There’s a raw thrill in stepping into a space where the past isn’t just honored but inhabited every day, and last weekend in Notting Hill reminded me of that. On a brisk Saturday morning, I found myself wandering through Portobello Road Market. I was pulled toward a stall that practically hummed with character.
Among racks of denim and leather, I spotted a cream-colored tweed blazer that had clearly seen its share of adventures. This was not the kind of object you show off if you want to make an impression; it was more the kind of object you wear if you want to be either totally comfortable or look kind of cool and serious but not too serious. After that, I went to a vintage pop-up in Shoreditch, which, by the way, was out of this world.
The fair itself was in a light-filled room, with friendly stalls and a welcoming energy. I chatted with the various vendors and, at one point, with a couple of girls who were actually trying on some vintage pieces (with, like, the kind of model body you’d hope to see if you were, say, a photographer shooting for a magazine’s editorial spread). I digress.
Because the clatter of conversations was so pleasant and the vibe so congenial, I spent what felt like a leisurely hour just walking through the fair, moving from one side to the other, and stopping here and there to stare and converse. That afternoon, I had lunch with a group of friends at an always-bustling café in Camden, a place where people of every stripe come to sit, stare, and be stared at. One friend—my go-to for style inspiration—showed up in a perfectly worn vintage leather jacket that Wikipedia tells me was the sort of thing that one might have seen somewhat recently on a fashion week runway.
Anyway, she wore it with a pair of modern skinny jeans and, um, crisp sneakers. It wasn’t a look thrown together for any sort of shoot: It felt very much like an outfit you might see on a natural (as in, not photoshopped), lived-in kind of day. We talked about fashion, of course.
But we never really defined what fashion is or isn’t. And anyway, I’m not sure it’s possible to have an afternoon defining fashion without it defying what fashion is or isn’t. After lunch, I slipped into a vintage vibe to attend a screening in Leicester Square.
Seriously, the underground station was crammed with people certainly not curating a vintage look. But just stepping out of the station into the square, where my fellow moviegoers and I existentially jostled on our way to the cinema, was like taking a moment from the present on to the set of a classic film. Millions of beautiful moments on either side of the camera are the reason so many of us are passionate about cinema.
Observing that moment in Leicester Square, ahead of enjoying one of those cinematic moments myself, the now and then of my appearance as an observer collided in the kind of way the films I had grown up loving always promised. During the first hours of the evening, I took a walk through the colorful streets of Brixton, a place buzzing with life. I was reminded of when I first became captivated by the vintage look.
And the popular independent shops, with their carefully curated stock, seemed the perfect setting to reflect on that. You can talk to the owners in these places. And when I say “talk,” I mean really connect.
I visited one of my favorite shops in Brixton (“did you know that the term ‘Brixton’ is used to describe the obnoxiously loud sound of a bass drum in hip-hop??”) and chatted with its owner about why she believes in vintage so wholeheartedly. That night, as I wound down my work day at a cozy little bar in Soho, known for its decor and friendly crowd, I couldn’t escape the power of vintage fashion. Here I was, in a city that constantly reinvents itself, on the cusp of the latest trend.
Yet in Soho, it felt like time didn’t move so swiftly. Pints were passed around. Little debates were had—the most enduring silhouettes, the best-tailored trousers, the most romantic pieces.
My companions recounted stories of their own most “unexpected finds.” I listened, pretending not to envy some of those pieces. (More on that later.) One of my companions showed off a vintage dress she had recently bought in a vintage shop. “Isn’t it amazing?” she asked.
“Amazing” was an understatement. “It’s like a piece of art.” (A smarter statement, really, because that’s what amazing pieces of vintage fashion resemble.)
The vintage community is about way more than just style. It is about all of us who take part in this underground community, a memory shared by our little counterculture.
It is the perfect underground because it offers us a path clearly lit and paved with pride of place to follow. We lead right to the heart of our adoration for style—not just our way, but also an ecocentric way. Did I mention that vintage is also about sustainability?
Its very ethos runs counter to the fast fashion behemoth that feeds an ever-hungering heedless bulldozer of capitalism. Each of us makes so-called sustainable, ecofashion and partakes in forms of creative expression that dug these pathways lighting the way to our perfect, private memories. When I got home, I had a million ideas for new combinations: a vintage silk scarf with a new coat, a leather vest with some easy modern knitwear—none of it done with any designer pretense, but all of it done with a lot of love, respect for the past, and an awareness of today’s fast-fashion culture.
What I did was really “embracing vintage”—the new guide to this old idea. And what I haven’t done is “curating a collection” that looks good in a photo shoot. This is my own living narrative, and there’s not a lot of “museum” in it.
For me, retro revival is not about hanging onto the bygone days; it is about living in a now that is absolutely timeless in its charm, quality, and character. Each vintage piece I wear is a fresh reminder of the history behind it and the path it has taken to my present; it is a fresh reminder that my way of “doing it” is quite unique and absolutely sustainable. It is, in essence, a reminder that voguish can’t even compete in terms of the loyalty and love I feel for the pieces I have amassed over the years.
Somehow, with that experience and with the path I’ve taken, I find myself marching forth into a more sustainable future.
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