On Wearing Vintage
Photo by Raquel Reyes
“Thrift is not an affair of the pocket, but an affair of character. ”
The descriptor “vintage” has evolved in the past few years, only recently becoming a sought-after term for clothing. Sure, people have always worn older garments or altered them into current styles, but often not without some shamefacedness or declamatory presence. That is not the case today, and it’s unclear when style became so temporally fluid. Being personally victimized by Regina George because you’re wearing your mom’s skirt from the eighties is becoming less and less likely as vintage clothing is promoted by lifestyle bloggers and Instagram influencers.
When asked where I bought a certain piece of clothing, the reactions to my response, “It’s vintage,” range from confused to wide-eyed fervor. Eventually the follow-up question is, “How/where do you find this stuff?” Depending on the occasion, my response could simply be that I found it on Etsy or a specialized boutique, or, “My dad and I woke up at 4am, drove to an estate sale an hour away, and waited in line with a number for another half hour. I saw the shoulder and sleeve of this coat in the website slideshow, thank goodness no one ahead of us got to it first.”
Shopping successfully for vintage clothing requires not a little skill and much experience, learned by trial and error. While organizing my thoughts for this article, I came across many other style bloggers who had sound advice for beginners. Consideration of quality, fit, and price should carry one through any kind of clothes shopping. However, none of these lists properly prepared readers for the emotion involved in finding the right piece. Like with any collection, it’s a passion filled with great joys and great heartbreak. The ultimate reward is knowing that when walking into an event, or even just into daily life, you can be almost certain that nobody else will be wearing the same outfit.
It is not my intention to give such a list, but to offer my experience with the hope that it may demystify the process of bolstering one’s wardrobe with beautiful clothing that has stood the test of time. Knowing one’s own style is a plus, however books have been written on what a tall order that can be. Perhaps referencing an earlier decade can offer new interpretations and possibilities for your personal style, or help to diversify it. Learning how to incorporate vintage clothing into my wardrobe certainly helped me with this lifelong venture.
It all began in a small thrift shop off the Old Center in North Andover, Massachusetts. As a small child, my grandmother and I would visit this little store to see what had come through. An accomplished seamstress and quilter, she taught me about all the different fabrics and garment construction on display. In the early nineties there was a fair amount of polyester that needed sorting through, but the natural fiber gems would often emerge from the chaos. They almost always do, one just needs to be willing to dig.
“The ultimate reward is knowing that when walking into an event, or even just into daily life, you can be almost certain that nobody else will be wearing the same outfit.”
Location is key when it comes to vintage shopping and developing a personal style. In my area, reaching into a blueberry bush will undoubtedly produce an L.L. Bean sweater. Recently there was a pair of Brooks Brothers cords just hanging on a handrail of my commuter rail station. No, I did not pick them up. Region often has much influence on one’s style, and mine is no exception. With a mother and grandmothers who favor cuffed chinos, striped shirts, fishermen’s sweaters, and loafers, eventually my turbulent style odyssey landed me right back somewhere between 1950 and 1989. Classic styles will never do you wrong, and in our current climate of fast fashion and textile waste, paying less (in most cases) for better quality clothing if you are able to find it is not only good for your wallet, but also good for the planet. That’s a rant for another article, by someone better informed on the subject than I.
Formalwear is another case. As a menswear specialist, a guiding voice in my search for personal style was and is G. Bruce Boyer. Although his intended audience is male, Boyer’s “commandments” mostly transcend gender lines when it comes to buying and caring for clothes. He recently spoke on the Hogtown Rake’s Unbuttoned podcast about the influence of silver screen fashion on his own style, and how leading men such as Fred Astaire and Gary Cooper wore stiff, structured clothing but did not let it wear them. Astaire had to know his own body in order to dance and remain flawless in a tuxedo, and whenever Cooper was assigned a role, he would have wardrobe fitted first. Boyer describes how he would wear his character’s clothes, breaking them in and letting them settle, so they could be truly his when he appeared in them on screen.
From the writer's collection. 1930s ivory silk gown with train, purchased from GFR Vintage on Etsy.
1950s pink satin gown with fur trim, purchased from Modern Millie in Salem, MA.
It’s the same idea for women, whether searching for everyday or wearing a gown that could have belonged to your great-grandmother. Material, condition, and the proper size are always important, but the most crucial tenet of wearing a vintage garment is how it makes you feel. When dressing for an event, usually held by the Greater Boston Vintage Society, I too turn to classic films for inspiration. A turning point for me was Roman Holiday (1953), in which Audrey Hepburn’s wardrobe reflects both casual outfits and state receptions. I’ve never been able to manage anything shorter than a bob, but her outfits in this film revealed to me that dressing vintage didn’t have to involve a giant taffeta ball gown. People wore these clothes every day, and many of them are still around if you know where to look.
1960s pink and gold chiffon dress, purchased from Lady Pickwick’s in Portsmouth, NH.
Flea markets, estate sales, and thrift stores have yielded many prized finds. On a number of hunts for the Next Great Piece, I discovered clothing that was gorgeous and in excellent shape, but not quite my style or size. In the effort of not adding too much to my collection, I opened a shop, Rams Head Vintage on Etsy. It’s a fun hobby, and I try to keep the prices affordable. None of my listings are priced more than what I would pay, myself. Some are sold “as is,” if anything just to save them from being chucked into a landfill. It’s the best feeling to know that a garment has found a home and is being worn, perhaps living its third or fourth life with a new owner. Many shops exist in this way now, outside of the classic eBay and Etsy, thanks to dedicated Instagram accounts and apps such as Poshmark and Depop for those who may not have brick and mortar options as easily accessible.
All this being said, I’ve always had trouble defining my personal style, traversing goth wear in middle school to preppy classics via uniforms in high school. As many with body dysmorphia, I often seek others’ perception to confirm or debunk my own self-image. Without these viewpoints, I really wouldn’t know quite what to say about how I dress. Three friends have helped me to see my own style more clearly and what role vintage plays in it. The first defined it as “sassy Puritan,” and the third more recently dubbed my look, “Ghost of a President’s Wife.” I’ll gladly take both descriptions, but it was the second that stuck with me most. One night at The Nightjar, a favorite cocktail bar in Shoreditch, London, my friend suddenly gasped as my impeccably presented drink arrived, and said, “Wait, let me take a photo. You look so timeless!” It remains one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received.
Zoë G. Burnett is a writer, menswear stylist, and film enthusiast based in Boston, Massachusetts. A born and raised New England Yankee, she feels equally at home in the 7th arrondissement. She is currently editing her first novel. You can read her personal blog here.