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Wednesday, February 18, 2015

The stories clothes hold are the very thing that draws me to them



what im wearing: hobbs of london trench coat, asos bakerboy hat, vintage sweater dress, primark socks & patent loafers & louis vuitton vanity case


I find habits comforting, rituals that tuck themselves into my everyday life. Oatmeal and coffee being the one I wake up to – and my most cherished too. I won’t bring my phone, just me, a bowl and a mug. The day hasn’t started yet, my kitchen is cosy and my mind feels more clear than it ever does for the rest of the day. So last week, when I was at the flea market, I saw this sweater dress swinging on a lone hanger in the wind – I stretched up, pulled it down – wanting to inspect it’s thick misshapen wool. Call me loony, but sometimes I just get this feeling with clothes – not new ones, but pieces I find secondhand. There are miniature memoirs within the fibres of the fabric that make a garment – and something about this sad sweater made me buy it. Maybe, simply it reminds me of oatmeal and that calming seemingly trivial ritual I celebrate everyday. Whoever wore it last wore it a lot, the ribbing is pilled and the wool’s colour is faded, but I like it that way. My job is to give this sweater a second life, so I thought I’d start with sharing it with you here. And even if I don’t end up wearing it all that often, I know I will spend a great deal of time dreaming up a personality, memories and the entire life of the woman who owned it before me. Which is yet another a ritual that sticks to me and sinks in, dreaming up stories about vintage clothes – all the extraordinary things all these ordinary clothes might have seen. The stories clothes hold are the very thing that draws me to them ( also perhaps a very vague hint as to what my book is about, but I shouldn’t be saying anything about that just yet)


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