Old Soul
Writer Justine Larbalestier on her love of vintage fashion, the pieces she’s acquired over the years, and the thrill of imagining their stylish pasts.
Featuring Justine Larbalestier
Photography by Rose Callahan
Hair + Make up by Ashley Meyers
Words by Justine Larbalestier
As soon as I could talk, I was adamant about what I would and wouldn't wear. Scratchy clothes were a no. Slimy also. And they had to be beautiful! I wanted to dress like Serena on Bewitched (Samantha's naughty cousin), Hildy Johnson in His Girl Friday and Cary Grant in every movie ever. (What? I liked suits. Still do.)
The closest I could get to clothes like that was the under-$20 rack at vintage stores. Or at the weekend markets: sometimes, right before stalls closed up for the day, prices would drop low enough for me to snag a slinky bias-cut number. Just like Jean Harlow would have worn! (Except not silk, and with a plastic zip down the back, so more 70s-does-30s than the real thing.)
Then there was the added joy of my grandmother's disapproval: "How can you wear dead people's clothing? Nasty! What if it's haunted?" To me the response was obvious: How could you not? A haunted dress? Sign me up! Was the owner murdered in it? Are there tell-tale repairs? Faded blood stains?
1930s to 1980s Jewellery Edith Machinist, Farfalla Vintage
Lou Murray Vintage, Marilyn Hitchcock Vintage, What is Thing
2010s Black Max Mara dress: Edith Machinist
Hat: Julia Knox / East Village Hats
My nana had inadvertently alerted me to the story possibilities of old clothes. Where were they made? Who made them? Who had owned them before me?
My 1950s highschool cheerleader jacket was made by Logan Knitting Mills in Chicago, who were also known for making gang sweaters. As far as I can tell the previous owner, Susan E. Buedel (her name is sewn into the collar), had no gang affiliations, but maybe that's what she just wanted everyone to think? Whether she did or not, I love to imagine Chicago-area high school coaches picking up their orders cheek by jowl with gang leaders.
1950s Highschool Cheerleader Jacket: House of Edgertor
1940s Jeans from Ellen
I know nothing of the 1920s British private-school boy who once owned my striped rowing jacket.
I don't even know if it is a rowing jacket. But I like to think he was a soulful type, who didn't go on to be a Tory politician or a captain of industry, but instead became a florist who perfected his sourdough baking on the weekends. The jacket does have the kind of mends that speak to overenthusiastic gardening and baking.
1920s British schoolboy rowing jacket: Crowley Vintage
1990s or 2000s white & navy striped turtleneck: Gerri Riedman
1930s French men's trousers: Francois Hugon
Wedge heels: Re-mix Vintage Shoes, Striped Socks: 2010s Issey Miyake
As an adult I drifted away from primarily buying dead people's clothes. Mostly because as I got older I got larger, like the majority of grownups do. I was no longer the skinny young thing who could fit into most everything.
I still loved vintage, but vintage no longer loved me.
But then I got sick and lost a tonne of weight. My clothes no longer fit, so when I was invited to a fancy party, I went to my local vintage store to find something affordable and lovely to wear. The vintage world had changed. For starters, there was much more variety--whole stores selling plus-sized! I could keep wearing vintage even when I went back to my normal size! (Sadly, though, the weight loss wasn't temporary. The illness is chronic.)
Early 2000s Dries Van Noten floral high-waisted skirt: Moore Vintage Archive
1990s white Valentino shirt: Vintage Black Label
2000s Western boots: Little's Boots
Hat: East Village Hats
Other changes I discovered: vintage is way more of a community than when I was little, and full of people who care passionately about reusing what we already have—not just clothes, but everything. Their passion for vintage is part of a determination to combat climate change, not just finding clothes for cheap. One last discovery: vintage (mostly) isn't as cheap as it used to be.
Striped poncho: 4kinship
1960s Orange Bonnie Cashin dress: Jessica Parker
Ombre straw hat: Two Foxes Studio Olive green fedora/maroon ribbons: Cigmond Millinery
All remaining hats: East Village Hats
When I was a teen I didn't know other people who wore vintage; now almost all my friends do. Not having to explain who Claire McCardell is, or why finding 1930s beach pyjamas that fit is such a big deal? Glorious. At last, I have a whole community who love the stories of dead people's apparel as much as I do. I'm no longer that kid, watching old movies alone. The audience is full.
It's a wonderful place to be.
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