you know what?
maybe I’m not still here.
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I don’t want to buy anything new or old, don’t want to take vain pictures of what I wear, and sure as heck don’t want to keep making the assumption anyone cares.
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I was talking to a friend some time back about having possibly ‘cured’ myself of years of a quietly increasing (and normalising) need to buy pretty things.
To possess, care for and display beautiful 50’s satin cocktail dresses, feathered 30’s hats, shiny leather handbags, glorious coloured shoes, soft gloves and scarves… THINGS.
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A cure coming from a range of sources, but primarily a realisation that like any other obsessive addiction, there is no destination.
It doesn’t stop anywhere.
Doesn’t end.
Becomes defining.
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This cure is a good thing.
Sure, I still gasp when looking at the new Dior offerings, or my favourite Etsy stores, but I just don’t need it anymore.
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Recently, I was invited to assess an enormous pile of vintage clothing.
Rooms full of vintage clothing.
A life full of objects.
Belonging to a lady who had it all.
Whatever she saw, and liked, she had the capability to buy. And buy she did. 10 gloves, all in the same style, different colours, just because she could (I thought).
No, it was because she didn’t know how not to.
She couldn’t leave it alone.
She needed it.
She needed to own 4 harlequin jumpsuits in sizes 6-16 when she herself was a size 12.
She needed to own the pretty 60’s dresses with their tags intact. She needed to own them, but never wore them.
Where once I would have done almost anything to have been that lady, have that lifestyle and leave that legacy of velvet, lace and elegance, it now has started to scare me.
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I have enough things.
I have more than enough.
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This section of the blog will go on hold for a while.
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I’ll start writing again.
Start putting beauty in to things, rather than just capturing what is there.
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Investing in people, not clothes.
I’m not wealthy enough to do both properly.
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Love.
brandnewarmour.
