Shall I compare thee to my old jumper? Stories of love for old clothes
Lockdown is a great time to rediscover pieces already in your wardrobe. To mark Fashion Revolution Week, the organisation, who are focused on creating an ethical and sustainable way forward for fashion, are exploring new models of behaviour for clothes lovers across the globe. At the start of this special week we celebrate 10 tales of longlasting love for favourite items.
Nikki Redcliffe
My name is Nikki and I’m an addict. A vintage clothing addict. Asking me to write a love story to just one garment is like asking me to pick my favourite child. I have an awful lot of clothes and I love them all.
During the coronavirus lockdown my massive vintage wardrobe has been a source of endless comfort and joy. I’ve been able to play, guilt free, in my dressing room to my heart’s content and a couple of nights a week my partner and I “dress for dinner”. Even if dinner is only a bowl of pasta we don our finest threads and make it a special event.
I’ve picked this late 1950s red taffeta cocktail frock by Suzy Perette for its sheer joie de vivre. Suzy Perette had a licence to make copies of Christian Dior designs in the US in the 50s and I have several examples in my collection. All are impeccably made and although they are about the same age as me the dresses are still as good as new. This dress is always ready for a party.
Clothes can have such a dramatic effect on mood and dressing up definitely makes me feel happier. I particularly love vintage clothes of the 40s and 50s for their quality, individuality and enduring charm.
Tahmina Begum
A sari for me isn’t just symbolic of my Bangladeshi culture. It’s also a historic emblem of sustainability through fashion. Saris are simply extended pieces of material you adorn your body with, in a myriad of ways. It can be born when washing the dishes, going for a walk or to your own wedding. They’re timeless and generous in the stories they lend.
One of my favourite saris is this red and green georgette number. I’ve worn it to a Mehndi ceremony and also when visiting Bangladesh recently. When I bought it, for £25 in Green Street, I knew we would be friends for a while. This sari will be shared, so my nieces and children, inshallah, will also wear it. Just like other parts of my culture, it’s a tribute to all those women in Bangladesh and their skills in making something beautiful and made to last.
Dina Doerfel
In 1990 I found myself, at the age of 30, in a job that required “professional office wear”. This wasn’t really my thing so I found it hard to find items that I found acceptable and also fitted the requirement.
I shared my dilemma with my mum who was a hugely talented dressmaker – and 30 years later I still have, and wear, the beautiful tailored blazer that she made me.
The jacket is a classic navy made from wool suiting and is fully lined, with two patch pockets, two buttons and a flourish of contrasting piping hidden on the inside where the lining meets the fabric. Very Paul Smithesque.
Mum died in 2017, but she lives on not only in the memories the family have, but also the clothes she made.
Isabelle Landicho
At the risk of sounding like a hopeless romantic, it seemed perfect for my item to be what I wore when I married the love of my life. I wanted my wedding dress to be unique, hold a story and be representative of my home country – which is why my dress is designed and handmade in the Philippines by my mum’s school friend, Therese Andaya.
Working on the dress together was so intimate, with countless messages and phone calls across the sea, so when I finally met Therese in real life it was like meeting an old friend.
I wanted a simple dress, not just because I prefer a minimal aesthetic, but also because – and this seems unorthodox for a wedding dress – I wanted to wear something beautiful over and over again.
Sue Rubinstein
This is a shaggy jumper story of two identical knits. When I was a child my mum knitted a signal red wool jumper for her younger sister. My aunt wore it through the 1960s as a young teacher in Cardiff and Canada then passed it on to me when I was at art college in the late 70s. I loved it and wore it constantly in my freezing studio in Brighton. But after darning the elbows and cuffs it eventually fell apart and was consigned to the compost heap.
A couple of years ago I found a bundle of gorgeous red yarn which