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

Cute huh? But wait for it...

Hehehehehehehe.

on flea markets and the 'Vintage Glaze'.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.