Don't Dali with the Devil, a vintage Halloween.

Well last night saw Torquil and I traipse off to  Fleur de Guerre's shindig at the Fox. Torquil went as a surreal momento mori with a clock on his hat and various other symbols of fleeting existence upon his person. I went as a Catrina, a Mexican Day of the Dead (which is tomorrow!) lady with a Sugar Skull painted face.  I realised once I started painting that I didn't have proper brushes so the result was sloppier than I hoped but it was ok. It actually took less time than my usual warpaint, which in my case is actually camouflage. The colours were greasepaint from Charles Fox in Covent Garden and felt surprisingly light, although I had problems remembering not to touch my face for the whole evening and air kissing was essential.

My dress was Vivien of Holloways Day of the Dead circle halterneck which I have been wearing to .. ahem.. death. The Lace necklace was believe it or not from a stand near the salad aisle at Sainsbury's and the flowers etc are things I had hanging around the place. It was a lazy choice really but I jump at any chance to wear my big frou frou petticoat.

Fleur came as Frida Kahlo, which was my first choice (great minds think alike) however I think that Fleur gives great monobrow, even facial hair suits the lady!

Here is Torquil, note the small fly adorning his characteristic monocle and the blood spattered camelia: every gent should have one.  Katie Chutzpah has already blogged on the difficulties of Halloween dress and avoided the pitfalls with an expertly applied make-up mask, Galliano dress and a beautiful eye ring from Butler and Wilson.

The delectable Ree Ree Rockette was manning the door showing off her new pink hair and her steely ability to say 'non' to scruffbags. Entertainment was provided by a live band, the sultrily michievous Emerald Fontaine performed, the Vintage Poetess recited and Fruity did whatever it is he does on the decks.  He still didn't play Britney but at least put on my favourite Elvis track: Devil in Disguise on. Other vintage blogerettes in attendance included Retro Chick and Smuterella. Below I have put a selection of photos of various revellers, if one of them is of you feel welcome to nab it!  Minn x

The Candlelight Club.

Last Saturday myself and an assortment of London vintage types descended on the inaugural night of the Candlelight Club, a new monthly event held in a 'secret' location. On this occasion it was in Islington, a mere spit away from the venerable Slimelight. It's intention is to recreate something of the atmosphere of a 'speakeasy'. The venue was satisfyingly subterranean and indeed entirely candlelit. Although we did not have the frisson of potential raids by liquor searching agents there was always the risk of some young lady in a gauzy outfit going up in flames. The crowd were an amalgam of the retro-interested and familiar faces. A free drink was provided on entry and sandwiches sat in sturdy piles on the tables.

Torquil with David of the Institute for Alcoholic Experimentation  at the beginning of the evening.

Fruity sweatin' at the decks.

Music was provided by Fruity Hatfield Peverill, who gallantly resisted punching me when I requested Britney Spears and instead provided a steady aural cornucopia of 20's/30's and 40's tunes.  Vicky Butterfly danced, bringing the pretty, twinkly and downright glamorous quality that her performances possess to the evening.

Naomi of Vintage Secret and Jenny with their wine stock.

It was a very mingly night, there were whilst I was there enough seats for people but this involved table hopping, mixing with strangers and sandwich nabbing which was conducive with talking to people. The thing was more atmospheric than my pictures inferr as I have a brand new camera and did not realise just how ferocious the flash was.  I may have blinded a few people! Next time I will use the setting for photographing people rather than mountains in the night!

Miss Fleur de Guerre's guilty secret: the possession of jeggings!

Red legs fondling Lisa's gloves...

I wore a rather peculiar dress, I think of it as my 'Frankenfrock' and think that it is the result of years of careful make do and mend and was probably someone's gran's funeral frock.  The torso is definitely 1930's and some skillful beadwork in very good condition makes me think it might have been a tad difficult to produce. I think the lace on the sleeves was added in the forties out of an odd piece, there are different pieces of cheaper more modern lace at the cuffs, I suspect to lengthen the sleeves. With it's high neck and rather severe shape it has that Miss Danvers look that I am quite fond of. My hair was in it's default setting for when the rollers don't do what they should, and the weather is damp which is an early 30's updo.  

We left fairly early and it was still buzzing, I suspect there may have been outbreaks of dancing and was sad to miss Vicky's second performance. We saw a crowd of white/black tie miscreants bundling in as we left and later heard rumours that the 'vintage mafia' had kidnapped some poor chap and bundled him off to East London (whatever next, snoods left in beds?..). The God of new events: 'shitwillhappenus' mean't a last minute change of venue and one missing barman. However I liked the venue and booze was served (although sadly I couldn't drink much). This was a very creditable effort to create an intimate supper clubby night and I enjoyed it. The organisers plan more and you can keep an eye on their plans here.

Minn x

Social Secretarial Setbacks!

I bought a new, ferocious little camera for the purpose of putting more images on this blog then realised blogger and iPhoto don't like each other very much. I now think this may be resolved but only the weekend will reveal the truth! The question is what to photograph, I'm wary 'bout pictures of my own unphotogenic phyzzog but perhaps pictures of lovely ladies in London in frocks? Or should I photograph my dinner? The insanity that is London or just pictures of dogs. You can't go wrong with a cute puppy. We'll see. At the moment I am still seeing more nurses and needles than interiors of glamorous clubs, although some of the nurses have been easy on the eye. But this shall change. If anyone is particularly interested in seeing a particular aspect of life/vintage life in London let me know, and if I can I will oblige! Over and Out.

Too many frocks!

To sell or not to sell. I have a lot of clothes that don’t fit. The problem is that they don’t fit by a smallish margin but big enough a margin to require a month of dedicated dieting and I am not sure I can be bothered. Then again perhaps something might happen, I might slim down and regret disposing of my lovely things.

This is not helped by my reluctance to go the ebay route. I hear of the problems professional organised ebayers have and additionally, I loathe post offices. There isn’t actually one within easy reach of work or home. And then there is the packing of parcels.

I had considered a stall, there seem to be a few places where you can rent these but this incurs a whole new series of problems. How do I get tons of clothes across town if I cannot drive? What about coat racks? Cash floats? Would I feel bad if no one wanted to buy anything or would I under price everything to be kind? On the other hand I am running out of space.

Amongst the small size 12 things I should dispose of are the perfect utility style 40’s dress in a light aqua wool,  a home sewn early 50’s swing dress and matching bolero, a gorgeous Chinese silk shanghai tang dress, a wonderful replica 30’s evening dress by Frank Usher and so forth. I should really also get rid of the 50’s red straw cap trimmed with lovely little blackberries and silk leaves, fabulous on a brunette rather than a red head. Perhaps I’ll just stick some photos on here, or more likely they will just loiter loved but unworn in my wardrobe.

I cannot, however bear to dispose of the size 10-12 Paul Smith black crepe ultra elegant cocktail dress with the mustard coloured silk lining. Who knows, perhaps when I am better if I take up jiving I might be back to my post-Japan shape? But then what would I do with all my lovely size 14 frocks?!

Has anyone out there been able to find their clothes new homes painlessly? Or does anyone share my pain?

Halloween costuming...

I’ve been thinking about this Halloween costume business. If you just want to go for the plastic rubber cheap satin shiny plastic approach it is easy enough if rather over-priced. The sensible approach, which my own mother has just taken is to invest in a moderately high quality outfit and wear it every year. I’d get bored. There are easy options, the witch simply requires a pointy hat, horns and cat ears are easy enough. I’d suggest that if any vintage ladies out there are on the Halloween pull the feline approach is a good one. Men do like cat outfits, touch of Sado masochism, very feminine and safely naughty. I once had some..ahem..success with a Korean emperor whilst dressed as a tiger. Problem is of course that it can be difficult to work out what a man actually looks like if he is disguised as a zombie who has incidentally been run over by a truck…

Naturally the Elviras always look good although I prefer Wednesday Addams as an outfit. One of the best outfits I ever saw was Salome, carrying the head of John the Baptist on a plate…

These are a few of the ideas I came up with whilst considering what to do for Don’t Dali with the Devil, this year’s chosen Halloween event. My considerations are that it should still leave me looking fairly pleasant, should not involve bulky impossible costumes, should be inexpensive and should not be a zombie.

a)     An anti vampire protester. Cribbed from True Blood I would wear pastel fifties clothes, hair up and glasses and march around with a placard stating ‘God Hates Fangs’.

b)    Wilma from the Flintstones. Handy for red heads. Merely involves a stylish leopard print dress, a nicely rolled and pinned hair do, fifties-sixties make up and some chunky jewellery.

c)     Carmen Miranda. A nylon turban, some plastic toy fruit and superglue. Then whatever fabulous forties themed outfit I could dig out.

d)      Aviatrix. Goggles, jodhpurs, and a white scarf with wire sewn into it so it looks like it is flying behind you.

e)        Horns and a blue vintage dress: Devil in a blue dress.

f)      Fortuna, decorate hair and clothing with gambling accoutrements, playing cards, casino chips. Have a hat made from a roulette wheel.

g)       A pierrot, the ruff is easy to make out of an old curtain (I’ve seen it done with doilies), hair slicked back and a velvet dress. Very thirties in a Beatonesque way.

This year however I will probably go for a Mexican Day of the Dead outfit to celebrate my affection for tequila.  But what I would really like to do one year is rope in 3 friends and do a four horse women of the apocalypse, I’d even be prepared to be pestilence.  

Is Glamour Dead?....

  

I sometimes wonder if the reason the past appeals so much is that we have lost the knack of glamour. My friend Fleur bought me a book on the subject for my birthday. It suggested that ‘glamour’ was a curiously 20^th century phenomenon linked to a heady combination of greater emancipation of women, spending power, Hollywood movies and the growth of other media such as photography and magazine publishing. It is most distilled in the flashier more distinctive movie stars; the Theda Baras, the Marlene Dietrichs and the Mae Wests, With their macquillage, their nails, their artificial hair and their otherworldly air of danger they inspired stenographers and shop clerks across the globe to experiment with their looks and their image. Some might argue that glamour existed before the 20^th century, but did it? I feel that elegance, style, quality and fashion are sometimes natural consequences of having money and of being able to buy the finest materials and pay the most talented craftsmen. This is why upper class uniforms such as hunting pink are both stylish and practical. Glamour is more egalitarian although it may well be an addendum to elegance. But it is a rare thing these days. In fact if I think really hard we haven’t really seen much of it in recent decades.  Couture doesn’t count, couture is the equivalent of grand dresses made for grand dames and it doesn’t have the same impact (sorry to the Fashionistas out there!).

It seems to me that Glamour is dead in the contemporary western world of fashion. I cannot remember glamour being present since the early 80’s. I’m not saying there are not glamorous individuals out there just that there doesn’t seem to be any urge to pursue glamour in its original sense more widely. Look at how the word itself has become devalued, it is now applied to topless models and the irony that might have once been implied has gone.

A woman in her twenties may feel irritated by my assertion. Surely the 21^st woman is as obsessed with grooming as those of any previous generation? However the hair blonding, limb browning, short hems and hair straightening is not about glamour. It is about looking as young as possible and as obviously sexually alluring as possible. Glamour, if anything would place women in an particular area of womanhood and femininity as much as one of looking youthful. The makeup and grooming of a glamorous past is actually, by our modern standards ‘ageing’.  The actresses who dominate the red carpet do not emanate romance, mystery or allure. They aspire to youthfulness, approachability and a look of fitness. Modern young women reflect this with an overwhelming tendency towards relaxed or sports clothing for leisure and obvious sexual signalling on a night out.

The early sixties was still glamorous, we hadn’t entirely succumbed to relaxed leisure wear, the seventies despite being a jeans hell also had that darkly shaded velvety decadent lost girl in a souk thing. The early 80’s had the magnificently mad New Romantics being eyed up suspiciously by bejewelled Goths. Since then it seems that outside work we have regressed to the middle ages. Basic clothes in practical fabrics, layered for comfort and emblazoned with emblems. Les generously it could be suggested, especially when it comes to male fashion that things have simply become infantilised. That sounds snobby, but although comfort is good, it doesn’t have to be basic. When societies develop their trappings become more complex and, I stress this word, interesting. Things seem to be going backwards. The Cheryl Coles, Cameron Diaz’s and thin US television poppets are not glamorous but strangely two dimensional despite good looks. They are obvious symbols of health and youth, no thought is required and the look is beyond those not genetically blesses or who are simply old.

I’d like to sound a clarion call to ‘Glamour’, not all the time but at least on occasion. There is no template; it requires a little effort but not necessarily much money. It may make us look our age rather than display a conditioned urge to seem younger. It has character, it is interesting and also, just a bit dangerous. Glamour seemed to have been for our grandmother’s a bit of a mask and quite a treat. To be an ordinary women in the 20^th century, slowly but steadily escaping for the need to simply dress to match your income and class must have been thrilling. Think of all those Bernices bobbing their hair, blitz babes in red lipstick and beehived ancestresses of ours. There may be a backlash, what if in the future we have granddaughters who rediscover glamour, what are they going to think of their bland natural nans? Will they look just like those frumpy figures in dun coloured long frocks who pose warily in so many turn of the century photographs. I have seen photos of 1930’s relatives dressed as Pierrots, glamorous women in uniform, a drop dead gorgeous auntie in the late fifties and my mother working the full Dusty Springfield look. Just imagine, in 50 years it will be a faded image of someone with un-brushed hair, plastic flip flops and a beige baggy t-shirt.   

Halloween Jollys.

I like all the seasons but summer suits me least. I burn, I hate pastel colours, most sandals cut my feet to ribbons, suffer from hayfever, dislike sitting on the grass drinking luke warm wine, loathe wasps and prefer dresses with sleeves. I scorn festivals, think sport is rubbish and the sun makes me squint therefore ageing me. So the approach of Autumn and Winter is cause for a mental huzzah!

Halloween plays its part, if only every day could be Halloween. Even children become strangely cute and deserving of sweeties rather than my general sneer. As a child I loved the whole thing and even now wish it lasted longer. There is a horrific clash of titanically good things on that night all of which I’d like to attend.

I am gutted not to be going to the Park Tavern’s spooky all hallows quiz ‘ Nightmare on Elm Crescent’. This pub goes to hell for the night with patrons and interior spooked to the umph.

It is a shame to miss the sheer flamboyance that is the White Mischief extravaganza The Haunted Ballroom we attended the House of the Sandman a couple of years ago and have to admit that it scores top points for superlatively supernatural surroundings and sophisticated spookivity.

Sadly we will be too tired to make it to Hula Boogie for their Sunday shenanigans, tiki and the fifties and horror go together happily in a witches brew of psychobilly and jiving juju.

On the evening itself we shall be found at Don’t Dali with the Devil put on by those fine folks, or rather the redoubtable Fleur and Emerald of the Fox Presents.  Last year’s night involved a live snake, live music and recently culled woodland flora (the forestry commission fortunately didn’t discover that half a wood had migrated to Old Street).  This year the theme is all things dada and surrealist. I’m not sure what to do, but it may involve either a wig or a hell of a lot of face paint. Most of which will end up on everyone else. If you are there and you recognise me please say hello.   Presuming I buy my new camera I will take lots of lovely photographs.

In case you didn’t realise all of these are recommendations. And I have got form on this front, scratch the vintage surface and get a Goth. I was a strange child.  I see dead people….. whoops, sorry, apparently they are called freshers

The patented nonsense 'What kind of vintage are you?' quiz.

Dr Johanna von Pinkelthingy and her friends at the Kodd Institute of Psychology have been working jolly hard on this. Answer the terribly serious questions and they will allow you to pigeonhole yourself into a fabulous vintage stereotype without having to go to the effort of buying Cosmopornolitan or attempting one of those Facebook 'what donut are you?' type things compiled by morons. The results are absolutely correct and will allow you to attach yourself to a wildly inaccurate stereotype within an entirely artificial concept of a scene. If they offend you, you obviously have anger issues and the Kodd institute will deal with this for you for a small fee, and yes, this will involve electrodes and your boobies.  Simply answer the question below to obtain a free personality assasin...er assessment.

1 Why do you wear vintage clothing?

a) Because the smell of mothballs and the origin of indeterminate stains turns you on.

b) It expresses your individuality and no one else will be, like, wearing it.
c) You want to pull a James Dean look- a- like.
d) It pisses everyone else off.
e) You loved your nan.

Nana.

2 As far as you are concerned THE vintage sin is:
a) Masochism, only way to explain the willingness to tolerate sleeping with metal pins and plastic spiked tubes in your hair over night when you can just tuck it under a hat.
b) Envy, how exactly does that bitch get her hair that perfect every time? and how come when you copy her on You Tube your hair still comes out looking like a big poofy marshmallow that exploded?
c) Pride, look at my high speed lindy hop moves and weep inferior being.
d) Mixing era's, 30's hair and fifties skirts? get the lynch mob.
e) None, we are are pure, protected by our dainty aprons, pretty curls and walls of industrial duty cupcakes .

Hellraiser's got nothing on us.

3  Your vintage haunt is:
a) Totty van pot's Burlesque newcomer night in a dodgy pub in Stevenage. If she can jiggle her bits you can.
b) The Ford owners vintage jive jamboree so you sniff car fumes and pretend to be from Tennessee.
c) Perched under a tree at the Chap Olympics watching young men in linen being beaten to a pulp by Heidi Heil in the bicycle joust.
d) Baron de la Mercatore's (aka Keith from Epping) grand all the vintage periods in the world time travel Gypsy Hotel extravaganza, you are on the guest list.
e) Watching fire eaters at the Double R Club, followed by a sneaky kebab.

4  Your attitude to the opposite sex is.:
a) Some one to set off your frock, light your cigarettes and hold your coat, preferably with neatly manicured facial hair.
b) They have their uses, but you’d rather be knocking back tequilas with the girls.
c) Vintage shellac? Check. Marine tattoo? Check. Cocky grin? Check….
d) Some nice chap in tweed with a Pashley bicycle who mixes a mean raspberry Martini.
e) Any one who’ll buy you the Martini.

The choice of paramour can be very revealing

5  What strikes terror into the very heart of your being?
a) A hairspray drought. pincurl strike and curler melt down.
b) Crappy Top Shop versions of fities dresses on 13 year olds channelling Lily Allen's and Cheryl Cole's bastard devil child.
c) There-is-someone-wearing-the-same-dress-as-you-even-though-the-stall-holder-at-Spitalfields-market -swore-she'd-made-only-one.
d) You find yourself sharing a chalet at a weekender with a fruit looper who loves the fifties because they were sooo right then and there were no blacks, or gays or mooslims or homos and God put Elvis on this earth...
e) Clothes Moths.

6  Your vintage find is:
a) A leather skirt for a tenner in Rokit.
b) A pair of nipple clamps in Oxfam..you’ll fashion outré curtain hold backs with them.
c) A forties tea dress complete with shrapnel burns and ack ack skid marks.
d) A lovely big fur stole with the lovely ickle beady foxy eyes winking at you, second-hand fur isn't the same is it after all?
e) A fifties coffee table with a tableaux depicting fornicating poodles.

7  You have a:
a) Cat, in fact dozens of them. And they keep on pooing everywhere, eating your lucite handbag and puking on your sofa.
b) A blog, and a computer with a screensaver featuring a still from 'The Women' from which to run your on-line empire.
c) A tattoo of cherries, a Northern star and an anchor, even though you get seasick.
d) A boyfriend with horizontally challenged hair and a pair of yellow winklepickers.
e) An old conker who doubles as an Imaginary friend.

The vintage lady may prefer a status big cat.

8  Your ideal pet is:

a) A Fluffy Kitten.

b) A cheetah with a diamante collar.

c) A house boy with a leather collar.

d) House mice.

e) A large dog that chews everything including annoying strangers.

9  Your hobby is:

a) Making models of the Eiffel Tower out of Kirby grips.

b) Make do and mend, as long as whatever you make is useless and whatever you mend was fine as it was.

c) Standing in front of the fashion displays at the V&A and wishing you were a criminal mastermind.

d) Knitting, macramé, bondage…

e) Mixology: every liquid in the cocktail cabinet plus a splash of Irn Bru.

The Mixologist has got hold of the Cilit Bang again...

10 You would like the vintage scene to be:

a) Word of mouth grass roots events where you know everyone and it’s gone before the hipsters find it.

b) Huge, so that the High Street is full of cheapo versions of your favoured period clothing.

c) What ‘scene’?

d) Festivals and big weekenders, you love lugging around your vintage case with fake retro travel labels and wearing plastic NHS eye glass frames and antlers.

e) Decadent, outrageous and drunken rather than just drunken. 

There you go, having answered the sneery questions add up the questions (or alternatively go to the pub, I know what I'd do) and see what your very own vintage stereotype is! Please don't complain to Redlegs, the stereotypes aren't based on anyone, she is ill and her hair is flat.... which explains a lot. Comments are however welcome and please feel welcome to forward. xxx


Q1:   A = 10  B = 1     C = 5    D = 8    E = 3
Q2:   A = 1    B = 8     C = 5    D = 10  E = 3
Q3:   A = 8    B = 5     C = 10  D = 1    E = 8
Q4:   A = 10  B = 5     C = 1    D = 3    E = 8
Q5:   A = 3    B = 10   C = 1    D = 5    E = 8
Q6:   A = 1    B = 8     C = 3    D = 10  E = 5
Q7:   A = 3    B = 10   C = 5    D = 1    E = 8
Q8:   A = 3    B = 10   C = 8    D = 1    E = 5
Q9:   A = 5    B = 1     C = 10  D = 3    E = 8
Q10:  A = 5   B = 3     C = 10  D = 1    E = 8

81-100  The Vintage Maven 

61- 80   The Vintage Rebel

41-60    The Vintage Chick

25-40    The Vintage Kitten
10-24    The Vintage Hipster

STEREOTYPES

81- 100 The Vintage Maven. Her home looks like a set from the V&A, she’s  been doing this for years (mavens are seldom under 30) and her approach to all this hoo hah is to either rise above it or more likely open a faux vintage club in the East End and make some money from the rubes. Other opportunities include flogging unwanted vintage bits for a fortune on ebay and appearing at the opening of club nights to make them look good then never going back.  She’ll be interviewed by the tabloids, talk of her yearning for an age of glamour and they’ll make her sound like a reactionary nut job.

The best mavens are brisk chic ladies with a sense of humour and an encyclopaedic knowledge of clothing.  At their worst they will cut you off forever if you wear the wrong footwear with your Carven wool suit. Often to be found at The Goodwood Revival and London’s best hotel bars and restaurants. The worst thing you can say to her is “I love your costume”.  If you got this result please feel welcome to spray yourself with imaginary Eau de Smug.

61-80  The Vintage Rebel.  The vintage rebel has no choice. Fashionable clothes look like rubbish on her and her innate chippiness makes her deeply suspicious of the media and the fashion industry. After years of drifting in and out of various styles that may have included Goth, punk and cyber geek she has arrived at the point when she realizes that tattoos and piercings notwithstanding it is the fake leopard skin, red lippy and full shampoo and set that compliments her distinctive view of life and love of glamour. Often found in the company of the Maven the rebel is more approachable, jolly and drunken.  She gave burlesque a twirl, got bored, dropped it, and now sings lewd songs at late night cabaret when not lolling around the French House at the weekends.

The Rebel is happy mixing era’s and will roll up at the odd fetish night. She can also be abrasive and rude when crossed and will allow her entire evening to be spoilt by the presence of an idiot in trainers and a track suit.  If you got this result...do we know you?

41-60  The Vintage Chick. For this one it is all about the music and having fun. Not so much dressing from an era as dressing for a life: of lindy-hopping, hot rodding mayhem.  Her vintage period is the fifties and she trawls the rails for Swirl dresses and day dresses. Often to be seen flitting from place to place dragging a bag with a change of shoes and a studiedly sullen boyfriend behind her. Livens up any party with her exhibition-level dancing skills and spends the summer teaching festival goers how to jive. Natural habitat, any of several dozen fifties weekenders.  Yearns for Americana but is as British as an Eccles cake.

The Vintage Chick spends a fortune on Elnett and has a growing addiction to tattoos. Whilst her style may be somewhat generic you can rely on at least hearing good music whilst she is around. Sadly she is sometimes irritatingly young and her dancing skills make you feel like a geriatric hippo on the dancefloor.

25-40  The Vintage Kitten. Usually new to vintage, the kitten is enamoured of a cute idea of vintage, all afternoon teas, cup cake baking and polka dot tea services. She serves gin in tea cups and spends her time in pretty cotton tea dresses. With a mum who grew up in the Seventies it all seems very exotic. Drawn towards the forties and early fifties, she has removed the bombs, drudgery and viciousness and repainted the era in pale yellows and pinks and filled it with Cornish ware. Her hobbies are knitting, making things out of felt and if she has money she opens up a cup cake making business or an expensive little vintage boutique. She is to be seen at Blitz and Prohibition or manning a stall at Vintage at Goodwood and is, with the Vintage Hipster largely responsible for the idea of 'vintage' as a commercial lifestyle choice.

The Vintage Kitten is often charming but annoys her more committed sisters by getting things wrong and being just a little too twee.  Vintage is probably a passing phase but the kitten should be celebrated for having the sense to reject skinny jeans and plimsolls. And her cakes are very tasty.

10-24  The Vintage Hipster. The subject of great opprobrium as the Hipster has adopted vintage as an ephemeral fashion statement. Fearsome reputation for butchering ancient couture is underserved as they tend to buy naff seventies cast offs from ugly warehouses of tat. Will however happily combine a forties tea dress, having shortened the hem, with a silly hat and skinny jeans. A determined shopper, her media-savviness and income have led to the boom market in jumble and inflated prices for vintage.   Found hanging around East London and anarchically annoying other vintage girls by crashing into their nights, behaving like belligerent Sloane Rangers and gawping. Alternatively to be seen at festivals in daft outfits that involve headbands. Blissfully unaware of the fact they don’t get it they seem to be having fun so good luck to them.

The Hipster is very young and has the intelligence to realize that old clothes grant some individuality in a High Street World.  Many will soon move on to the next craze and hopefully in a couple of years there may be a crash in the vintage dress market, although sadly some frocks will not emerge from Hipster ownership unscathed.