Age Ain’t Nothin’ But a Number… And a Bigger Price Tag
Published in NoHo LA, November 13, 2003
I’ve found my people.
“How much do these Puccis run for?” asked a lady, surveying Foxy Couture’s collection of older-than-me, runway psychedelia.
“Well, the pantsuit is…” The black-tee-shirt-on-black pleated-skirt-dressed sales lady ran down a price range consisting of zeroes backed by more zeroes, topped with little numbers in front of them.
“…This is original Christian Dior, while Dior was still designing. They’re pretty much all couture, or custom pieces.” Art Fawcett, owner of Vintage Silhouettes and CEO of the Vintage Expositions, Inc., described pieces he and his wife recently came upon through a private contact, pre-estate sale deal.
I “ooh”ed and “ahh”ed and “wow”ed, my soundtrack of that Sunday, and continued my stroll around Santa Monica’s Vintage Fashion Expo, booths upon booths of vintage buttons, coats, dresses, glasses, jumpers, jewelry, laces, pants, purses, patterns, suits, sweaters, shoes –
Those who frequent Aardvark’s may happily feel a little out of their league: instead of maybe-interesting used duds donated by your friend’s parents, and some funky cheap accessories, the Vintage Fashion Expo covers more top-of-the-line — quality and label-wise — functional fashion art, spanning mostly from the late 1800s to the 1970s.
There was the expected: Mr. Toad’s of San Francisco brought with him Courreges’ mod turquoise jump suit, a gauzy, seashell-print Valentino gown, and Chanel and Louis Vuitton purses. Beth and Julie Guernsey showcased largely Art Deco laces and textiles, material more appreciated by designers. International Bag Boy had the only pets I’m currently interested in owning: classic, quality furs, like a Chanel zebra jacket, along with ostrich boots and reptilian purses. Meow displayed vintage pieces that matter now: grommet belts and red pointy patent leather flats so seemingly modern until I spotted the “by Del Mar of California.” And then there was Silverlake-based Come to Mama, offering hippie-meets-Victorian tie-dyed slips and pantalets.
I took a deep breath, and wiped sweat from my forehead, hoping that that was simply from my fashion whorish insistance I wear a denim jacket and not my growing excitement with old apparel, and lost myself in the sea of clothing seasons.
