I did not set out to become one of those women who sobbingly clutches faux antique garments to her bosom in thrift shops. But here we are. Last weekend I cried a little in my Goodwill in Capitol Hill while cradling this objectively perfect Laura Ashley circa 1983–84 dress.
Navy blue, tiny white daisies, pie- crust collar, you name it. “Are you okay?” said the woman browsing rack next to me. “Um,” I said, sniffling. “My mom had this dress when I was a kid, almost exactly.” She looked concerned. Internally, I shouted YES BITCH I AM HAVING A FEELING OVER AN OLD DRESS. Okay, but seriously.
I’ve been seeing them everywhere. Tiny button_details in thrift stores, sure.
But on actual human beings shopping at the grocery store or walking their dogs or hanging out in Seattle not dressed for a Renaissance festival.
These massively feminine takes on cotton frocks that look like they should make you want to milk a cow, but instead make you feel like you can take on the world. Or, at least, look exceptionally good doing it. So, of course I bought it.
Forty-two dollars!? In I went, ignoring the small voice in my head whispering about how this dress probably needed to be taken in at the waist by at least six inches to suit my figure. My poor bank account suffered (boo!) but sometimes, you just know.
Truthfully? Vintage, ultra-feminine garments like this have me totally perplexed right now. We live in a world of instagram influencers who hate everyone on instagram, wildfires, elections we can’t stop talking about, and a trillion other existential anxieties that are causing us all to crawl up into fetal-pants-sized balls of stress.
And our reaction? Bubble-gown fancy cotton dresses that send us straight back to our grandmother’s china cabinet. It doesn’t make any sense to me!
So why have I seen so many women – not old ladies with husbands on horseback, but trendy young creatives and baristas and startup bros’ moms – wearing these violently cute dresses around Seattle lately? Anyway. I’ve decided I kind of love it.
At the risk of waxing too philosophical about spiral skirts: I get it. There’s something comforting about how these clothes envelop your body. I remember listening to a panel on sustainable fashion last month – this definitely was not my idea of a good time, but hear me out – and hearing three different women reference this idea of “protective dressing.” We want to take care of ourselves, basically.
Sometimes that looks like puff sleeves. I will say this: do not wear them how they would’ve been originally worn. Trust.
Whatever in-the-moment aesthetic these dresses were selling forty years ago is not going to fly in 2019 if you attempt to dress in that fashion extender. Bonus points if you don’t realize you look like you’re headed to a costume party until you’re at the costume party. my friend jessica got there way before me. She rocks this masterpiece – black background, tiny pink roses – with docs and a leather jacket.
The first time I saw her wear it, I was properly weirded out. Girl, don’t mess with perfection? That dress should not work with combat boots and it totally does.
Something about softening the sweetness of the vintage print with a hard edge gives the whole outfit an edge that keeps you looking modern, not Retrowithacrappyapostrophe. Trial and error has been my M.O. as of late. There’s been some… mishaps.
Last summer I wore a similar flowery-maxi-dress combo with some barely-there heels that I like to think were inspired by Audrey Hepburn. What my roommate softly said was “girl those are kitten heels and you seriously looked like you were trying to time travel” is not up for discussion. tl;dr version: change one thing about how this piece would have been worn when it was culturally relevant. Shoes?
Easy fix. Stick those baby cuties with some chunkies and voila! Hair?
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Fuck caring about ringlets and pinning your hair back with ribbons. Top? Pair that shit with some boyfriend jeans and hell if anyone’s gonna call you vintage-inspired.
Last weekend I wore a high-necked floral blouse (thrilled purchase of eight dollars, possibly the best find of all time) with some black leather pants and pointy boots. To me, it felt cohesive – not like I was trying too hard. Which, let’s be real, I totally was.
Another sticking point: accessories. Get this: shoes matter. A ton, actually.
Lots of cute flowy dresses I’ve seen look incredible with Air Force 1s or other heavy shoes. Jewerly should be minimal or statement-y – not bill nye’s everyday dinner special. Those high necklines can support some big earrings, but delicate necklaces will get lost.
And do NOT do ringlets. I cannot stress this enough. Sat outside Bobbi’s Ice Cream with a friend a few weeks ago and spotted a blonde woman wearing an adorable vintage dress, complete with full fucking 1980s head and makeup.
It was like a time-travel slap to my face. The best versions I’ve seen of ladies rocking these vintage finds keep everything else super low-key. Which brings me to my stylist friend I randomly ran into at a Fremont cafe last month.
She was wearing the cutest cream-colored prairie dress – definitely altered to be above-the-ankle rather than floor-length – and I praised her for rocking such an ’80s classic. She smiled and said “It’s all about changing one thing. Update one piece and it feels modern.” She was right.
So. damn. right. Anywho, now that I’ve made you all jealous of my darling Laura Ashley, let me dash your dreams. Authentic vintage Laura Ashley is EXPENSIVE.
Guys who sell vintage clothes at the Fremont Sunday Market attempted to charge me $250 for a blouse with stains that were obviously not cute. Really, it wasn’t even close to $42 cute. Thank goodness, then, that major fashion brands have caught on to this trend. & Other Stories totally did a prairie-inspired collection last year that was tastefully borrowed instead of a total cop.
Target, surprisingly, has some GAME when it comes to oversized floral prints with peter pan collars – they’re just not quite as high-quality as, you know, something from the actual 1980s. I will say this: those original Laura Ashley dresses were meant to last FOREVER. They’re completely cotton.
And sewn like they knew someone would try to take them apart forty years later to repurpose them. In an age where clothing is marketed to fall apart after two wears, there’s something immensely satisfying about wearing something that’s already lasted forty years and could last another forty. “My mom has those dresses!” texted my mother recently, when I sent her photos of my new acquisitions. “Are they like back in style or something? ?” she followed up, clearly confused her bohemian-style dresses from twenty-five years ago are now cool to wear in public. Then I saw her daughter – my neighbor’s teenage daughter – rocking her mom’s vintage fanciness with a pair of combat boots and bucket hat.
If that kid can rock a vintage prairie dress without looking like she tried too hard, anyone can. Fashion is wild, guys.
One minute you’re tucking your vintage-discoveries-in-goodwill dress into your grandma’s closet because GOOD GOD THAT ENVELOPS YOU, the next you’re wearing it out for brunch because spiral skirts are in.
My friend Katie put it best when she told me over breakfast that she thinks we all just want “slow clothes” these days. Clothes that don’t try too hard, that will last us for years to come. Clothes that our “future daughters would thank us for buying.” She’s been wearing those dollee scooooore spiral shirts and I’m about 85 percent sure she could wear that dress and pull it off. “It was my Halloween costume last year,” she told me over dinner.
No. Jenny, you did not. “I can’t wait to wear this to my next party,” I announced to my husband last weekend. In 1984, that dress would have been worn with pantyhose, tiny pink shoes, and maybe a velvet headband.
I paired it with flat leather sandals, small gold hoop earrings, and a denim jacket. The reactions were….nice. But what I loved was watching the host’s teenage daughter eyeing it up and down.
She’s probably 17 and asked if she could borrow it someday. Say it with me, friends: as 2019 proceeds to completely suck it out loud, I am wearing a freaking giant fucking flower dress while doing it.
