As of last week, I’m living every vintage lady’s dream: I officially own a piece of deadstock. Deadstock, or “new old stock” to the less morbid, is vintage that never sold. This particular dress still had its original Korell tags and $7.00 price tag, marked down from $11.95. It arrived in perfect condition from Daisy and Stella Vintage, and I couldn’t be more pleased. I’d wanted a piece of deadstock since I started collecting vintage, and now there’s one hanging in my closet. I know I already have a painfully similar dress, but this one is cotton to the other’s unforgiving rayon. It’s actually wearable for day, and boy oh boy do I plan on wearing it. Since it’s never been worn, it might – perish the thought – actually be sturdy. Merry Chrimbus to me!
My style is simpler lately, I think. More elegant. I don’t feel quite as comfortable in twee-ness as I once did. I would rather be a vintage lady than a modcloth darling. Given that I’m already routinely mistaken for younger – I have a young face and a high voice, and bartenders always look suspiciously at my ID – I should probably work on aging myself up a bit.
It’s not just fashion. I feel older lately in a lot of ways. I’m not as into the college house-party scene as I used to be. I don’t like staying up ’til 3 in the morning. French fries don’t agree with my stomach anymore. I sometimes wonder whether youth culture sort of…I want to say romanticizes not having your shit together. I mean, I get it – sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll! Being a vagabond is sexy. But I’d prefer to leave that to fiction. I want to be in charge of my life, and I no longer have room for waking up on strangers’ couches. I don’t want to leave a beautiful corpse. I have bigger plans than that.
Dress: vintage, via Daisy and Stella
Coat: vintage, from Danica
Fascinator: from Kristina
Everything else: thrifted