When I picked up Jane for a blouse shoot shopping excursion the other day, her adorable, fall-ish pale yellow dress seemed familiar, but I chalked it up to seeing her on multiple occasions the past three years. It was about three hours into the day when it dawned on me that I recognized the dress because at one point, it was my dress.
For a dress from the 1970s, just the past five years have been pretty eventful. Found in a small town in Washington at a yard sale, I splurged and paid a whole buck for this dress. (side note: I'm sure this dollar was paid in loose change, found floating around whatever huge purse-bag I was using at the time).
It's your classy 70s velour dress -- and it was even classier because when I found it: it was full length. Yeah, it was that classy. The best way I can describe it is a cross between a prom dress and a jazzercise uniform. It was confusing, to say the least.
And this is where it gets hazy - because now I can't recall if it was Jane or if it was me that did the
Now it's here - five years after hanging over a tree branch in the front yard of a duplex - with a vintage black belt and an over sized scarf, spending the day shopping for blouse.
It reminded me of two things:
[1.] When something in your closet just isn't doing it for you anymore - donate it. (to the salvation army, to a shelter or even to your girlfriend's best friend that eventually becomes your business partner.) Just because you might be over your denim romper phase, doesn't mean that there isn't somebody out there just praying for more jean shorts.
[2.] Vintage clothing is simply: amazing. Vintage vs. brand new clothing is like a victorian house versus a strip mall. One has incredible character and an interesting history and the other has a generic feel and a suspicious looking nail salon.
Isn't it amazing that even before this dress traveled three thousand miles, it had another life? Maybe that life consisted of hazy, 1970s parties with daiquiris and men with side burns. Or maybe it spent most of the time on a shag rug, staring at a poster of David Cassidy. Or maybe, maybe it managed to avoid every stereotype from the 1970s and was just worn by some really cool lady who could rock a full length velour dress.