As a writer, I place a unique importance on antique clothes because it has memories and stories that are woven into the fabric, trapped in the pleats, and concealed in the hems. A shopping list in the pocket, a coffee stain, or a rip from an exhilarating night out dancing might all be signs that the previous owner left behind. A flaw is an irreplaceable aspect of a vintage item’s appeal. The object’s origin may be revealed by a rip or a missing button, and occasionally a flaw reveals how the item ended up with you, who will repair it and fall in love with it once more. The same is true for humans – our marks and scars tell the story of where we have been, where we have fallen, and how we have healed.
The same is true for humans – our marks and scars tell the story of where we have been, where we have fallen, and how we have healed. For thousands of years, people have worn each other’s second-hand clothes and bought and sold second-hand clothes because it was too expensive to buy new. My grandmother sewed clothes my mom wore to school, which my aunt wore and then passed on to a cousin. But at some point, this ancestral tradition wasn’t all that common. Buying new clothes is a way of showing self-esteem. The only people in vintage clothing are either poor or weird, or both.
Then, however, countercultures began to have an impact on fashion: the San Francisco Diggers of the 1960s created stunning ensembles out of donated and abandoned clothing as a part of their radical anti-capitalistic lifestyle. Then London’s punks went even farther, combining clothing from several eras to create a new style designed to make someone seem as though they had recently made it through hell and back. Through television and films, the new aesthetic made its way into popular culture. Following that, grunge and goth took over the Nineties.
Most of my collection comes from a vintage clothing store called The Garment District in Cambridge, MA. In the 1990s, you could still find tea dresses from the ’40s and printed polyester shirts from the ’70s amid piles of $1-a-pint clothes. I’ll sit in a pile of clothes rummaging through clothes, the adrenaline rushing when I pull the shiny sleeves and find a sequined dress, or I’ll pull out a perfect pair of Levi’s 501s from a pile of ripped jeans, every One has a personalized graffiti on the knee that reads “Grade of 76”. At the time, I didn’t consider the moral interests of buying antiques. I bought vintage to challenge the status quo. Vintage clothing is a visual art; I think of it as a fashion collage. When browsing Garment District’s piles of clothing, I’m not looking for quality basics to wear year after year: I’m looking for something unique that feels like I’m meant to wear it.
I felt more at home and connected to the people of the past in this country where my family was a newcomer by dressing in old apparel. I was the first member of my family to be born in the United States, in Boston. Despite having Croatian and Persian ancestors, I have always felt a deep connection to New England. I was integrating their tales into mine by dressed in the clothes of the people who had lived there before me.
The popularity of antique clothing in everyday wear appears to be a contemporary trend that was inspired by both necessity and privilege, albeit a different type of necessity now. Cheap clothing is widely available and harmful to the environment. A pair of jeans produces about 33kg of CO2 over the course of its life, which is equal to driving 69 kilometres.Furthermore, if you try to dispose of that pair of jeans, it may take up to a year for them to completely biodegrade, and only if they are made of 100% cotton. Artificial fibres simply make things worse. Never before has getting dressed in the morning been so morally fraught, and others will condemn you for it. Fast fashion from head to toe only has a day’s worth of appeal.
Seeing modern fashion superstars combine old styles is what a vintage-lover like myself enjoys the most. When I see Kaia Gerber wearing her supermodel mother Cindy Crawford’s vintage Alaa leather jacket, the 1990s come to mind as fresh and fashionable. Zendaya stole Linda Evangelista’s style and made it her own on the red carpet by donning a strapless, black-and-white dress from Valentino’s SS92 collection. And on a daily basis, we have Emma Chamberlain’s “massive thrift hauls,” in which she discusses how items from the 1990s and 2000s might be modified for a different era.
The blue hooded sweatshirt I was wearing when I met my husband, the dress my mother wore when she lived in Brussels in the 1970s, and my late brother’s “I Climbed the Great Wall of China” T-shirt are some items in my closet that I will never get rid of, despite the fact that I believe it is important to periodically clean out and reevaluate one’s wardrobe.
I have a time-traveling sensation whenever I wear something old. I feel as though I am reliving a memory of how it was to be me—or someone else entirely—when I feel the texture and weight of a garment on my body, how it flows about me, and the shapes it produces.
A few months later, I strutted the catwalk for the talented Iranian-American designer Maryam Nassir Zadeh. I was nervous and suddenly unsure of how to move my feet, and I also felt entirely unfamiliar on the catwalk. These clothing have never been worn or even seen by anyone. For the first time ever, I was introducing them to the public. That had a mystical quality about it. On a daily basis, I act as though there is something wrong with me—my form, my proportions—when my clothes don’t look well, if they droop or ride up. I had none of those anxieties, though, when modelling for next fashion.I didn’t have to dress up to be the freak I really am. I was forbidden from wearing makeup by Maryam. basic hair. I felt naked, vulnerable, and incredibly me. It appeared as though I didn’t have any clothing, regardless of vintage, to characterise myself.
