The Damsel

the vision.

2011-07-09T16:54:00.008+10:00

So, hey. I've been told I'm apparently the slackest blogger in the world, and I think it's not far off the mark. The thing is I like blogging, and I like reading blogs, yet I have done neither of those things of late. It's just that the last few months have carried with them an overriding feeling of being utterly overwhelmed. In every aspect of life. I won't bore with details, I'm sure you have felt it too. It's neither a wholly negative nor positive emotion, but it doesn't lend itself much to clarity of thought, and it certainly isn't conducive to writing anything fit for the public domain.

But after finally undertaking the painstaking task of writing all the overwhelming things down (an exercise I highly recommend) and slowly ticking them off one at a time, the fog is starting to clear. For instance (a more shallow example), Zumba used to be my bitch - I owned Zumba. Dude, I could Merengue March to your grandma's place. But following months of dropping all exercise because I was convinced I didn't have time, I recently started again after realising that if I never exercise then the overall timeline of this busy life is likely to get even shorter, and then I really won't have time for anything. Short meaning = exercise is vital for longevity. Cue overwhelming feeling of being embarrassingly unfit and fears of dying of a heart attack before 30 while doing Zumba. Write it down, notice what a ridiculous notion this is when on paper. Accept that I am now Zumba's bitch. Keep at it, the tables will turn again, but for the time being I am content with my place in this relationship.

The second change happened just the other day, when I had my first photoshoot with my fab new model and friend Kristy. Now there's still tweaking to be done with the lighting and camera settings and I need to buy some fresh accessories, but overall there's something I love about these pics. The style is starting to match the image in my mind, there's a softness and romanticism that really appeals to me. I feel inspired, for the first time in a while. Something has clicked again with me and Damsel - I know what I want, I can see it, and I will make it happen.

(BTW can you believe Kristy has never done this before? One might called it amazeballs, if one was crude. These items, and a couple more, will be up for sale on Facebook this Sunday night.)

my favourite vintage salt & pepper shakers in the whole world...

2011-04-09T15:12:00.002+10:00

Cute huh? But wait for it...

Hehehehehehehe.

on flea markets and the 'Vintage Glaze'.

2011-04-05T18:55:00.012+10:00

The flea market experience differs greatly to the op-shop experience, which incidentally (or not) you can read about in my post here. It's less distilled, in the clothing-for-sale ratio sense. But I'm going to go out on a limb and say I actually prefer markets. Wellllll, you know it's kind of a love/hate relationship because I worked at markets for years (not selling vintage btw) and market stallholder politics can be... er... interesting? Educational? Full of complete nutjobs? But as a customer, finding an awesome market, well hey there's just nothing quite like it.

The best markets are outdoors, preferably on some kind of sports oval to lend a scent of competitive anticipation to the air. Grass is necessary. They start early, the air is fresh and crisp, vicious antique dealers hungrily scan with their torches before daybreak, digging rudely through peoples boxes before they've even unpacked (dealers are never looking for clothes - ha, fools I tells ya!). There's generally a hot shirtless guy selling plants. There's some dodgy dude ready to physically fight anyone, including me, over the authenticity of his $70 Louis Vuitton. The canteen has hotdogs and those bizarre 90s soft drinks like Pasito and Creaming Soda and all the Golden Valley ones - does anyone actually buy those anywhere other than markets and community swimming pools?

Mum and I developed the perfect procedure for market hunting. There's the initial scan - fast-paced, pinpointing the most interesting stalls, mentally categorising the order in which to peruse them (sudden memory: Caboolture markets circa 1996, a lady selling all her pristine clothes for $1 each. Crazed women grabbing at clothes and 'accidentally' scratching each other in the process. Scored wide-leg tencel jeans, white cropped knit Country Road singlet with big wood buttons, crushed velvet green singlet. Might have socked a middle-aged woman in the jaw. Pretty much 90s heaven). Then after honing in on the must-visit locales there's the second round, slower and more in-depth to search for unexpected treasures that can spring from the most unlikely places. A gorgeous faux-fur belted coat for $4, black with a white collar, ruined years later by Woodford Folk Festival mud. Strapless 80s party dress with ladybugs print. Ladybugs! A scrolling leaves goldtone 70s necklace, gifted later to a friend who fell in love with it. 1950s cotton circle skirt with dancing African ladies all around it. And this was years before I had even dreamed of selling vintage. I don't even want to think about the pieces I dismissed back then, when $10 was a lot to pay for a vintage coat. Ah, hindsight. You evil wise bastard.

My favourite piece was this... jacket. Sigh. This beautiful tailored softest chocolate suede blazer with rounded lapels. Solid brass snap buttons. Jewel toffee satin lining. Bought for $25 in 1997 from this gorgeous stylish little old lady who had owned it since the 1960s. It was so perfectly fitted, like it was made for me. She seemed kind of sad yet happy to sell it to me, and I loved it for years. Felt just a little bit Stevie Nicks whenever I wore it. Then my sister borrowed it and left it in a pub, and someone took it. And I hope whoever has it now gets what's coming to them. Ahh, there are many sad stories that begin with 'then my sister borrowed it'.

But my favourite market experience was probably technically not a market, it was more one of those gigantic collectables swap meets that happen every now and then, but it was on a sports oval and had a canteen with Pasito so I'm letting it pass. It was raining like nobodies business, and everyone had huddled to the stalls that were inside the pavilion. These poor stallholders out on the field were braving it with barely a soul in sight. I decided to give it a shot, sludged through the mud in thongs, and was rounding the final aisle when I saw this stall with vintage dresses hanging off it. Only a few though and a bit pricey and early 60s polyester gross. I asked the grumpy stallholder if she had any others, to which she replied, "nothin decent, there's some in the boot, they're not really vintage though but you can go through them if you want". (See that's where old-school vintage sellers and the new generation differ. They don't see 70s and 80s pieces as vintage, just old clothes. I'm currently experiencing that mental struggle with 90s "vintage". 90s clothing is 90% crap and I 90% hate all of it.) Aaaaanywho, within these boxes of 'not really vintage' was the most AMAZING collection of delicate pieces: lace maxis, gorgeous Bali cutwork dresses, embroidered gauze smock tops, beaded purses....

I believe I experienced my first episode of what I later termed the 'Vintage Glaze'. This is when a vintage enthusiast is confronted with such an sudden overwhelming assault of amazing affordable vintage that their eyes literally glaze over and they become incapable of communication beyond quiet whimpers and incomprehensible mutterings. Other symptoms include rapid heart-rate, sweating palms, and violent possessiveness over ~~clothes~~ inanimate objects. This was back when I first started selling vintage, circa 2005, when I had to scrounge op-shops for one or two half-decent 80s dresses, so you can understand it was a particularly severe episode.

$75 later I floated over the mud with my giant bag of goodies, eyes still glazed, feeling like I had saved a litter of puppies from being thrown in a garbage disposal or something. Well, I had saved beautiful clothes from a life of neglect and eventual mould, anyhow. So that is something.

I feel like markets like that don't exist any more. I know they probably do, somewhere, but weekends are now spent actually tending to the rest of my life outside of Damsel, so who has the time? I guess it's all relative. I can't even comprehend the amazing markets my mum went to in the 70s, when she owned a collectibles stall and sold 1920s flapper dresses and Victorian costume jewellery. 1950s clothing was barely considered vintage then. I'll tell you some of her stories another day. But I suppose it's time to accept the reality of the markets of the future, where gems like my 'not really vintage' collection will be a distant memory or like $300 a piece, and the 90s cast-offs I gave to Lifeline in '02 will become hot property for some enterprising young lass. Urgh. Maybe I should get back out and enjoy them while the 'Glaze' is still possible for me.

when not wearing vintage... it's crushing on AllSaints time

2011-03-25T13:09:00.005+10:00

We were in L.A last December, where it's supposed to rain about 12 days a year. We were there for 14 days, and it rained for 12 of them. So many plans got cancelled - no Disneyland, no cruising Mulholland Drive, no hot dogs on Santa Monica pier (well actually we did go there at night, raining of course and completely deserted, took creepy photos of the empty carnival rides and freaked ourselves out talking about Pennywise from Stephen King's IT). However, this meant there was a lot more time for shopping, which is a thumbs up. 3rd St Promenade at Santa Monica was a fave for a couple of days, and there I found a store I had never heard of that just epitomised my ideal wardrobe. AllSaints is a cult British brand that has started infiltrating the U.S and Europe, and is so dark romantic edgy gothic modern yet slightly steampunk cool it almost hurts. The decor was so moody and elegant, and the staff so ridiculously good-looking that I felt I should have asked permission to be in there at all, let alone touch anything. And after finding the black leather jacket of my dreams, and then discovering its price tag - $795! - it was time so slowly back away from the racks and exit before anyone got hurt.

But when we got back home to Australia - google baby! Found their UK website, discovered the joy of their nicely timed 60% off storewide clearance, went a bit nutbars, and started collecting. This kind of style, dark and simple yet with nice details and beautiful soft fabrics, is what I choose to wear when I'm not in the mood for vintage.

AllSaints 'Willow' cape top, Sportsgirl black cord shorts

AllSaints 'Laurentia' cardigan, sold out.

AllSaints 'Walker' leather biker jacket, sold out.

AllSaints 'Afghan' cashmere jumper, sold out.

AllSaints 'Lost Game' vest, sold out.

snake charmer.

2011-03-16T08:20:00.005+10:00

Possibly the most stupendously cool vintage belt I have ever found. As Wayne and Garth would say, shhhhh-wiiiing.

Damsel Vintage articulated metal and leather snake belt, H&M black lace dress ($20 in L.A!), vintage headscarf.

new autumn, new beginning.

2011-03-11T15:11:00.011+10:00

Has anyone else recently felt like telling 2011 to just #&;%$ off and come back when it's in a better mood? In many parts of the world it's probably a volatile year like any other but here in our little safe pocket of earth it's easy to feel complacent, and so far 2011 has been like a swift kick in the teeth and quick jolt to the senses. I feel guilty - and grateful, but mostly guilty - to not be in beautiful Christchurch, where we spent a gorgeous afternoon walking through its botanical gardens this time last year. I feel guilty not being in northern Qld staring down Yasi and its destruction. I feel guilty not living 15min down the road in West End or Auchenflower or Rosalie, fighting with insurance companies over the definition of 'flood'.

But guilt is vacuous and useless. It's time to accept and be grateful, and help those who are in need. Remember what is important in life, and hold tight the people that you love. The beginning of autumn feels like what news years day should have felt like (when the never-ending rain instead made it eerie and foreboding). A new page. Relief from the oppressive heat. Clear thoughts. Boots!

Perhaps coincidently, perhaps not, at the beginning of this month a hairdresser managed to turn my platinum blonde hair a very 65 yr old salt and pepper grey. Nice. It's amazing how such a superficial thing as hair can suddenly feel so personal and terribly important. After many childish angry tears at the loss of my "best feature" (funny cause it's not even mine, it's just dye) I realised I had to choose between attempting to re-blonde it (endless hours and damage) or let it go and try something new. And I have to say, I know it's just hair but... as it was coloured darker I felt this huge weight being lifted from my shoulders, like I didn't even realise I had been carrying something around for years, hanging on to a person I no longer really was. Has that ever happened to you?!

So with renewed enthusiasm after a much-needed break (and nicely timed bout of flu) I can't wait to begin listing Damsel's autumn collection, starting next week on Monday. Beautiful colours and fabrics, pieces to layer, boots, leathers, chunky knitwear, stunning dresses - I have been getting seriously picky about what to bring you, and therefore now officially love every piece. I have been wearing the dress photographed non-stop since I decided I couldn't quite part with it, but I promise there will be more just as lovely!

Oh yeah, and welcome to my personal style blog. New beginnings, starting now xox

Vintage boys leather jacket from eBay, Damsel Vintage gauze cotton floral dress, Beboroque 'Gretel' printed tights, Damsel Vintage leather knee boots, vintage Navajo turquoise silver rings and vintage Bali ring gifted from mum.

ode to the op-shop experience.

2010-10-30T23:11:00.000+10:00

Can't wait for Monday.

Don't hear that too often? Well I'm serious, I can't wait.

On Monday, I'm going op-shopping with my mum. For the whole day :) Then we're going back to her house and rummaging through our finds and cooking roast potatoes, and it's going to be awesome. I haven't done this in so long, I can't even tell you. Sounds strange, seeing as I am a vintage dealer, but I don't source my vintage from opshops or markets any more. It comes from far-off lands, traded by pirates for ale, buxom wenches and salted meat. Or is brought to my pillow while I sleep, carried in the left ear of the BFG and laid down gently by my side. Obviously.

So I'm not looking for stock, I'm not really looking for anything. Op-shopping - or thrifting, is it now? It seems the popularity of sites like Lookbook is pushing this American term upon us, with trendy young Aussie thangs modelling their 'thrifted' cardigans etc. Granted, 'thrifting' has a certain ring to it. But dang it, I'm sticking with my outdated colloquialism.

Anywho, op-shopping just gives me this joy. You know? Do you know? People who love it know what I mean. You first enter the shop and there's the sense of possibility. Anything could be here. This is not like stepping into a normal shop, where the convenience of it all is almost nauseating – size, price, colour choice of every item all laid out to maximum visual effect. Oh no, in this place there's work to be done. Digging to be... dug. You earn your purchase here.

You survey the scene, do a first scan of the racks to decipher the order in which you will peruse and pursue. Is there a vintage rack? Get there. (Though experience will tell you this rack is more often than not completely disappointing and barely even vintage. Still, it's a magnetic force you cannot deny, so don't bother trying). Dress rack? Highest priority. Jackets? Best bargains can be found here. Bags and shoes – 99.9% hideous vinyl 90s atrocities, but occasionally there is 70s leather gold in dem hills, so get digging. Jeans? Mmmmm not so much. Unless you're one of those highwaisty cutoff shorty with florals and nerd spectacles-y type vintage wearers or dealers, which I am not. Not that there's anything wrong with that! It can be cute, but frankly, I'm getting a bit old mature for that type of jazzy scene.

Each op-shop has a presence. It's... the vibe of the thing, as someone cool in the 90s once said. Most of the time, you can kind of tell if it's going to harbour treasure or not. They're not all brilliant like they used to be in 1996, when my best friend and I would hunt for $1.50 fluffy Kurt Cobain grandpa cardigans. Now, if time is of the essence, you need to be selective. Note: Year 2000-era polyester Ice dresses for $10.50 displayed to the front of the shop on neat racks, Rockmans/Supre/Millers pieces priced higher than they were at full retail, and stained, fugly 80s sack dresses on the vintage rack for $25 a piece = BAD. Independent church-run store IN AN OLD CHURCH only open on Wednesdays and Fridays till 3pm, little old ladies behind the desk that take only cash and write hand-written receipts and gossip together over cucumber sandwiches, walls crammed with hideous and wonderful and old and new and brilliant and falling apart clothing, old dusty shelf piled high with boots, and a glass cabinet strewn with 80s costume jewels and glomesh bags = GOOD. This is where you find cashmere beaded cardigans for $3.50. This is where your red leather mary jane pumps come from. This is where that belted 70s Cue sz 6 trench is. This where you buy a Chanel dress for $9.

“But!” I hear you splutter in frustration, “you are fiendishly toying with my emotions! Such a place does not exist!” Well it does. I've been there. I bought those things. I have the hand-written cucumber-stained receipt to prove it. And when I retire... I'll tell you where it is.

That's not to say that brilliance can't be found in unlikely places. A couple of years back I went into a large, reasonably priced, but completely uninspiring op-shop with way too much time to kill. I sifted through every single rack, quite thoroughly, and found absolutely nothing. (I'm sure the lady behind the counter thought I was trying to steal something.) I was just about to walk out the door when this woman picked out – from where I still honestly cannot fathom, it must have been the lingerie rack, ALWAYS CHECK THE LINGERIE RACK – this dream of a 1960s dress. All strapless boned and full skirt, palest shell-pink tulle layers with a deeper raspberry shade underneath, little ribbon rosebuds at the waist. Heaven. Carrie Bradshaw would have taken one look at this dress and cooed, “hello lover”.

“Oh”, she says. “This is nice.” Nice? This is nice?! I scream internally. You're standing there with the embodiment of holy ecstasy in a dress and you think it's NICE? You don't deserve this dress.

“Jess”, she says to her friend, “I might just try this on.” HA!! I am triumphant. It's totally not going to fit. I am mentally buying and wearing this dress, I am skipping down a New York street and being carried into the sunset on the back of my dream man's trusty steed.

“Actually”, she pauses and turns back, “I won't bother. It's only $7.”

Crumbling. Drowning. Weeping. Dying.

I numbly watch her pay for my dress with loose change that barely buys a Maccas meal these days, find myself briefly wishing she get hit by a car as she steps out the door, squash said thought promptly due to its ridiculous and evil nature, and exit myself. So yeah, brilliance can be found in unlikely places, but it doesn't mean you'll be the one to find it.

But I guess that's just the universe balancing things out. Experiences like that have been greatly outweighed by the wonderful finds I have sold and kept over the years. A stunning 1970s acetate backless halter party dress, with an Asian-inspired floral print and a sweep that covered almost the whole of my bedroom floor. Amongst some tacky modern jewellery a 1950s sterling silver filigree cuff with real turquoise and coral stones. A thinner than thin nylon minidress covered in silky black fringe. A $2 satin scarf-print Medieveal-style 70s dress, with some minor damage, but I still use it as a costume piece. My slouchy Italian suede banana bag.

The strapless cream lace wedding dress I wish I never sold.

I wonder what I'll find on Monday?

Ida.

2010-09-26T17:49:00.000+10:00

Ida Jenshus is a gorgeous Norwegian folk/country artist, who in 2009 won the Norwegian Grammy for Country Album of the Year. Above, she is wearing a Damsel Vintage dress. I love love love Ida's style, and am thrilled that she and I share a similar taste in vintage. You can even see a peak of the dress on the cover of her new album, No Guarantees:

Beautiful, stylish, and talented. She reminds so much of my favourite 70s ladies I blogged about here, particularly the look and style of Melanie. Wouldn't you agree? Divine. All photos are copyright Kim Ramberghaug.

And thus I clothe my naked villainy / with old odd ends stolen out of holy writ / and seem a saint when most I play the devil

2010-09-10T14:00:00.000+10:00

Rob Pensalfini as King Richard III. Photo by Morgan Roberts.

In my other life I am privileged to belong to a unique and inspiring theatre company, the Queensland Shakespeare Ensemble. QSE came into my life at a time when I was frankly a bit over acting, and was feeling somewhat jaded about ensemble theatre. Two years as part of their core ensemble helped turn that around - something I am eternally grateful for. In 2010 I decided not to continue in the core so that I could focus more time and energy on Damsel Vintage for a while, but I have managed to merge my two "worlds" by taking on the role of joint costumer designer (with my friend and fellow QSE'r Angel Kosch) for their mainstage production, Richard III, directed by Tom McSweeney.

Finally, my growing collection of medieval dresses and unhealthy obsession with silk velvet has a purpose in life! Angel and I have also been op-shopping like demons, something I haven't done for an eternity. The costumes are starting to come together nicely and as more publicity shots are taken I will post them. For starters, here's a sneak peak.

Rob Pensalfini as Richard III. Claire Pearson as Lady Anne. Louise Brehmer as Queen Elizabeth. Jane Cameron as Margaret. Cienda McNamara as the Duchess of York. Photo by Morgan Roberts.

Claire wears a 1970s emerald wrap dress. Louise wears a 1960s blue velvet bolero jacket with pearl bead and gold embroidery trim. She also wears my 1999 grad dress! Jane wears an early 1960s Young Innocent (which later became Young Edwardian) velvet jacket with fabric buttons and khaki lace trim. The outfit Cienda is wearing is not her final costume - we decided on a long green dress from a fantastic website - holyclothing.com - who do gorgeous gypsy dresses in a huge range of sizes. All photos are copyright Morgan Roberts.

You can find out more about the Queensland Shakespeare Ensemble on our website, and keep update to date with news and Richard III details on our facebook page. More costume updates soon!

Oh Liv

2010-09-08T20:50:00.000+10:00

Gotta love the Lifeline Book Fair. Sometimes the endless rows of books – countless trashy forgotten works obscuring the occasional treasure - can be so overwhelming that I leave empty-handed and more than a little frustrated. But back in June I hit the nostalgic jackpot with a hidden chunky pile of 90s Rolling Stone mags – yesssssssss. Satisfaction.

I fully anticipated my amusement at the white boy homie fashion ads, and wasn't disappointed. 26 Red, anyone? Klue?

Oh yes, anyone over the age of 25 just admit that you had a phase. Admit it. Someone? Perhaps it was just me then. Well, for the benefit of the uninitiated, you got the tightest crop top possible and the baggiest lowest jeans imaginable and the stupidest bandanna in existence, and you paraded around Sunshine Plaza (or equivalent) in this ensemble trying (and failing) to intimidate the skegs (surf brand wearers) with your bad 12 yr old self. Wich yo baaaaaad self.

Hmmmm. I don't quite remember THIS on the Hot Tuna racks:

But frankly, let's be honest now, it's about on par with the young strapping lads of today insisting on persevering with this fluro shorts + slip-on loafers sans socks debacle. And even with the occasional questionable fashion moment there's something about these 90s mags that I appreciate, now more than ever. There's a rawness to them, less manicured, youth searching for identities rather than having just a few highly specific acceptable options shoved down your throat. Leo was the wonder-boy heartthrob (go Leo!). Anthony Kiedis was sex. Courtney Love made great music, and was known for that. Soul Asylum were self-indulgent wankers who, though at one time were insanely famous, left a pretty small mark in the end. So though I was fully expecting to be amused, I wasn't quite prepared for a slight niggling feeling of loss.

At what? Not sure really. I don't miss being a teenager. Maybe... being so enveloped by music. Being inspired by these magical girls. Looking forward to being... wanting to be... somebody. Not Somebody. Just somebody.

This girl, which I wasn't. THAT girl.

This girl, which I wasn't.

The cooler than cool grunge chick that no longer seemed to exist in society by this time I became... confident to be myself.

Liv. Dear god, at age 17. Was there ever ANYONE else so... disarming? Liv. Just about to be cast in Stealing Beauty. On the cusp of ridiculous beauty of her own.

A 90s moment remembered. I've struggled with the resurgence of 90s fashion, I guess mainly because the young girls today do it so much better than I ever did. Sexier, for a start. A little unauthentic perhaps, more mainstream, but still better. (maybe that's just what mainstream is: trend + sexy + unauthentic = mainstream). But Liv in this movie represents the best that 90s fashion ever was or ever will be. If I could recreate even half a percent of the magic she did, I might reconsider my stance on it. Might even try and bottle it.

the girls that I adore

2010-04-05T18:00:00.000+10:00

Rediscovering my undying love for Steve Nicks recently has inspired me to find a few images of other girls that continually fuel my passion for vintage clothing, and who represent the wonderful unique style I try to resurrect in the pieces. I want to see it walking on our streets today, people! Free-spirited, talented, shining lights of their time - unpretentious, individual, authentic - ahh one can only dream to be so fabulous.

Michelle...

Jane...

Ali...

Joni...

And last but, oh, certainly not least. Far less famous than all of the above, though not deservedly so. Melanie Safka was, and still is, a stupendously gorgeous and talented singer, whose style - particularly in the 1960s and 70s - I adore. Her songs were so unashamedly honest and heartfelt. Some could even be considered cheesy, and would be if they were released today. Yes, one song does actually say:

If I weren't afraid you'd laugh at me
I would run and take all your hands
And I'd gather everyone together for a day
And when we gathered
I'll pass buttons out that say
Beautiful people
Then you'd never have to be alone
'Cause there'll always be someone
With the same button on as you

However, I argue that her complete hippie authenticity and magnetic presence on stage, not to mention her amazing voice, nullifies that...

Are songs like this still made? I'm not sure we're that hopeful anymore.

take me back to the start

2010-03-20T11:40:00.000+10:00

Before I was born and when I was little, mum and dad dealt in antiques and collectibles. Mum advertised in the local papers for 'linen, lace, and old buttons', and often came home with all sorts of other treasures as well, such as - oh, I don't know - genuine 1920s and 30s evening dresses. In the late 1970s and early 80s their weekend market stall in Auckland would have a pre-dawn lineup, and when they opened the 'door' a flurry of collectors and upmarket dealers would whisk through snapping up the cherry items - Victorian china, flapper dresses, and antique costume jewelery all bagged, tagged and snagged before 6am. (On the subject of costume jewelery, make sure you check any piece you find. Mum once sold a necklace that she was later informed - rather untactfully I might add - was actually a diamond and sapphire piece. Yeah.) Our home was the gateway where beautiful things passed through daily, but rarely stayed. Though admittedly our (my sister and I) dress-up box was made up of Edwardian blouses and 1940s girls party dresses, one of which I wore when I was 5 and refused to remove for about 2 months, until the ivory jacquard satin had turned a particularly fetching shade of beige-brown. Complete with matted birds nest hair that I would not allow to be brushed, it was a sight to behold.

Glamorous as it all may sound we were not wealthy at all; in fact, we were pretty bloody poor most of the time. Mum and dad lived the experience of constantly letting go of the best, the most beautiful, and sometimes just whatever could be found, in order to pay the bills. Oh... can we go back in time please? There's a black silk jacket mum used to wear, a loose draping soft cut with cropped bell sleeves, every inch covered in a gold hand-embroidered vine pattern. I need this in my wardrobe now. Sigh. I hope someone is enjoying it.

But despite the struggle, it was a home with a lot of love going on. And I feel blessed to have been raised by such talented, artistic people who taught me to appreciate the unique, the quality, the quirky, the history, the imperfectly perfect. Oh! Remembering... they made tooled leather wallets, bags, and belts for a while. The best seller was a soft leather shoulder bag, with intricate carvings of flowers or birds, and long leather fringe that hung right down to the knees. It made such a statement when a girl bought one of these, strutting away in her flared blue jeans with the fringe swishing in time as she walked. Man, I still want to be one of those girls. Then later, when we lived on the island, it was handmade suede leather moccasin boots. They laced up the font, were beaded across the toes, had sheepskin lining, and were the comfiest house shoes in the world, especially during the... shall we say "crisp"... New Zealand winters. Every time I go back to NZ I secretly hope to find one of those bags or a pair of the moccasins peaking out from some dark corner of a thrift store. No luck so far, but I'm still vaguely hopeful. In the meantime I seek out what treasures I can, imagining what history they have, and enjoy the little moment when they pass through my hands.

The point? Hmmm... the point. Well. Sometimes when a business is a labour of love you can find that somewhere along the track you started focusing on the labour a little too often, and forget why you made this choice in the first place. So here's just taking a moment to stop, breathe, and believe. I guess occasionally we all need to remind ourselves where we have come from, what passions were sparked there, and that it's important to allow - or sometimes fight for - them to still live in the present.

Man I feel like Dr Phil and Jerry Springer's love child today.

girls.

2010-03-01T12:49:00.000+10:00

Girls. Found a box of awesome vintage mags and after flicking through, I discovered a growing theme in my chosen scans. Girls with attitude. Girls I wanted to be when I grew up. Fearless, fun, growling, dancing, kissing, slouching girls. Wearing killer heels one day and boys clothes the next and too many accessories and plaits and messy hair. Too often I find myself changing an outfit if I think other people won't like it, or if it draws too much attention. Surely I'm old enough now to stop caring? Is 2010 the time to let it go and step it up? YES MA'AM.

First stop: shoes that actual grownups wear.

(1989 ad for Kate Durham; 1988 Vogue editorial pic on 'mudlark' fashion; 1988 Vogue editorial pic on Chanel; Stevie Nicks 1970s; 1970 Snazzi by La Gaye Parisienne dress; 1980s Cue ad)

a late Valentines Day message...

2010-02-03T09:43:00.000+10:00

To all you fine Aussie sheilas...

Hope you remembered to spoil yourself on Valentines Day too. A new frizz perm perhaps? Niiice. And here's hoping you found the grousest true blue bloke to snuggle up to last weekend. But hands off this guy - him, his budgie smugglers AND Ron Burgundy mustache are all MINE:

not sure why the date is showing as the 2nd Feb - it's clearly the 21st. new Damsel Vintage auctions coming soon, stay tuned xx

she is like a cat in the dark, and then she is the darkness

2010-01-26T16:02:00.000+10:00

I had the great fortune of seeing Fleetwood Mac in concert last month, and finally witnessing live miss Nicks at her dreamy, heavy-lidded finest. 61 years old and still a mysterious, sensual enigma. Her unique gypsy/bohemian style is well documented (and rightly so), and is a look I have always loved. Not that I necessarily do - or even want to - dress just like her, but I deeply admire the way she completely owns her look, and wears the $&%*# out of the clothes rather than letting them wear her. Hell, I don't even think that would be possible. The style she has molded since the 1970s (above) is now so ingrained in our cultural psyche that it is almost as much a part of the persona that is 'Stevie Nicks' as her songs and voice are.

This image always reminded me of Stevie and the dress completely enchanted me as a girl, likely due to its fairy/angel/maiden/Sparkle Barbie qualities that are guaranteed to snatch any young wannabe fairy's heart:

(1980s Jill Fitzsimon dress)

Looking at it now I am taken back to chilled hippie parties I went to as a child, playing with the other kids while the parents wafted about in a haze of.... patchouli? Jagged-hem Stevie skirts, long dangly earrings, and soft leather lace up boots for the laaadies, and... actually, I paid no attention to what the men wore. Sure, technically it was the 80s but they weren't quite ready to give up the 70s yet thank you very much. If I had experienced it I probably wouldn't have wanted to either. And (cue neat wrap up) they always played The Mac. Love this clip from '76, back when they were still a bit raw: