The Day I Met Shirley

Ritzville, Washington

I recently revisited a memory from eighteen years ago, when I drove to a small town to see a collection belonging to a woman named Shirley.

It started with a notice in my local newspaper for a massive family-downsizing sale in Ritzville, sixty miles away. The ad mentioned vintage clothing, so I called to see if I could preview the collection the next day. The woman on the line cheerfully agreed, and on a sweltering summer morning, my husband and I hit the road.

When we arrived, we found a large building with its doors flung wide open. Bright light flooded the room, giving it the feel of a gymnasium.

Tables of housewares filled the center, while racks of clothing lined every wall. My eyes darted from frothy pastel prom dresses to mod, bright prints, from tailored 1940s wools to kitschy square-dance outfits. These were pieces that had spanned generations. I remember thinking that you could open a well-stocked vintage clothing store using only the inventory in that room.

We were greeted by Shirley and her fiancé—a middle-aged couple embarking on their second marriage. Often, the events that bring me to these collections are heavy: a death, a move, an ending. But there is a lightness to people clearing the slate for a new beginning. Shirley and her partner were warm and welcoming, and though our conversation was brief, I felt like I caught a genuine glimpse of who they were.

There were very few things in that collection that didn’t interest me. There were endless well-made, stylish pieces—including wonderful novelty-print rayons by Mode O’Day—a staple of small-town main streets for decades—alongside sturdy cotton daywear and an array of Westernwear. I could trace the lives of the family’s children through the 1960s and ’70s by the cute tees, mini dresses, and bell bottoms. The collection spanned from a late-1940s his-and-hers square dance set to a quintessential disco-era dress, with sizes ranging from extra-small to extra-large.

Before long, the clothes stopped feeling like mere inventory. Instead, they felt like a family that took joy in life—a family that loved bright colors, sturdy fabrics, and clothes for every occasion, from bowling to dancing, school, work, and play.

Some of those pieces found new homes almost immediately. Others waited patiently, sometimes for years, until exactly the right person finally came along to claim them.

Over the last eighteen years, I have measured, photographed, researched, packed, and shipped Shirley’s dresses across the country and far beyond. I hope each one has begun another story. I only recently stopped to count the total: 571 pieces came home with me that day.

Five hundred and seventy-one pieces. What an honor to have been the steward of such a beautiful family archive.

In the Pink

It’s my theme, the words in large type on my homepage—but do I actually go looking for pink vintage fashion?

Perhaps.

Certain things seem to find me because I notice them first, and pink is something I simply can't help noticing.

I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it: I don't love pink because it's considered feminine or sweet. I love pink in a visceral way. It makes my heart sing.

From brawling neon rose to the faintest blush, perhaps one of these pieces will make your heart sing as well. I hope so.

All are new in my shop.

denisebrain Glamazon Days

While much of the internet prepares for Prime Day, I find myself thinking about a different kind of shopping.

Fashion as sculpture, fashion as joy, fashion as fun, fashion as dream, fashion as grace, fashion as character—expect a variety.

The items in my shop are not arriving from a warehouse. They have already lived interesting lives. Some have crossed the country or the ocean. Some have survived decades in closets, attics, and cedar chests. A few came from collections I was honored to steward. All have stories.

So, again this year, I'm celebrating denisebrain Glamazon Days.

I've gathered twenty favorite pieces from the shop—pieces that remind me why I love vintage. Throughout the week, I'll be sharing a little about each one: what caught my eye, what story it has to tell, what makes it special. You’ll find these stories on Instagram and Facebook.

As part of the event, these twenty pieces will be offered at 15% off, with free domestic shipping on orders over $100.

If you're looking for something one-of-a-kind, I hope you'll take a look. And even if you're simply here for the stories, I hope you enjoy meeting these garments as much as I have.

After all, vintage isn't just about clothing. It's about preservation, craftsmanship, memory, and the pleasure of finding something that feels as though it was waiting for you all along.

June 23-26:

Here’s my shop, with the items discounted: https://denisebrain.etsy.com

Here’s a coupon code for free domestic shipping on $100+ orders: GLAMAZON

Storm Cloud Dancer Incarnate

After writing about Storm Cloud Dancer, I found myself thinking about a gown that has been with me for more than twenty-five years.

It belonged to the mother of a fellow symphony musician. She wore it when it was new and may have made it herself. The gown has no label, but it bears all the signs of a skilled hand.

It is not perfect. The color has faded unevenly over time. There are marks that cleaning improved but did not erase. Parts have been mended. Parts have simply endured.

And yet, perhaps because of all that, it has become more itself.

The original color has softened into a shifting range of slate blue, silver, pearl, and lavender-gray. Looking at it now, I realize that it embodies the very color I had been trying to describe in my recent blog: Storm Cloud Dancer.

Not a cheerful color exactly. But a breathable one.

There is a temptation to think that beauty belongs only to things that remain untouched. Vintage has taught me otherwise. Sometimes beauty survives because it changes.

This gown reminds me that wear is not always the opposite of grace.

See more photos of the gown in my shop.

Magtone Color of the Moment: Storm Cloud Dancer

To me, there's a just right color now and then.

Eugenie’s shoes c 1854-1870 The Bowes Museum

I recently stumbled upon these mid-19th-century shoes on The Bowes Museum website, and the color hit me just so. It’s the color my nervous system wants at this moment—

The inside of a mussel shell.

A wool coat worn to the train station at dawn.

Rain seen through lace curtains.

19th-century satin.

The color, which I’m calling Storm Cloud Dancer, as a counterpoint to Pantone’s Color of the Year, Cloud Dancer, is not a cheerful color exactly. But it is a breathable one. This is the color that feels most like exhaling.

Here is the feeling, curated from Etsy sellers (many of these can be found in my Etsy collection)

Storm Cloud Dancer is a contemplative color, but not hopeless. There’s light in it, and air, and motion.—it’s a dancer after all.

How does this color look to you right now?

For My Mama on Mother's Day

I wrote this in 2020, and I find it still says what I would want to say—perhaps better than I could now.
So I’m sharing it again, with gratitude.

My mother at 6 in 1926

I miss my mother on Mother’s Day.

I’m sorry to say I lost my mother 38 years ago. She was and is my hero.

I know I could be accused of idolizing a merely good parent who died too soon. You tell me what you think. She was lovely but completely without vanity, highly intelligent (state math and science champion in high school, language study was her college degree), giving without asking anything in return, forgiving when forgiveness would seem impossible, compassionate, tolerant, and more open-minded than anyone I’ve ever known. She fought fearlessly for things she cared about, and never gave up on those she disagreed with. We could use more people like her right now.

It looks like I’m about 1 in this photo, and my brother is rocking a great little Hawaiian suit.

Mama was a natural teacher, always mentoring, always lending a hand. A dear neighbor from my younger days recently told me a story about my mother. Our neighbor’s young son was sick and she wasn’t able to get him to eat. My mother came over with a bag of Goldfish crackers and set him up with a fishing line of some sort for the boy to fish with. She said if he caught a “fish” he had to eat it.

He caught fish and started eating again that day.

Once when I was in elementary school I was very surprised to see my mother tutoring one-on-one in a small room in my school. She was working with kids on their speech problems and didn’t even tell us she was doing this. One of the classrooms that she volunteered to help with (never my brother’s and mine because I’m sure she knew that could be awkward) got the full Marian Wilds treatment: I remember a Seattle newspaper article about the gingerbread village she helped the classroom build. And yes, she baked all the gingerbread walls and roofs.

I still have the angel my mother helped me make in first grade.

When I was sick for an extended period of time in 1st grade, my mother took on a sort of home schooling responsibility, with lessons from the teacher. I remember we had an art project in Papier-mâché, and we went a little overboard, wheeling in a green dinosaur with a long tail, spikes down his back, big pink polka dots and a smile.

My mother was the oldest of three children and had great inner (and outer) strength. She worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known. She kept the house humming along with many skills including house painting and plumbing, but most especially with her exceptional cooking. She baked dozens of loaves of bread a week, giving most of them away. She made so many different kinds of Christmas cookies for so many people that she had to start a month in advance and freeze some in order to get them done in time. When you said you had to have dinner soon because of an evening commitment, she went into what she called her “Wilds short-order house” mode and whipped up something quick—something like Coquilles Saint Jacques. (Mama loved learning from Julia Child.) I made a cookbook of her recipes after she died because I knew this aspect of her was known and loved by so many.

Try this bread recipe of my mother’s—you won’t be disappointed!

Serving dinner to my father and his mother in the 1940s

Serving cake at a friend’s wedding in the 1980s

My father died when I was 13, and my mother had to go back to work at the age of 53—not an easy task now, let alone then. She found work as a legal secretary and was a loyal employee in legal offices until her death. She started off with the skills of a great office worker: a typing speed of 100+ words per minute, wicked shorthand, a fine mind and a natural desire to learn more. She became invaluable, a paralegal in all but title and salary. She took a bus to and from work in downtown Seattle, never driving a car.

She used a cart to go grocery shopping over a mile away, and take the wash to and from the laundromat. My brother and I walked and bused with her for our entire youth. By example, she taught me a lot about being dedicated, strong, self-sufficient and capable.

After my father died, my mother had the responsibility for shepherding my brother and I through college. I wanted to study at the best music school I knew, from the best horn teacher. We didn’t have much money but she wouldn’t allow that to stop me. She was my biggest fan, the cheerleader in the front row of my life.

Since I’m so in to fashion, you probably wonder, did I get that from my mother? Not particularly. My mother was not oriented to appearances, yet her style was what I would call simple and handsome. She sewed many of her own (and my) clothes, knitted, crocheted and tatted.

My mother with her mother. Mama was always knitting in that period of her life.

I love those shoes!

Classic pieces, hand knits, a trench coat, plaids …and the occasional killer heels. I admire my mother’s style.

I have kept some clothing and accessories of my mother’s, including this 1950s Finnish modern necklace by Seppo Tamminen, given to her by some Icelandic friends.

My mother’s father was a banker in Iowa farmland during the Great Depression. He sacrificed his job by refusing to foreclose on farmers when their accounts were in arrears. He worked with inmates of a nearby prison, helping them learn skills for when they were released. Have you heard of the Sheaffer signature pen? My grandfather helped a forger learn to do custom engraving on these pens. One man became a jeweler with my grandfather’s help. He was so grateful that he made a beautiful gold and glass ring, with glass the color of my mother’s blue eyes. When I found a simple 1940s dress, I decided to pose with the ring the way she had done 70 years earlier.

What have I left out? Mama was a cellist through high school, and she could draw beautifully. She was a voracious reader of history books and historical biographies. She read every word of the newspaper before recycling it. Her favorite movie was probably The Third Man, followed by Witness for the Prosecution. Whodunits, legal dramas, dapper gents and brilliant acting were some key elements of a great film for my mother.

Every flower was her favorite. When I ordered flowers for her funeral, I just said “everything.”

Mama did not spoil us children. We had to learn to do things for ourselves. She taught me to knit, sew, garden and cook; and to get credit, balance books, negotiate, and make important decisions. She also taught me to help others, and to knock on doors for causes that mean a lot. She insisted I take responsibility for the world I live in just as she always had. I hope to be informed and to never quit learning, with Mama as my model.

I’m not a whole lot like my mother by nature—I think I’m more like my father—but I learned from my mother. She once said that if I weren’t her daughter she would want to be my friend. And she would have been that friend that counterbalanced all my problems: The smarter one to keep me on my toes, the one with all the adult skills to help my right-brained tendencies have grounding, the loyal one who would defend me against unwarranted attacks, the curious one who would know countless fascinating things, the fearless one who would stand by me at the toughest times. The humble one who put me ahead of herself.

Come to think of it, she was just that to me, and I’ll always be better for having her as my mother.

Happy Mother’s Day Mama! I love you so much—more than ever, and I’m so very grateful to have had you in my life.

Six years later, I see even more clearly how much of my life rests on what she taught me—often without saying a word. I’m still learning from her.

Still Choosing Vintage

On Earth Day, my vintage business turns 27.

1999 → 2026

Loving old things has always felt like a way of loving the future.

I’m grateful to still be here, still choosing.

Thank you for being part of this long conversation with clothing.

Endangered Vintage Items: Dress Clips

Some vintage accessories go extinct because they were impractical. Dress clips are not one of them.

They’re small, portable, and surprisingly clever — little bits of wearable engineering that can turn a plain neckline into something considered, secure a gaping wrap, or add sparkle to a coat or jacket. And yet… they’ve largely vanished from modern wardrobes.

Let’s give them a moment in the spotlight.

1930s enameled clips with rhinestones (denisebrain photo)

What is a dress clip?

A dress clip is a piece of jewelry that fastens with a spring clip rather than a pin stem. The finding usually includes a hinged, toothed paddle or plate designed to grip the edge of a garment — a neckline, strap, lapel, or fold of fabric.

That edge-gripping function is the key difference. Dress clips were made for places a traditional brooch pin can’t easily — or safely — go.

1930s pearlescent bead clips (denisebrain photo)

Although dress clips are often associated with matching pairs, period advertisements show they were sold both singly and in pairs. Some were designed for symmetrical placement, while others were intended as a single focal accent.

When were dress clips used?

Dress clips rose to prominence in the late 1920s and were at their peak of popularity in the first half of the 1930s. At a time when many women were making the most of garments already in their wardrobes, a small jeweled accent could refresh a dress, alter a neckline, or lend evening polish without the expense of a new frock. Period advertising emphasized novelty and Parisian flair, but practicality may have played a role in their popularity as well.

Clips stayed popular into the 1940s, showing up in both fine jewelry and costume jewelry. Then, as mid-century styling shifted and standard brooches returned to dominance, dress clips gradually slipped out of everyday use (many sources place that decline around the 1950s).

How were they worn?

If you’re used to thinking of a brooch as “left shoulder, end of story,” dress clips are more like useful little actors who can take various roles.

Period advertisements sometimes blurred the lines between dress, hat, bag, and shoe clips. The same jeweled ornament might be suggested for a shoulder strap, a handbag flap, or an evening pump. The message was clear: if it clipped, it could be styled.

Fashion writers also praised their practicality — clips were said to secure slip straps, fasten scarves, and even replace buckles on evening shoes, while being “the final syllable in chic.”

Department store advertisement, 1930. The Courier News (Tepper’s, Main Floor).

Period styling — and modern wear — includes:

• Paired at each side of a neckline

• Clipped to dress straps or shoulder seams

• Centered at a V-neck or gathered bodice

• At the back neckline — a little accent that’s especially lovely on gowns and party dresses

• At the top of the shoulder — almost like a modern epaulet flair

• On accessories — clipped to a bag strap or flap for instant personalization

• On turbans and hats — a quick way to make headwear feel composed

• As a pendant — slipped onto a ribbon or chain to become a necklace

• At the center of a deep, low back neckline — a dramatic placement that feels very vintage eveningwear

• On the side or the vamp of a shoe

• They are especially at home on garments and accessories with edge definition or distinct focal points, which helps explain why they shine on everything from bias gowns to tailored coats to wrapped turbans.

In other words: they were made for clothes that had edges, folds, straps, and drape—and vintage fashion has plenty of those.

Materials and design

Dress clips appear in nearly every vintage jewelry language:

• Art Deco rhinestone geometry

• Molded and carved plastics

• Fruit and floral motifs

• Gilded metal and paste stones

• Sculptural mid-century forms

Because they were often worn in pairs, designers frequently worked with mirror-image balance — something less common in standard brooch design.

Why did they fall out of favor?

Dress clips gradually fell out of regular use after the 1940s — not because fashion became simpler, but because garment construction changed. Earlier decades favored necklines, straps, and edges that invited clip-on ornament. By the 1950s, silhouettes became more structured, with finished facings and built-in trim — in other words, fewer “clip invitation zones,” even when the overall look was more elaborate.

But if you wear vintage (or even vintage-ish), dress clips are still wildly practical.

How to wear them now (without harming your clothes)

A few ways to reintroduce dress clips into modern outfits:

• Use them where the fabric is sturdy: wool knits, heavier cottons, brocade, velvet, coating fabrics.

• On delicate fabrics, give them a “buffer”: clip through a small ribbon tab, a facing, a seam allowance area, or a doubled fold rather than a single layer of silk.

• Try them as a closure: a clip can gently persuade a wrap neckline, scarf, or cardigan edge to stay put.

• Think in pairs: if you have matching clips, put them to work framing a neckline or sitting symmetrically on straps (very 1930s, very satisfying).

• Think of them as portable focal points: centering a bow or tie, placed in a chignon, or sparkling on the edge of a cuff.

Dress clips may have slipped quietly out of fashion, but they were never obsolete. They were designed for clothes with edges, folds, and movement — and those clothes are still with us. If anything, they reward attention: to construction, to placement, to detail. Perhaps that is why they feel so satisfying now.

And yes—dress clips are also simply beautiful objects. Art Deco geometry, floral scrolls, rhinestone “constellations,” molded glass, Bakelite, enamel—there’s a whole design universe packed into two inches.

Several of the dress clips from my shop inventory, made of carved Bakelite and enameled wood.

When a 1970s Dress Finds Its Way Back to Its Designer: A Susan Locke Reunion

Dress by Susan Locke. denisebrain photo.

I sell vintage clothing hoping each piece finds a loving home, a new custodian to cherish its past. That's a good day. But sometimes, magic happens. Real, almost unbelievable magic. This is one of those stories.

Recently I sold a 1970s Susan Locke tunic dress — a beautifully made piece in a pink-red-brown check with ornate trim — to a buyer named Rob in the UK. Shortly after purchasing, he sent me a message that stopped me in my tracks:

Looking forward to getting it… it would be great to get it as soon as possible as I will be seeing the very same Susan Locke on Thursday the 21st. She’s my partner’s aunt!

I had assumed the dress was simply heading to a new wardrobe. Instead, it was going to be seen by its original designer.

Sleeve detail of dress by Susan Locke, c. 1970. Photo by denisebrain.

I packed it with extra care, running my hand over the textured wool and the golden braid that had pulled me the moment I saw the dress.

Dress by Susan Locke, c. 1970. Photo by denisebrain.

Susan Locke London label, c. 1970 dress. denisebrain photo.

I found it in a small shop 4,700 miles away from London. Who made this lovely dress? I said to myself, and, why is it here?

A little while later, another message arrived — along with photos. Susan Locke had been reunited with her dress. Rob wrote that she was delighted and amazed that it was still in such good condition after all these years.

Designer Susan Locke with her great niece Bea Freyer, reunited with the dress. Used by permission.

Moments like this are very rare, and they move me.

Vintage clothing is often discussed in terms of era, style, fabric, and construction — all things I care about greatly — but at heart, these garments were made by people and worn by people. They lived real lives before they reached our racks and closets. Occasionally, those lives and stories reconnect in the present.

To see a designer encounter her own work decades later — preserved, wearable, appreciated — feels like witnessing a circle close.

It also says something important about craftsmanship. Well-made garments endure. They travel through time not just physically, but emotionally as well.

I’m very grateful to Rob for sharing the photographs and allowing me to tell this story. It was, in his words, “a lovely moment all round.”

And it really was. A moment that reaffirmed why I love what I do – connecting the past to the present, one stitch at a time. To witness such a joyful reunion is a privilege.

Bea Freyer looking like she was born to wear her great-aunt’s dress. Used by permission

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I doubt I will ever know how the dress surfaced in Spokane, Washington, but I now know much more about the designer, Susan Locke.

Susan Locke: King’s Road Designer

Susan Locke was a London fashion designer and boutique owner active from the mid-1960s through the early 1970s, during the years when King’s Road in Chelsea became one of the most closely watched fashion streets of the period. Contemporary newspaper coverage from the period describes her as a young designer who opened a boutique at 414 King’s Road (World’s End), SW10, where she designed and sold her own garments.

Press features from the time show that her shop quickly drew attention. She produced and retailed her own designs, including dresses, trouser suits, and tailored separates, and was mentioned repeatedly in London newspaper fashion reporting. Articles name customers such as Susannah York, Pattie Boyd and Jean Shrimpton, and note that she worked with textiles associated with Miki Sekers, with some designs reaching wider retail through Selfridges.

One particularly interesting period report notes that her boutique was an early stockist of shoes by a then-emerging designer, Terry de Havilland — a detail that places her shop within the active King’s Road fashion network at the time. Later coverage in the early 1970s describes the boutique continuing in business and undergoing updates. A 1973 newspaper advertisement announced a closing-down sale at the King’s Road address under her name.

Taken together, the surviving press coverage shows Susan Locke as part of the independent boutique movement of 1960s London — a designer-retailer creating her own work, running her own shop, and contributing to the distinctive character of King’s Road style.

Sources: Contemporary newspaper coverage 1965–1973 via Newspapers.com archive.

Back in Style: My Best of 2025

This year I kept the rhythm of selling and creating, but also looked to the deeper purpose behind what I do. Vintage is never just fabric and design. It’s care, it’s memory, it’s hope stitched into style. It is the history of having hope, even in the most difficult times. And in 2025, I saw again how much that still matters. More than anything, this year reminded me that the most meaningful moments don’t come from numbers — but from where things land.

About 2025…

I don’t always know how to express what I, and many of you, are feeling. I’ve always tried to lift others during other rough times — 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, Sandy Hook, Covid 19. Now I am having a harder time, along with so many, dealing with where our country seems to be headed. I find myself choosing my words carefully. In real life, I’m showing up and working to change the harm I see done in our United States. In my business, I try to gently remind others of the things that I believe matter.

Against all of that, I kept doing what I know how to do: noticing beauty, sharing it, and sending it out into the world — sometimes very quickly.

One-Day Wonders: Items That Flew From My Shop

Comfy cotton in a leopard print from the 1960s, sherbet polka dots from the 1950s, late-1930s flowered cotton, late-1940s rayon with pink flashes — is it any wonder these didn’t stick around?

She Wears the Pants

Let’s face it, there just aren’t enough vintage trousers to go around! This year, I offered ’60s capris, ’50s clam diggers, ’70s wide-legs and ’80s tapered tweed. They walked out of my shop briskly.

Best in Show

I let the dogs out. I admit it.

Due to popular demand (from the voices in my head), I'm making videos now

As so many of us who jumped online to offer vintage in the early 2000s know, the job has never been simple, but it didn’t involve social media, which is now important for engaging our community.

Besides posting on Instagram, Facebook and Pinterest, I now occasionally make videos to introduce items and collections. It turns out that making videos of clothes—their movement, their mood, their details — brought me closer to why I started doing this in the first place.

Gray Matters

Brown may have had a moment this year, but gray is a perennially favorite neutral. 1950s silk tweed suit by Betty Rose, 1970s feather jacket, late-1940s wool suit with wonderful details — neutral color, but not neutral style.

The Golden Hour

I finally let go of a jacquard dress with blue velvet trim and a satin bias-cut dress with back bands beaded with stars. These were worn by the same woman in the 1930s, and there is more where these came from. Don’t touch that dial.

Any Color, So Long as It’s Pink

Pink, for me, wasn’t sweetness this year. It was resolve.

The Cream of the Crop

These are the pieces that asked me to slow down. From an Art Deco hair comb to a 1930s cotton suit and ’40s tilt hat, to Gunne Sax and a Mexican wedding dress from the 1970s, cream rises to the top as always.

Geometry Lessons

Whether you favor squares or circles, I’m here for you. Even trapezoid lovers are welcome.

Flower Girls

Bouffant flower hats and roses galore. Who doesn’t want to be a walking garden party?

Very Happy Endings

This 1950s hand-painted satin dress came to me from a very generous donor, whose items I offer with 100% of the profit going to Dress for Success.

I replaced the original very worn buttons with some vintage rhinestone buttons that I had been saving for just such a special purpose.

The dress landed in just the right place — this review absolutely made my day.

And this buyer even took the time to show the packaging. Care doesn’t stop when something sells and it means the world to me when this is noticed.

This 1960s alaskine beauty found its way to a woman who would wear it for her daughter’s green and pink wedding in Southern California. She said,

“I don’t typically buy vintage online...but this dress was like it was made for my daughter’s wedding. The beadwork! The color! It’s beyond amazing.”

Still in Print, Still Loved: Wear Vintage Now!

Wear Vintage Now! continued to make its way into new hands in 2025, thanks to wonderful readers and shop owners like Kaylan of The Getup Vintage in Ann Arbor, who wrote:

“As a vintage brick and mortar store owner, I wish I had written this book! It’s the perfect addition to my employee manual and I’ve now purchased multiple copies to give to new hires. LOVE IT!”

Every new reader reminds me why I wrote this in the first place — to share what vintage means beyond trends: beauty, sustainability, joy, individuality.

Words Worn Well: Blogs That Meant the Most

I write fewer, but longer, blogs than I once did. In terms of sheer acreage, the blog of the year was about the history of brown in 20th-century fashion (Wearing Brown Then and Now).

I finally committed to organizing my thoughts about fast fashion becoming vintage — a tricky and timely subject. The blog is Fast Fashion: The New Vintage? A Question for Our Closets (and the Planet).

One blog, How Can We Find Joy and Purpose in Tough Times?, ended up being a bit of a manifesto for myself and, I’m happy to say, meant a lot to others.

Closing Thoughts

This year reminded me that beauty can last. That connection endures, even when the world feels fractured. That meaning is in the details — a well-sewn seam, a handwritten note, a perfectly timed dress for a September wedding in Southern California. That what we keep, what we pass along, and what we choose to protect — trees, manatees, and each other — matters.

Thank you to everyone who walked with me, bought from me, read my words, wore vintage with pride. Here’s to more style, memory, and joy in 2026.

With love,
Maggie | denisebrain

May you find Wonder in the year ahead

With my warmest wishes,

Maggie of denisebrain

What I Still Choose

I still choose to know where something came from.

Perfectly aligned plaids. Hand-sewn buttonholes. A 1950s wool suit that speaks quietly—but clearly—about craftsmanship.

Not just the country, or the decade—but who made it and why and how.

I choose clothes made with thought: a carefully finished seam, perhaps stitched by hand, or fabric selected for how it will look and wear over time — not how it would sell. These qualities rarely announce themselves loudly, but they quietly last.

I still choose to let beauty take time.

Time to be made.
Time to be worn.
Time to settle in and become personal.

This is one reason vintage survives when trends don’t. Trends are designed for speed. Vintage was designed for living.

Keeping something — repairing it, understanding it, passing it along — can feel out of step with the world we live in now. But I’ve come to believe that keeping can be radical and hopeful all at once: a challenge to disposable culture, a form of care for the object and its history, a belief in longevity and enduring value. It says: this mattered enough to stay.

A small business is a relationship that endures.

It’s conversation and trust. It’s the often unseen work: sourcing, mending, cleaning, measuring, researching, photographing, writing. It’s knowing that what we send out into the world will land in someone else’s life, not just their cart. Relationship-based commerce feels different because it is different. It asks for attention instead of urgency, care instead of volume — and that difference matters to me.

Here’s the truth I keep returning to: I’m not trying to compete with everything. I’m trying to be faithful to something.

And if you’re here—reading, choosing thoughtfully, valuing what lasts—then we’re already in conversation. What we keep, what we mend, what we choose to value… that feels like enough to build on.

Be Kind to Manatees

Each November, I dedicate my work to the gentle giants who need our help most — manatees.

I donate 10% of my earnings year-round to Save the Manatee Club, and during Manatee Awareness Month I make a special contribution and invite others to join me. This year, I’m hosting the Manatee Match Challenge, a celebration of kindness that will culminate on Giving Tuesday (December 3) — a global day of generosity.

Your gift, in any amount, helps protect manatees and the habitats that sustain them. Whether you donate on my JustGiving page, shop my Manatee Collection on Zazzle (with all proceeds going to Save the Manatee Club), or write your own Love Letter to a Manatee (a note, poem, or drawing shared on Instagram with #LoveLettersToAManatee, added as a comment below, or sent to my email, margaret@denisebrain.com), you’re part of the circle of compassion for these awesome creatures.

Thank you for helping me turn love into action for the manatees.

The Day Annie Hall Found Me

Diane Keaton (1946-2025)

Wearing my father’s pink-and-green tie and holding a photograph of him

It was the disco era. A fan of jazz, classical music and The Beatles, I hadn’t embraced the sound and style of this new phenomenon. I deeply missed my father, who had died several years before. He left two closets filled with his unique sense of style—suits tailored on Savile Row, a deep navy velvet tuxedo, tennis whites, Sea Island cotton shirts, tweeds, hand knits, fine wools. nothing was taken for granted in his sartorially splendid wardrobe. He was a genuine dandy. 

I began to wear some of my father’s clothes when I was a teenager. I was old-fashioned: odd, quirky, baggy…quietly rebellious. Papa’s clothes were a comfort and a sort of armor. He was there with me.

Then, in 1977, Annie Hall came out. I can still feel the moment I saw Keaton’s Annie. In that dark theater, I felt a shock of recognition. Seeing her reflected something real and personal in me. There she was, someone who dressed like I did, for reasons that were deeper than fashion. Even walking out of the theater, people noticed my style. Annie didn’t invent my style—she simply kept me company in it.

I made my father’s clothing my own—sometimes putting darts in pants to make the waist measure fit a bit closer to mine, or cuffing a hem—but I mostly left them as they were. The taupe cotton pants he wore for working on his car were worn to perfection, soft, loose and cool. His button downs were long enough for me to wear as a dress, sometimes belted with a neck tie. I wore a gray and white seersucker cotton blazer until the fabric was worn through. 

In 1978 wearing white trousers tailored from my father’s pair

I still wear ties from Papa’s closet, including a pink and green one I gave him. He wore it with a pink shirt and said it always reminded him of how much he loved me. 

This early form of my personal style never really left me. After my father’s death we had to make do with less as my mother went back to work after many years away from the workforce. I often made weeknight dinners and had less time and money than the average teenager. My fashion was make-do and creative. I sewed my own clothes by that time and sometimes used a sheet for fabric, without the money for new fabric (got myself in trouble for that!). With the pocket change I made shining shoes, fixing jewelry and doing dog grooming for friends and family, I began shopping at thrift stores. 

And now? Honestly, not much has changed. I still love wearing well-tailored men’s clothes, finding secondhand fashion and being creative in how I combine pieces. Clothing is still how I make sense of the world. For the last quarter century, vintage has not just been my way of life but my profession. What began as a way to hold on has become a way of keeping the conversation going—between the past and present, between my father and me.

Wearing my father’s green shirt, standing with my brother in the late 1970s

The Dress I Played My Heart Out In

I’ve had three Gunne Sax dresses in my life, each purchased new. But the first— a confection in pink voile and lace—left an impression that never faded.

I was 14 when I joined the Seattle Junior Symphony, one of the training orchestras for the Seattle Youth Symphony. We were required to wear long dresses for concerts. My mother, newly widowed and returning to work, was too overwhelmed to sew one for me as she might have in earlier days.

Instead, she took me to Bronka, a magical little boutique in University Village. There, I saw it: an unapologetically romantic dress in pale pink. It cost a small fortune—$45. My mother grimaced and said, “At that price, you’ll wear it for concerts, dances, get married in it and be buried in it!”

My dress, shown in an ad from the Long Beach Press Telegram, 1975.

Gunne Sax was wildly popular then—girls and young women loved its nostalgic femininity, worn without irony. Yet there was enough variety that few showed up wearing the same dress.

I hadn’t been playing horn for long when I wore that dress to my first Junior Symphony concert. But I can still recall the feeling: I loved what I was wearing, and that made me feel like I belonged onstage.

I also played in a horn quartet with three other girls at Eckstein Middle School. For competitions and recitals, we each wore long dresses. After one church performance, an older woman took my hand and told me I looked like a classic beauty. I said, “It’s the dress.”

The next year, when I joined the Seattle Youth Symphony, we wore a uniform blouse and skirt. Still, I wore that pink dress at every opportunity—dances, recitals, and anywhere it was allowed.

SYSO 1976

That dress lives on in memory, tied as it is to my mother’s love, my growing musicianship, my city—and my favorite color. She was right: I didn’t get married or buried in it, but I wore it into my future.

Wrapped in Home: Finding Comfort in Vintage Irish Knits

Do you have a piece of clothing that comforts you? For many years I got a sense of stability and warmth by reaching for my parents' old Irish knit sweaters.

Me wearing my mother’s sweater

These aren't just any sweaters. They're Aran sweaters, hand-knit in Ireland, each stitch a testament to tradition and craft. Think intricate cable patterns representing fishermen's ropes, diamond stitches symbolizing success, and honeycomb patterns signifying hard work.

My father died when I was only 13, and the loss was immeasurable. Time passed, and his sweater became mine. Fourteen years later, I adopted my mother’s sweater when she died. In the quiet aftermath of loss, these sweaters became more than wool—they were anchors to enduring love.

Wearing these sweaters was like being wrapped in the best memories. Their smells were something ineffably "home." The weight of the wool was comforting, a physical reminder that I am not alone. Aran sweaters have a timeless quality.

These sweaters represented resilience. They represent the love of my parents, which continues to embrace me even now. They are a reminder that even in the face of fear and uncertainty, we can find comfort in the familiar, in the tangible connections to those we've loved and lost.

In today’s world, with so much at stake, an emotional connection to vintage clothing is the reminder we all need: So much has been endured in the past, and we have continued.

In a world that often feels cold and harsh, I encourage you to find your own "Aran sweater" – that object, that place, that memory that brings you comfort and reminds you of your strength. What are your go-to sources of comfort in challenging times? What vintage pieces hold special memories for you? Please share your thoughts in the comments below.

My family in the late 1960s. My mother is wearing her sweater. My father’s sweater is one my mother knit.

Here are some more photos of me in my parents’ Aran sweaters. Can you sense the comfort?

The Joy List: 12 Vintage Things That Always Make Me Smile

There are days when I need to concentrate on something I can enjoy. Not necessarily something grand—perhaps just comforting in its familiarity or with a charming je ne sais quoi.

That’s what this is: A joy list. Not a greatest-hits reel of my vintage fashion life, but a few things that make me smile.

You might have your own list—I'd love to hear it. For now, here’s mine.

1. Big Buttons

I like big buttons and I cannot lie.

2. A-Lines

They feel free and easy, and you can belt an A-line if you want to go with a figure 8 instead.

Found on an Edwardian nightgown

3. Careful Mends

The look of a mend that was done with care—whether perfectly neatly or not—warms my heart.

4. Bows

There is a small child in me that can never get over bows.

5. Circle Skirts

They beg you to take them for a spin.

This hand-knit sweater had a secret inner pocket embroidered with “You’re so sweet; are you a flower in disguise?”

6. Hints of a loving hand

Home sewn, home knitted, home crocheted, home mended— “Made especially for you by…” I love them all.

7. SCROOP

Scroop is the word for the rustling sound made by taffeta when moved. It’s a crunchy swishing sound—a fabric exclamation point. The expressive yet practical late 18th-century word scroop blends scrape and whoop. Moving in taffeta is moving with elegance, but the word alone makes me happy.

8. BRIGHT HALF SLIPS

In the 1960s, as some women turned away from the serious underpinnings of the 1950s, half slips became unapologetically mod, groovy—even psychedelic.

9. BEACH HATS

The sort of hat that was designed to keep the sun out of your eyes became an item that put all eyes on you. They usually involve straw, bright colors and a sense of humor.

10. Novelty prints

Well, duh. I wish I could wear nothing but novelty prints.

Is woman’s best friend dogs or pockets? Why choose when you can have both!

11. Interesting Pockets

Trompe l’oeil, angled, contrasting color, bias-cut—give me all the pockets!

Lavender sheep grazing near a yellow castle? Where do I sign up?

12. Novelty Labels

The Vintage Fashion Guild’s Label Resource has four pages of these charmers. Spend some time with them when you need a break.

These are just a few of the things that keep me company in the work I love. Vintage fashion has a way of sneaking happiness into the smallest details. There’s no real science to this list—just what made me grin as I wrote. If your joy list includes rhinestones, rickrack, or ridiculous hats, I think we’d get along just fine.

Fast Fashion: The New Vintage? A Question for Our Closets (and the Planet)

After a long pause due to Covid, I went to a Value Village and found myself going through the old motions: entering, getting the lay of the land (here are the dresses, there’s the coat aisle…), and grabbing a shopping cart. I had developed a practiced eye, scanning rows of garments with efficiency. I knew, statistically, that I'd find a hidden gem every 200 items or so. This time, I saw nothing even remotely interesting. The looks actually baffled me, so I looked closer. Very few were of a quality I would call worthwhile—they were fast fashion items.

This sparked an internal debate for me. This sparkly Y2K top, that bright floral knit dress—they appeared to be from the early 2000s. My first thought was… is this vintage? It raised a lot of questions.

Can cheaply made clothing, now 20+ years old, truly be considered “vintage” when the term is often associated with quality and longevity? There is now a prevalence of fast fashion pieces in the vintage market, so it isn’t an academic question. It’s actually a hot-button issue.

While the age of fast fashion qualifies it for the vintage label, its quality and ethical implications challenge our traditional understanding of the term, forcing us to reconsider what we value in our clothing.

You may ask, why does this matter? What does it mean environmentally, ethically, and for the future of vintage collecting and wearing?

To delve deeper into this question, I reached out to the vintage community and got some really interesting responses!

Defining Vintage (and Fast Fashion)

The general definition of vintage fashion is anything 20 years old or older, while antiques start at 100 years of age. Since it became popular in the 1970s, vintage fashion has typically been associated with quality, craftsmanship, historical significance, and perhaps even rarity. What makes garments better quality? The fabrics will look and feel good, there may be linings, better-grade components such as buttons and trims, details like hand-sewn elements, carefully pieced fabric prints, appliqués and other embellishments—among many other things. By carefully observing, you can develop a better understanding of quality over time.

Fast fashion is trend-driven, mass-produced, low-cost, using cheaper materials, raising significant ethical and environmental concerns. Can something designed for short-term wear and consumption truly become a piece of enduring value? Does this matter?

Arguments for Fast Fashion as Vintage

1. Age as the sole criterion: If something is 20+ years old, it technically qualifies, regardless of quality.
2. We are seeing the appeal of Y2K and 90s styles, and that drives demand for even fast fashion pieces, especially with Gen Z. One vintage fabric dealer who responded to my post on social media said that she sees her 21-year-old daughter’s idea of vintage. “95% of her clothing and accessories are secondhand or vintage, and some of her choices are driven partly by the desire to own things that aren’t available [new] in the stores. She’s also developing her style by limiting choices and having to think more about what she likes and what she’s looking for rather than being dictated to.”
3. Reducing landfill waste: Even if a garment isn't high-quality, keeping it out of landfills is a win. One vintage clothing dealer wrote, “As long as the items are represented honestly, giving them a second life makes them a little less ‘fast’ in the long run. Keeping things out of the landfills and in someone’s closet is always a good choice!” After all, she said, “It’s already occupying space.”
4. Price point and accessibility: For some, it’s an accessible way to participate in the vintage trend, especially for plus-size individuals.

However, there are also compelling arguments against classifying these items as true vintage.

Arguments against Fast Fashion as Vintage

1. Quality concerns: As one vintage dealer wrote, “If it's not quality I don't want to buy it.”
2. Ethical implications: Even if the item is 20 years old, fast fashion was made by poorly treated and underpaid garment workers, and the environmental cost of production was egregious. For instance, the production of a single cotton t-shirt can require over 700 gallons of water; cheap, toxic chemical dyes are routinely used for fast fashion.
3. Diluting the value of true vintage: Labeling fast fashion as vintage devalues well-made pieces.
4. Misrepresentation: There is the potential for sellers to mislead buyers if they don't disclose the fast fashion origins of items. “Vintage-y” (something that is newly made to look vintage) is not the same as vintage. As one lifelong collector and wearer of vintage fashion wrote, “There are so many things made to look 50+ years old and without a trained eye unintended purchases can happen, which is a big bummer,” while a vintage blogger responded, “It feels like an extra gut punch when the things we love about vintage (quality, design, longevity) are the first things people throw out when they see a cheap, fun vintage-y dress.”
5. The future of vintage: Again from the blogger, “I’m sad future generations won’t have the thrifting experience we did if we don’t change soon.” I would add that there may be little made now that outlasts 20 years to even become vintage.

Nuance and Gray Areas

1. Not all fast fashion is equal: Some brands and pieces from the 1990s and early 2000s were better made than others. A long-time vintage fashion dealer wrote, “Gap and Banana Republic sometimes had decent pieces that have aged well.”
2. Better materials: Many acknowledge that finding fast fashion in natural fibers makes it a better bet.
3. Honest representation is key: When selling 20+-year-old fast fashion online, some stress the importance of sellers being transparent about what they are selling, regardless of whether they call it vintage.
4. Personal preference: Some people do collect fast fashion for nostalgic reasons, and that’s okay. A UK collector wrote, “Technically, Biba is a fast fashion brand of old and that is highly coveted now. I also collect ’90s Topshop and Miss Selfridge from a nostalgic point of view, as it was the fashion of my teens.”

Overall, the consensus seems to be that while giving fast fashion items a second life is beneficial, it's important to be aware of the difference between fast fashion and what might be called slow fashion—considering factors like quality, ethical sourcing, and the historical context.

This discussion highlights a shift in consumer behavior, a growing awareness of the environmental impact of fashion, and the evolving definition of “vintage” in the fast-paced world of contemporary fashion.

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Fast fashion is a deeply problematic industry. It thrives on cheap production and rapid consumption, leading to massive textile waste, often ending up in landfills (92 million tons every year), heavy use of water and pesticides in cotton farming, pollution from dyeing processes and synthetic materials, and significant carbon emissions from transportation and manufacturing.

Labor exploitation is widespread. Garment workers in developing countries are often paid extremely low wages and work in unsafe conditions. The lack of transparency in supply chains makes it difficult to ensure fair labor practices, and the pressure to produce quickly contributes to accidents and unsafe working environments.

Fast fashion fuels a culture of overconsumption, encouraging people to constantly buy new clothes to keep up with fleeting trends. This devalues clothing and makes it disposable.

Fast fashion is unsustainable and unethical. While it may provide affordable clothing options, the true cost is borne by the environment and garment workers.

Personal Reflection

While technically a fast fashion item from 20 years ago meets the age requirement, I believe that the term “vintage” carries more nuance.

What I would call true vintage clothing can be appreciated for its design, craftsmanship, and the quality of materials used. It represents a particular era or style. Fast fashion, by its nature, often mimics trends rather than creating unique styles. Its quality is generally lower, so it may not have aged well or be seen as particularly desirable. True vintage items often gain value because they are rare or represent a specific designer or brand and have stood the test of time. As a dealer, that matters to me. As a consumer, I’m spoiled: handle, mend, clean, and admire vintage clothing, and it’s hard to tolerate fast fashion.

As I wrote in the conclusion to my book: [Wearing vintage fashion is] about expressing one’s true self while appreciating quality, saving money, and caring for our planet. I want others to share the joy of wearing what they want. I believe in the power of vintage.

I worry about the present state of new fashion available to most of us, with much of it poorly designed, inadequately made by terribly underpaid workers, and without a sense of freshness in spirit, production, or style. I worry about the use of the world’s resources as fast fashion is bought and discarded more rapidly all the time. I worry about people and how this ever-accelerating world makes them think and act.

There’s really no comparison (denisebrain photos)

I believe that while a 20-year-old fast fashion piece could technically be called vintage, it might be more accurate to describe it as pre-loved or secondhand. Someone might ethically (honestly) sell, or wear, a 20-year-old fast fashion item, but it probably wouldn’t be possible to describe it with the same adjectives one would use to describe items at least 30 years old.

So, while that sparkly tank top from Limited Too might technically be vintage by age alone, I'm still hesitant to call it that. For me, true vintage is about more than just the passage of time.

What do you think? Share your thoughts on fast fashion and vintage in the comments below! Have you bought fast fashion items with vintage potential? What are your criteria when buying and selling vintage clothing? What do you think the future of vintage will look like in 20 years?

A Vintage Vision: 26 Years, 10,000+ Items Saved, and the Power of Sustainable Fashion

Did you know the fashion industry is one of the biggest polluters on the planet? This Earth Day, as we reflect on our impact, it's more crucial than ever to make sustainable choices. And for denisebrain, this Earth Day is extra special—it marks my business’s 26th anniversary of offering a sustainable alternative through vintage fashion. Over the past 26 years, my customers have purchased 10,397 items from me, diverting them from landfills and proving that style and sustainability can go hand-in-hand.

I admit, this Earth Day feels different. While I celebrate 26 years of sharing my passion for vintage, I can't ignore the challenges facing our planet, including climate change, waste and pollution, deforestation and biodiversity loss. What’s one person to do? I have a few suggestions.

This Earth Day, let’s renew our commitment to rethinking our relationship with fashion. Here are a few actionable steps we can take:

• Support a local shop, thrift, trade with a friend or buy from a sustainable seller. Local shops often source more ethically and reduce transportation emissions. Thrifting extends the life of existing garments. Online vintage sellers are nearly entirely small business owners offering sustainable fashion.

• Learn a new mending skill. A torn seam, a fallen hem—even replacing buttons or zippers in a vintage manner. Extending the life of our clothing is a direct way to reduce textile waste.

• Next time you need a new jacket, pair of jeans, or bag, consider the vintage equivalent. Choosing vintage avoids the creation of new items and their associated environmental impact, and you might find a unique, high-quality piece you truly love.

• Buy one fewer item and find a new way to wear what you already have. Conscious consumption is the cornerstone of sustainable fashion. Plus you will become more creative in your sartorial choices!

  
  I wrote my book Wear Vintage Now! Choose It, Care for It, Style It Your Way to guide readers in making good purchases and caring for their vintage finds. I have been told that the tips and resources about which I wrote have help extend the life of garments, and the suggestions I make for wearing vintage have opened up possibilities. That’s exactly what I had hoped.
  
  

The environmental cost of fast fashion

A conscious alternative to fast fashion

The true cost of fast fashion has never been the small price tag, but the hidden environmental costs—water pollution, textile waste and carbon emissions—along with the human cost of forced labor and sweatshop conditions. Compare that to the circularity and lower impact of vintage.

More than ever, vintage fashion is not just a style choice, but a conscious decision against fast fashion, over consumption and the environmental damage it causes. Choosing vintage is a small act of defiance, a way to opt out of the cycle of disposability.

What I appreciate even more about vintage fashion after all these years is the legacy of design, craftsmanship, and durability it represents. The quality and longevity have proven that, with proper care, these clothes and accessories can continue to be loved and worn for many more years.

Even with the challenges facing our planet, I'm hopeful. Each vintage piece saved is a victory, and I'm committed to continuing to offer a collection that empowers people to make conscious choices, one beautiful garment at a time. I also believe in giving back directly. That's why a portion of every purchase supports Save the Manatee Club (over $20,000 raised!) and One Tree Planted (430 trees planted), ensuring that your vintage finds have an even greater positive impact on the environment. Join me in making a difference! Choose vintage, choose sustainability, and choose a brighter future.

Choose vintage fashion instead

What are your plans this Earth Day? If you're looking for a unique and sustainable addition to your wardrobe, I invite you to browse my Etsy shop, where everything is 20% off through tomorrow.

Pinterest: An Oasis for Self-Expression and Clarity

Disclaimer: While I express my genuine enthusiasm for Pinterest and its ability to inspire creativity and self-awareness, I want to clarify that my positive sentiments are based solely on personal experience and appreciation. I have no financial interest or personal relationship with Pinterest. My views are an honest reflection of how the platform has positively impacted my journey and my passion for vintage and sustainable fashion.

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The Social Media Pressure Cooker

Feeling overwhelmed by the constant demands of social media? Disenchanted with many of those platforms’ policies regarding misinformation? Yearning for a creative getaway but sick of the infinite scroll? You are not flying solo! I find myself increasingly drawn back to a platform I once underestimated: Pinterest.

Unlocking Pinterest's Potential for Self-Discovery

I once thought Pinterest was mostly a place to look up recipes and home decor ideas, but I was pleasantly surprised to find all sorts of inspiration. I have found that Pinterest can actually be a powerful tool for self-discovery, creativity, and finding a little peace in a chaotic world. Some claim it’s gone stale with old pins popping up, but vintage lovers like me say, “Bring it on!” Pin enough, and you won't see the stale material because of how you've trained the algorithm.

Pinterest encourages exploration and inspiration, free from the comparison game.

The Positive Power of Pinterest: Backed by Research

In a world saturated with negativity, Pinterest stands out as a curated haven for positivity and inspiration. It's a place to dream, plan, and get motivated—without the pressure of likes, comments and the relentless pursuit of perfection. This impression isn’t just anecdotal. Research from Pinterest and UC Berkeley actually suggests that using Pinterest can buffer against stress and burnout. The study showed that a whopping 90% of users describe Pinterest as an 'oasis,' and 80% use it to feel positive. These numbers speak to the platform's unique ability to foster well-being. Unlike platforms often driven by comparison and competition, Pinterest encourages exploration and inspiration. It's about discovering what you love, not what's popular.

A Different Kind of Social Space

Importantly, Pinterest actively combats misinformation, disinformation, and mal-information through its community guidelines and content moderation policies.

And there are some great new features to check out. Did you know that Pinterest offers options for inclusivity, such as women's fashion and wedding ideas that can be further filtered based on body type preferences, promoting body positivity? Have you explored Pinterest Predicts—the “not-yet-trending report”? These prognostications are based on Pinterest search data. I’m all in for “Cherry Coded”—a dark cherry red perfect for the vintage fashion lover. And have you seen the new collaging capabilities? It's like having a digital scrapbook, and it brings back my childhood memories of putting together cut-out items. Behind the scenes, somebody is thinking about how Pinterest can do more of what it excels at.

Wander and Wonder: The Art of Intentional Pinning

One of the best ways to tap into Pinterest's potential is to just let yourself roam. Embrace the serendipity! Follow your interests, wherever they may lead. Click on pins that spark your curiosity, even if you're not sure why. You might start with a pin about decluttering and end up discovering a whole community dedicated to zero-waste living. Or a simple plant-based recipe might ignite a passion for vegan cooking.

While you wander, don't be afraid to stray from your original path. The point is to explore and discover what resonates with you. If a board or an idea no longer feels right, simply delete it and move on. There's no pressure to commit.

Mood Boards: Visualizing Your Inner World

Pinterest shines as a tool for creating mood boards—visual representations of your thoughts, feelings, and aspirations. These boards aren't just pretty collections of images; they're powerful tools for self-reflection. By curating images, quotes, color palettes, and even textures that resonate with you, you can begin to understand what's truly important to you, what emotions you're processing, and what direction you want to move in. It's like creating a visual diary of your inner world.

Feeling stuck in a style rut? Whip up a mood board to explore fresh aesthetics and redefine your look. Maybe you are considering a career switch? Create a board filled with dream jobs, inspiring quotes, and skills you want to conquer. Struggling with mental health? My Keeping Perspective board has helped me cope. Feeling shy about sensitive topics? Create secret boards to explore them without judgment—your private sanctuary.

I regularly create secret boards that help me find my focus for various projects. I envisioned the cover of my book by gathering images that best expressed the content. A whole chapter fell into place when I found images of people who excel at mixing vintage from different eras, combining vintage with modern styles, and wearing vintage in creative ways.

When I was a key point person for the Vintage Fashion Guild’s website redesign, I offered the designers boards of images that conveyed the qualities that make the VFG a special destination online.

The beauty of a mood board is that it's completely customizable. There's no right or wrong way to create one. It's all about expressing yourself and exploring your inner world.

SO, What’s the catch?

No, I'm not being paid by Pinterest, and I'll prove it by acknowledging that I'm not always thrilled with the ads that pop up. I don't begrudge commerce, but I do wish Pinterest would focus on ads that are more aligned with my search interests and are ethically made. And yes, I have to use a timer to remind me to stop scrolling! The temptation to dive deep down those rabbit holes is real. So, while Pinterest isn't perfect, its unique blend of inspiration and self-discovery makes it a worthwhile oasis in the digital landscape.

I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours

Some, not all…

I have Pinterest boards highlighting vintage fashion photographers, styles by month, vintage fashion designers and favorite years in fashion (you might be surprised!). I’ve compiled a treasure trove of references in my Make Do and Mend board. There are fashions featuring print mixing, complementary colors, cars, cats, lips, music, hearts, hats, gloves, shoes, buttons, bags, collars, polka dots and sparkle. Manatees, bears, vintage ads—my boards are bursting with things that make me smile. But my favorites? Just Want to Have Fun (what it sounds like), Look Likes (my style) and Modern Vintage Style Inspiration (how to rock vintage IRL).

Embrace the Pinterest Oasis

In a world that often feels overwhelming, Pinterest offers a valuable space for self-reflection, creative exploration, and personal growth. It's a place where you can connect with your inner self, discover your passions, and cultivate a sense of well-being. The next time you're feeling lost, uninspired, or simply in need of a little creative escape, consider turning (or returning) to this haven of quiet dreamers. Start a board focused on what makes you feel joyful and relaxed and see how it impacts your mood; it might just be the creative oasis you need.