
I was sick to death of trying to fit myself into trends that weren’t for my body. In two decades, nothing had come along that was made for someone like me. The concept of trends altogether, made me mad. Why should women all opt to look the same every season? What is this uniform? Why is it a suggestion for men, but a demand for us? Why are the clothes I buy and love, suddenly irrelevant and deeply un-chic? I didn’t appreciate the expiration date on style. I was making minimum wage and amazed at the turnover of fashion. It all felt so arbitrary.
I felt left out and left behind. I liked the 70s. I liked menswear. I didn’t want to look dainty or spooky. I wanted to look intimidating. The only place I could find variety was in second hand shops. I remember my very first purchase: a classic olive green, men’s military jacket from an Oxfam shop in Camden town. I remember putting it on, and it felt different to all the clothes I had been trying on the high street. It was heavy, durable and so comfortable. This jacket would go on to live in my wardrobe for the next 20 years, which makes it about 60-years-old, and it has only JUST started to tatter and fade. I’ve dragged it to at least 100 festivals, 30 countries, all-nighters in Camden, and lay in the park on it on late summer evenings. It has held up better than me. That date didn’t end in a kiss, but it did end up in my deep love of vintage.
Everyone’s clicking on…
That’s how clothes are supposed to be made. To last. Clothes used to be created with love and intention. You can feel it in the fabric, and the tight, considerate stitching. Now it feels like everything, in particular on the high street, is built to disintegrate after a single wash. Most clothing these days are designed for short trend cycles, with no life beyond that. And yet, they have never been more expensive. It’s maddening.
Everything I buy, especially if new, I buy with the hope and intention of wearing it into my eighties. And if, for some reason my body changes, and it no longer fits, I love nothing more than rehoming it with a new loving owner. I also love to buy the preloved clothes from other people. You can tell when something special has been kept with care, and is given away reluctantly, with the hopes of it finding a fabulous new life. I believe in giving clothes their own story.
And even for the less stand-out pieces, your best durable basics like good denim can be found preloved. I’ve never in my life found a pair of jean shorts built for my body, at my height; I’ve always had to go to a charity shop, and find an old pair of men’s jeans/dungarees and cut and sew them, pulling them in and out at the right places, to get exactly what I’m looking for. You feel more emboldened to take a pair of scissors to an older, cheaper item of clothing. It’s a great way to learn and experiment. I urge you to learn how to do this. It is freedom.
I have also found the most unbelievable designer steals in charity and vintage shops. Miu Miu, Prada, Vivienne Westwood etc. It’s gross, but it’s true and obvious, that you’re going to find them in the places where the wealthiest people live. I poke around Chelsea, Shoreditch and Hampstead for mine when I’m in London. These are the people most likely to dispose of absolute treasures without a second thought.
Oxfam have discovered the absolute travesty that by 2050, every bit of clothing we wear will be worn for less than 48 hours. This is unacceptable and so unnecessary. That’s why I’m teaming up with them for Second Hand September. I not only champion their cause, and the environment, but I love clothes. I love sharing. I love the idea of the life of a garment, having a new adventure. Style is not prescribed. Its personal. It’s what makes you feel good. The chances are you’re going to be able to find that in something that made someone else feel good once.
Take part in Oxfam’s Second Hand September this year by shopping second-hand and donating items you no longer need. oxfam.org.uk
