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Death of a Vintage Saleswoman

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Author: Gemma Hughes, MyVillage:

Death of a Vintage Saleswoman

For me, vintage fashion was a natural progression – as a teenager I was somewhat obsessed with The Who, The Velvet Underground and The Beatles. I loved The Graduate, Quadrophenia, Cabaret and Backbeat. These glamorous or hedonistic or bohemian backdrops seeming to me (surprisingly enough…) so much more appealing than mid-nineties urban South Yorkshire. For me and my 15 year old friends, dressing as 60’s mods was a two-fingered salute to a homogeneous, Kappa-clad society and a way to make our lives more interesting; by borrowing clothes and music belonging to a more exciting era. Intellect, creativity and glamour just weren’t, and hopefully never will be, represented by an Air-Max trainer.

Whilst I was in Sixth-Form, I started a Saturday job in the Sheffield vintage boutique I’d been spending my cash in for the past two years, and I loved it. It was everything I had imagined and more – with almost everyone who shopped there being someone I would have classed as ’my kind of person’ – i.e, they wore brown flares or liked the 60ft Dolls or were at art college or were in a band or were working on a novel....or at least claimed to be. Whilst there I served Richard Fearless of Death In Vegas, Sheffield hero Phil Oakey, that bloke from Menswear and, most excitingly of all, Jarvis.

After graduating from university, I moved down to London, and quite quickly got a job as a buyer/stylist at a very well-known vintage boutique in Camden. Whilst working there I served Sophie Ellis Bextor, Dave Berry from MTV and Page 3’s Jacqui. Alarm bells were ringing...then, the owner began to stock new T-shirts that had a ’vintage effect’ because the actual 70’s ones ’didn’t look right’ for the vacuous teenage girls that came in wanting an exact replica of what Kelly Osbourne wore on TV last night. I was asked to no longer dress the mannequins in beautiful, 50’s prom dresses – but in jeans, printed vests and brand new trucker caps bearing the store’s name, because that was, apparently, what the people wanted to buy.

Vintage clothing was no longer a sign that the wearer was creative, or wanted something different from the normal or, saddest of all, actually vintage a lot of the time - it just meant she’d read Heat magazine and wanted something similar to what Kylie’s stylist had told her to wear.

I left the shop and haven’t worked in fashion, vintage or otherwise, since. I do still, however, buy quite a bit of second-hand stuff – I’ve actually managed to find some unspoilt places to shop in London again, and finding a great piece is just as much fun as it ever was. I’m not ready for Jacqui and co to ruin all my favourite haunts just yet, but I’ll leave you with one – the CND charity shop on Holloway Road. This is everything a vintage shop should be; cheap, absolutely rammed full of clothes and just a wee bit dirty. Enjoy.

CND Charity Shop
162 Holloway Road
London
N7 8DQ

Gemma Hughes, MyVillage: , 04th September

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