A Tuesday Full of Vintage Happies
We Can Be Our Own Special Occasions
Tuesday did not start out particularly happy.
There had already been an unpleasant encounter, and the pressure of an overscheduled, constantly shifting week was sitting heavily on the day.
Band camp. Work. Prescriptions. Food. More Gatorade. Errands. Places to be. Things that needed doing.
My life had turned into while you’re out and what time do we need to get up and what have you had to eat today?
Momamachinegun Days.
You know them.
Everything comes at you at once. The cat decides to throw up on the carpeted stairs. The dog cannot stop asking to go outside and then immediately wants back in because—surprise—it is still August and still hot. Your son needs to go to the beach and ride his bike because otherwise he may actually become one with one of his devices.
And don’t forget the pimple patches.
But we bike through it.
Literally.
Bike the stress away. Bike the stress away.
I got on my bike and moved for a while.
Then I got dressed for the day.
Denim overall dress. Leopard ankle boots. Silver bangles, black bangles and a hammered-silver cuff. Silver rings, including my new one with the diamond-shaped outline that makes me think of Pink Floyd for reasons I cannot entirely explain.
My graffiti tote came along, carrying my six-zipper clutch and my current noir classic, Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep.
And then I met a hat.
Well, technically, we’d met before.
We saw each other across the room.
We flirted with destiny.
Black felt. Little silver grommets and gems scattered across it.
Twenty-four dollars.
I put it on.
Well.
Apparently I bonded with the hat.
I bought myself a happy.
And I loved the whole outfit.
The boots. The jewelry. The clutch hiding inside the graffiti tote. The hat. All of it.
I’m working out again. I’m working on getting back in shape. And there was something particularly lovely about feeling good in my clothes now.
Not someday.
Not when this fits differently.
Not when that number changes.
Tuesday.
This body.
This outfit.
This hat.
Then, feeling rather pleased with myself, I proceeded to run my errands so efficiently that I arrived at work an hour early by accident.
Apparently Momamachinegun had become alarmingly effective.
And the Happies Kept Coming
My hat wasn't going to be the only happy of the day.
A young woman shopping with her mom found a suede jacket.
She was leaving for college, and she loved this jacket so much that it wasn't even going into the suitcase.
She was going to wear it on the plane to college.
It’s August.
"Thanks, Mom."
She was delighted.
And now that suede jacket is going to college.
I love that.
Something somebody else had already worn and lived in and eventually let go of had been chosen again.
It gets another story.
Then another young woman tried on a purple gown.
She had absolutely nowhere to wear it.
This was not a practical purchase.
Then she put it on.
Oh.
It fit her like a dream.
The purple was fabulous on her. The shape showed off her tattoos. Then she found rhinestone earrings to go with it.
She still had absolutely nowhere to wear the dress.
I told her that sometimes I take a nice handbag out for a cocktail.
Why wait around for someone else to provide the invitation?
We can be our own special occasions.
She bought the purple gown.
I hope she wears the hell out of it.
And the happies kept wandering through.
Fall boots with enormous fur cuffs.
Hawaiian shirts.
Harley-Davidson belts.
A fabulous multicolored suede jacket.
A wedding dress.
Things somebody had once owned, worn, loved, stored away and eventually let go.
And now somebody else was holding them up, trying them on, turning toward the mirror and thinking:
Oh.
Look at this.
Look at me in this.
That’s the Thing About Vintage
I think that's one of the things I love most about working around vintage.
There is this little moment when something stops being merchandise on a rack and becomes someone's thing.
You can see it happen.
People don't always come in knowing what they're looking for.
Sometimes a young woman is simply shopping with her mom and suddenly she's found the suede jacket she's going to wear on the plane when she leaves for college.
Sometimes you have absolutely nowhere to wear a purple gown.
Until you put on the purple gown.
And then perhaps the question isn't:
Where could I possibly wear this?
Maybe it's:
Where do I want to wear this?
The occasion can come later.
Or perhaps you are the occasion.
That's the lovely thing about these old things.
They're not finished.
A jacket gets another college.
A wedding dress waits for another story.
A pair of ridiculous fur-cuffed boots waits for cold weather and somebody bold enough to wear them.
A purple gown waits for an invitation.
Or refuses to.
And a black felt hat covered in silver grommets and gems waits for a woman having a slightly aggravating Tuesday to walk into work, put it on her head and say:
Yep.
Tuesday Turned Out All Right
That's what I want to remember about this particular Tuesday.
It didn't begin beautifully.
There was an unpleasant encounter. Too much on the calendar. Band camp and work and errands and responsibilities and people who needed to be shuttled places and prescriptions that needed picking up and Gatorade that apparently needed replenishing yet again.
And pimple patches.
Don’t forget the pimple patches.
But we biked through it.
We got dressed for the day.
We met a hat we had to have.
We accidentally got to work an hour early.
And then I spent the afternoon watching people discover little things that made them light up.
A suede jacket.
A purple gown.
Rhinestone earrings.
Fur boots.
A hat.
Nothing earth-shattering happened.
It was simply a really fun day of happies.
And sometimes that's plenty.
A day doesn't have to start happy to become one.
Sometimes you bike through the crappy beginning. You put on the leopard boots. You do the errands. You get the Gatorade. You keep going until somewhere along the way you realize you've wandered into the better part of the day.
And while you're busy taking care of everything and everybody that needs taking care of—
maybe you should buy yourself a happy, too.
Mine cost twenty-four dollars.
I wore it home on my head.
