I can tell from comments on my Facebook page and blog that there are indeed many categories for our vintage stories. How about Leisa’s “One That Got Away?” (Her favorite piece, a 1940s black rayon crepe dress with silver beading is languishing in her ex’s storage unit. We’re all pulling for you Leisa!)
This morning I got a note from Kym:
This is a story of my first vintage. Like so many auspicious accounts, it starts at a Saturday morning yard sale. I was in the fifth grade. The sale was hosted out of town on a secluded organic farm and my mom wasn’t optimistic that she’d find anything to her liking (“I think they’re hippies” she whispered when we pulled up).
My mom wasn’t wrong, but amid the macramé and half-burnt candles, I seized upon something exquisite. All in a matching pea green hue: pumps, gloves and a beret. After some insisting ($5 is steep on yard sale Saturday), they were mine. Once home, I cleared a bedroom shelf to display them.
When I assembled these pieces for their group photo today, I noticed something new. For all these years, I thought the pumps, gloves and beret were a matched set. They aren’t! Decades ago, one perfect woman cobbled together a set of accessories so perfectly paired that they’d pass as mates. What thoughtfulness. I’m proud to be the steward of such an elegant trio.
I would have loved to meet the woman who shared my favorite shade of green and who probably felt self-conscious about her size 8.5 feet. I want to tell her that in 2013, we all have size 8.5 feet. These days, my first vintage has a lot of company. But I consider these an emblem of the moment I first knew I could (and should!) express myself creatively.
What was your first vintage? The one that got away? Your sentimental favorite vintage? Do tell!