I love wearing vintage; of course I do. Today’s high street clothing generally leaves me cold, and I love the hunt for something different.
But sometimes I feel bad about wearing really old clothes. What if I damage them? The crushing guilt of having irrevocably damaged something Old is not an experience I want to have… cough, again. [insert emoji of shame]
Long story short, I try to restrict my wearing of vintage to
- Garments that are in sturdy, as-new condition (and since the vintage menswear I love is generally better made than modern clothes, they can be seriously sturdy); and
- Ridiculously common basic garments that museums already have more than enough of (meaning that even if I accidentally trash this one completely, there are a trillion more out there and I have destroyed only an infinitesimally small piece of history.)
A case in point: vintage dress shirts. Common, well documented, well made. I have two that I particularly love, and I’ve been wearing them for years, and they’re in great condition. Except…
Oops. [insert emoji of crushing pain and embarrassment]
This shirt is beautifully soft and fine, and I adore it. I’ve been wearing it for twenty years. It’s probably not surprising that it eventually gave in and tore, and for a while I hung it up and considered what to do.
Really, there’s only one thing TO do. Do what they obviously did… hire a nest of mice to perform a minutely perfect mend.
Failing that, refer to a Victorian dressmaking book like Agnes Walker’s 1898 “Needlework and Cutting Out” (my Bible these days, and easy to find on Abebooks) and perform said surgery myself. Follow the photo story below to get the method.
As you can see, I’m not quite done paying for my crime yet, but I will have this finished very soon. Where did those mice go, anyway?