A Vintage Love Story

Something about that first sepia-colored polaroid just felt like truth. Only one familiar face, Granny, but all the faces felt like a home I knew every room too. Bellbottom pants, polyester shirts, platform shoes, picked afros, draping perfectly over sun-kissed flawless skin, it was the 70’s. My Granny was never big on “sharing”, so I created my own stories. Honestly, I cannot recall a time in my early life where an image drew me in so tenderly. From that day forward I knew I needed to be in that energy forever.

Saturdays were reserved for the fabric store and grocery shopping with Mommy. Entire Saturday spent caressing fabrics with extensive discussions over stiches and pattern layouts. To busy being rebellious against the mother/daughter struggle, unfortunately I never learned how to sew. Growing up, Mommy still sewed most of my clothing, and my little girlfriends adored my style. I loved being different. What did not fall on deaf ears though was how a quality garment was structured and how to quickly detect the lack of care during construction. Mommy had crates on top of crates of fabric and sewing notions throughout the house.

Purses fall short of impressive to me, but the ability to carry "stuff" is a necessity, and I always have lots of stuff. Not really sure know why I lack a fascination for purses. Now do not get me wrong, I still collect them, BUT there is just something so liberating about having your hands available to touch fabric freely, to give and receive. I always felt restricted by handbags. Then there is my undying passion for the previously loved. Something and everything about it induces a story for me. My project is much like my idea of the 60’s and 70’s. I have no experience there, but I still feel so much and even more to say. You know the thing is, every garment I choose, chooses me too. The conversation is not over. The story that I imagine she lived before she made it to my cart. The story of how we found each other. The story of who she will choose next. Some pieces have traveled over 60 years just to be heard, unscathed by time.

My project is complete, but only in my head. Transforming and upcycling my vintage loves into a fanny back but what I like to think of as an interchangeable pocket. I have the Fiskars. I have the sewing machine. I have the materials. I have the vision. I just need the funds and direction to see my treasures reformed into new to you treasures. Me and Mommy finally got on the same page, but then she fell ill. Due to diabetes complications, Mommy has been gradually losing her sight for over 12 years. We purchased the sewing machine together, she calls me weekly to say, “so what sewing project are you working on?” Me- "Mommy I just want to do these pockets, I see them, I just need to do it, but I don’t know where to start” Mommy – “Just start” Not only does this give my beauties an opportunity to reincarnate themselves, but my method reduces waste and uses resources that I already have access to. I have found a teacher because unfortunately at this time my mom is unable to carry me through the process, but I want to see this vision through. My prize winnings would be used towards lessons as well. See, I am a Vintage Connoisseur and a professional fabric toucher. When I see quality, we engage. Give my treasures an opportunity to not only go to one home, but the chances to be enjoyed by several generations and multiple homes. The inserted photo is just a small dose of my vintage babies, they deserve to an opportunity to evolve again and again, like we all do.