I never thought I’d own a pair of cigarette pants, but fifty years ago no one thought we’d put a man on the moon. Shit happens. I picked up these pants at The Getup Vintage on my most recent trip to Montpelier. We went in search of a Kabuto nest, but ended up with a few Slowpokes and a tuna melt instead. Again: shit happens.
I was going for an explicitly casual look, inspired by this sort of thing (and this, and this), but of course I still got asked what I was all dressed up for. I’ve got fance in my very blood, it seems. That said, I’m consciously exploring a middle ground. I’ve never really had one: it’s either curls ‘n’ corsets or ketchup-stained pajamas. I don’t wear curlers to the gym or cute vintage pajamas. When the panopticon switches off, I’m slobbin’ it with the best of them. Pants, sweaters, and victory rolls are perfect for the days when my heart says bed but my wallet says work.
Pants: ’50s, The Getup Vintage
Blouse: ’50s, eBay
Hat: ’40s, Luvsick Vintage
Everything else: thrifted