Faking Vintage
My style isn’t “genuine” vintage, but it is totally authentic to me
By Rabbit Person
Instagram
I am a working-from-home mother of one human (primary schooler) and three rabbits. I live in the middle of a beautiful old European city. I have no car. I walk or bike everywhere. I live near spectacular mountains and like to hike. I also have an unpaid job as a top manager at a rabbit shelter, so my life is often chaotic. I regularly touch rabbit poop and urine, and I am always covered with fuzz.
In part because of these things, uncomfortable clothes are an absolute no-no for me. If I can’t breathe, sit down, walk long distances, do yoga, squat, or climb a fence in a garment, it’s not my jam. Granted, I don’t climb fences too often, but I like to keep my options open.
Until recently, I avoided dresses and skirts at all costs. I don’t know who invented the myth that they are less comfortable than pants, but I was convinced of it until recently. Sure, pencil skirts and tight (or, even worse, corseted) dresses are crazy uncomfortable. But so are most skinny jeans and some office pants; in some, you can't even sit down. I like big, flowing, long dresses, in which you can run and jump and squat just like you can in pants.
I own two custom-made dresses from the tiny Russian brand Veter Vereska. Those are the first garments made for my measurements, and — oh my God — how awesome that feels. I wish I could afford more clothes that were made for me instead of for a generic person.
Since I walk everywhere, I wear almost exclusively flat shoes. I have a pair of low, black Dr. Martens (which I could only afford to purchase second-hand through the Vinted app), a pair of orangey-brown Timberlands (also pre-loved), a few pairs of flats and sandals, and a pair of black Uggs that I love with all my heart. Uggs are kind of, sort of cool again now (right?), but I’ve had my pair since they were cool the first time, in the early 2000s.
The concept of “flattering” clothes doesn’t sit right with me. I’d much rather always be my chubby, unpolished self than look fancy and polished outside of my house and then hate my reflection in sweatpants and oversized sweaters inside of it. In fact, I think we should drop the concept of “flattering” clothes completely — together with unnecessarily gendered clothes, the distinction between “home” clothes and “outside” clothes, and a lot of unnecessary, garbage ideas we have about outfit proportions. For example, I often see fashion bloggers or the media advising people to avoid wearing outfits with all baggy components: if you have an oversized shirt, make sure to wear tight jeans with it; if you wear an oversized coat, pair it with high heels. They say it is about silhouette. I say it is about fat shaming. They want you to make sure that people know you are wearing oversized clothes and are not actually fat.
I don't think looking fat — or, for that matter, being fat — is a problem. For me it’s not. I don't use clothes to look as slim as I possibly can. If some people don’t like it, too bad. Looking pleasing to other people is not a significant consideration of mine. Don’t get me wrong — I have tried to please people with how I look. For the first 25 years of my life, that is precisely what I was doing. But it is extremely tiring and unsatisfying to constantly think of what others think of you. And even if you do, you can’t please everyone. What a random man on the street likes, your teacher probably would not. I might just as well try to please no one but myself.
My wardrobe is intentionally unsexy. I used to be very feminine-presenting, and I always felt pressured by others to look as pretty as possible. My mom has always insisted that I look pretty. To this day, she literally cries over every tattoo I get because, in her opinion, I am destroying my beauty. I used to feel that because I was born kind of pretty, my beauty was somehow common property and I owed it to others to take care of it and make it bloom. But I didn’t feel like myself during that time. It felt very unnatural to me. In my late 20s, I came to understand that presenting in a feminine way and trying to look pretty is not my cup of tea. Wearing unflattering, unsexy clothes is a liberating experience.
In no way am I a minimalist when it comes to wardrobe. I have a lot of clothes, and I don’t think that will change anytime soon. I am still struggling not to shop mindlessly or compulsively, but I am better at it than I used to be. I’ve bought almost nothing new for six years now. I look for (and can usually find) anything I need in the second-hand stores, swap events, and flea markets. I also have things in my wardrobe that I have been wearing for over 15 years.
My wardrobe contains a few general categories:
1. Pants: wide, slightly oversized, usually plaid or velvet and kind of short, so you can see my ankles.
2. Shirts: mostly men’s, flannel, plaid, and oversized, along with a few denim ones.
3. Jackets: I am a huge fan of good, old-fashioned, tweed “professor” jackets and use them as outerwear in autumn and spring.
4. Coats: mostly long, warm and oversized.
5. Vests: quite a few of them, some clearly from three-piece men’s suits, some intended as outerwear. Sometimes I use them instead of jackets.
6. Cardigans: 11 of them at the moment, all different colors and lengths, perfect for creating complicated color combinations through layering.
7. Cozy, warm, non-acrylic sweaters: I don't mind the occasional, high-quality, synthetic fabric, but I love to feel warm and I hate to sweat, so my sweaters need to be natural fiber.
8. Fancy(ish) Victorian- or Edwardian-looking blouses: slightly oversized and very comfortable.
9. Long dresses: reaching to at least below the knee.
I have other things, too — a pair of black jeans, a few skirts, a few t-shirts — but they feel less essential to my style.
Although my style looks vintage-y, I have few actual vintage garments, and the ones I have, I didn’t buy. All of my true vintage pieces came from a local, weekly clothing swap where I often volunteer; about half of those pieces are from a man named Kristof, whose recently-deceased wife happened to be my size. I don't care that much whether my clothes are true vintage. I care way more about things like comfort and fabric quality. But also, I can’t really afford to care because I can’t really afford vintage clothes.
Although I have always liked playing with my style and expressing myself through my fashion choices, I have never been able to spend more than 20 or 30 euros (roughly $24 to $36 in U.S. dollars) a month on clothes. Where I live, in Central Europe, even fast-fashion brands were mostly not affordable for me most of my life. Years before I watched The True Cost and started educating myself about sustainability and slow fashion, second-hand clothes were my only option. In a way, I am glad. I knew how to find great clothes secondhand before vintage style became popular. The only difference was that in the early 2000s I was looking for clothes that looked new, and now I am looking for clothes that look old.
I cannot afford true vintage, never could, and very likely never will. Most people can’t. And frankly, that is all right. The world is not going to collapse because not everyone can afford true vintage, but it might collapse because of overconsumption and overproduction. That’s why it is so important to try as much as possible to buy and wear pre-loved clothes. Even if I am someday able to, I think I might never want to buy expensive clothes of any kind. I just don’t find it as important as buying my own place or saving for my daughter’s education. There are so many decent-quality, second-hand clothes out there that I don’t see a reason to buy something else.
After many years of shopping, I can find almost anything secondhand. I am privileged to have a very common size (between L and XL), so it is usually not hard for me to find clothes that fit. My shoe size — 41 (American 9.5) — is a bit trickier. I’m pretty sure some shoes I have weren’t meant for women, but who cares, right?
When buying secondhand, I always check a few things. I check the quality of the fabric: Is it natural fiber? Does it have holes? Does it age well? I check that shoes are not already falling apart; the best shoes look worn without having their structural integrity compromised, which means they will still be in good condition for many years. The Timberlands I bought secondhand six years ago are still in good shape despite the fact that I basically use them as hiking boots. If possible, I try everything on, since I am crazy about feeling comfortable and being free to move.
No matter how old-fashioned I look, I avoid getting too involved with the online vintage community, which is, unfortunately, rife with exclusivity, gatekeeping, sexism, classism, and racism. People use racist prints, use people of color as props, pose in colonial-inspired photos, and even deny people of color the right to wear certain styles because they would not have been allowed to wear them back then.
I really like some vintage accounts on social media; they are an endless source of inspiration. But at times it upsets me deeply that I can’t be a part of this community — that the vintage community as it exists today is more about money and privilege than creativity and nerdiness. Oh well. Maybe I should start my own fake vintage movement. I am picturing a monthly picnic event where everyone, including children, is dressed as old librarians.
Or maybe we, as a society, can stop policing other people's wallets and denying "vintage" identities to those who want them but can’t afford them. Fashion is supposed to be fun. The only reason to pick clothes and style them a certain way is to be creative. It’s wrong to not let people be creative because they can’t afford certain things.
I really wish more people were shopping secondhand. It is better for the planet — and, in my opinion, more satisfying, too. I feel weird looking at fast-fashion stores with dozens of identical garments hanging next to each other. It seems boring and artificial. Where is the discovery, the adventure?
One thing I know for sure: Sustainability and comfort will always go above style on my personal priority list. I will never buy new clothes from a huge, fast-fashion company, no matter how beautiful and cheap they are. I can buy everything I need secondhand. While my style is still evolving and I will probably change my mind many times about my aesthetic, I will never change my mind about sustainability.
Editor: kat baus | Designer: Emma Geddes | Illustrator: Rabbit Person | Copyeditor: Katie Frankowicz | Communication/Support/Outreach: Meg Chellew
Want to contribute to the blog?
Keep Reading
