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| Decade-blending anyone? Treehugger.com...decades not included |
Vintage clothing. If I could travel back in time, it would be to Marlene Dietrich’s closet. I’m sure I’d probably find a lot more than just gender-bending tuxes; but that’s another story entirely. Given my own predilection for `30s duds, it made me wonder just how many of us are born into the wrong era.
Imagine Dita Von Teese in jeans and a tee. Doesn’t work, does it? What about Imelda May in tracksuit bottoms? Nah. If post-modernism has taught us anything, it’s that fashion is one big green bin: sooner or later everything gets recycled. As for newness, consider it a bit like a Tinguely sculpture: set to destroy itself upon creation. See: harem trousers, Louis Vuitton bunny ears (why?), the Snooki poof.
With that it makes sense to commit to a past tense; if only to make getting dressed in the morning that bit easier. It would also have quite the totemic appeal; a bit like dividing one’s fashion allegiances along tribal lines. Wearing a ‘40s-inspired tea dress? Shops at Dirty Fabulous, likes a cuppa from Wall & Keogh; romantic and hard-working. Draped in a Studio 54 jumpsuit? Drinks absinthe, dates rock stars, never worked a day in her life (apart from her tan in Ibiza).
Oh, how easy life would be! To be able to pick and choose ones friends, employer and weed out would-be disastrous dates with such broad sartorial brushstrokes. No stylistic nuances, decade blending or micro-trends obfuscating the general view; just plain and simple style atavism.
I debated the merits of this concept with a friend who, although initially keen, expressed some reservations. “Granted, had he longer hair and a harem of drug-addled hippies in tow, I might have more readily grasped his fascination with Charles Manson,” offered my cohort of her recent ex, “ but I really don’t think California drifter circa 1962 is a look applauded by mainstream employers.”
“Still,” I interjected, “pre-millenial clothing was so simple; so easy to read.”
“So is See Spot Run,” she replied. “And I got bored of that before I even turned three.”
Perhaps she had a point. Maybe vintage was just a snazzy escape mechanism; a prêt-à-portal into the imagination with no basis in reality.
“While you’re at it,” she added, “take off that blasted top hat.”
