Her Story.

Brunch shift at Addie Camp: also known as the guaranteed one day a week I have the opportunity to dress up. I have a closet (which is more like a store) full of delightful treasures, most of them old (and therefore used), and because my job at Brew requires a uniform of denim shirt and work pants, there are very few occasions left for me to wear them.

Addie Camp is old, over 104 years old, and so the combination of getting to dress up and wear some of my vintage treats makes me a very happy woman.

So I’m working brunch the other day, and a recurring customer asks me if the dress I had on that day was new.

“New, but old,” I responded, the most polite way to explain that though the dress was new to my closet, it was old and rich in history.

Clocking in at nearly sixty years old, it was an old Hawaiian dress I picked up in San Francisco during my short (but very rewarding) stint working at Relic Vintage (only the BEST vintage store in all of San Francisco, or maybe the whole world).

It wasn’t just a dress I picked up though.

This little number had a far more exciting tale woven between her floral folds.

See, how I came about this dress is a funny story, a story that only adds to her life’s story since her birth in the early ‘60’s.

It was last year, mid May. I was living in Walnut Creek at the time, travelling to San Francisco for my part time job at Relic. The commute in total took me four hours: two there, and two back. It also included nearly 7 miles of walking.

Not wanting to soil my vintage delicacies, and not looking forward to the idea of being sweaty in my nice clothes, I packed them in my gym bag and wore my workout clothes during the strenuous commute up those iconic San Francisco streets.

I also traveled with my coffee mug, which I made the mistake of carrying in that same bag.

You can put two and two together.

I arrived at Relic to find that though my bag smelled nicely of fresh ground french press, my clothes had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of said spillage.

Allllllll over my vintage ensemble: big fat wet coffee stains.

Luckily, I worked at a vintage clothing store, so I had a plethora of options to chose from, including a pile of items I had set aside to try on.

In this pile was the Hawaiian dress that just so happened to match the accessories and shoes I had brought for my (now stained) outfit.

It fit like a glove and I can say with certainty that at that time, I needed it.

May have been the only time in my life I needed a dress!

One more story for this little dress’ history.

Or should I say, “herstory?”

See, part of why I love old things, especially clothing, is being part of the continuation of this garment’s story. Old clothes have personality, they’ve been through decades of time and there’s no telling what they went through before they’ve landed in my possession.

Aside from the fact that they’re also made better, more stylish, and one of a kind, they’re a piece of history, and I always look forward to opportunities where I can add my own chapter, in a new decade.

It’s also about saving the life of the dress, from misfortunes such as the landfill, or moth damage from being locked in a closet. It’s reusing and recycling.

In this dress’s particular story, I saved her, but ironically, she also saved me.