A few years back I worked in a vintage clothing shop in Edinburgh. We had a store front on the Grassmarket and rails of beautiful things. During August Edinburgh turns into a general freak-show when the performers all come to the town for the festival. Those times me think of George Mackay Brown's 'The Poet,' 'Ah, how our sober islands
are gay again, since this blind lyrical tramp
invaded the Fair!'
are gay again, since this blind lyrical tramp
invaded the Fair!'
Because, if you've never been to Edinburgh before, there really is a big difference between August and the rest of the year. In August everything has a new lick of paint and colourful people pepper the streets. The rest of the year there's drink.
So anyway I was minding the shop one day, sitting behind the sewing machine when a woman walked in. She was wearing dark sunglasses that obscured most of her face, and had short, dark curly hair. She was wearing a vintage dress and we got talking in the normal shop-minder/customer way and I gave her some 40s tops to try on (one orange and one green from what I recall. Silk - with lovely glass buttons). She came back out and stood next to where I sat and said she'd take the green one. I noticed that the colourful silk striped dress she was wearing is so well-worn that one side of it (under a wide black belt) has literally tattered. Those are exactly the words I would use too, 'well-worn' - not worn out.
There was something about her which made what she wore lovely. Sometimes I think there are extra-ordinary people who wear their clothes - really truly wear their clothes - as opposed to letting their clothes wear them, or just throwing things on without thought. Because the amount of though which goes into dressing oneself, I think, makes a great deal of difference. There was nothing about her clothes that spelled indifference - she was well turned out in the way that a careful and meticulous individual arranges themselves. But also unorthodox, almost uncaring, about the dress's imperfections. There was nothing about her that was not comfortably a part of herself - the old dress and all seemed to compliment her perfectly - her sense of individuality surrouned her like a confident, yet unassuming aura.
Am I getting to airy-fairy for you?
What I'm trying to say is that she wore her clothes like it was second skin. Maybe my recollections of the event had put a spin on the events so that she and her dress stick out in my mind more than they should. In any case, I asked her whether she's a performer and she said she's a swordswallower. Then I realized that she must be Miss Behave, who was performing with La Clique during the festival. A very awesome woman, by all accounts.
So anyway I was minding the shop one day, sitting behind the sewing machine when a woman walked in. She was wearing dark sunglasses that obscured most of her face, and had short, dark curly hair. She was wearing a vintage dress and we got talking in the normal shop-minder/customer way and I gave her some 40s tops to try on (one orange and one green from what I recall. Silk - with lovely glass buttons). She came back out and stood next to where I sat and said she'd take the green one. I noticed that the colourful silk striped dress she was wearing is so well-worn that one side of it (under a wide black belt) has literally tattered. Those are exactly the words I would use too, 'well-worn' - not worn out.
There was something about her which made what she wore lovely. Sometimes I think there are extra-ordinary people who wear their clothes - really truly wear their clothes - as opposed to letting their clothes wear them, or just throwing things on without thought. Because the amount of though which goes into dressing oneself, I think, makes a great deal of difference. There was nothing about her clothes that spelled indifference - she was well turned out in the way that a careful and meticulous individual arranges themselves. But also unorthodox, almost uncaring, about the dress's imperfections. There was nothing about her that was not comfortably a part of herself - the old dress and all seemed to compliment her perfectly - her sense of individuality surrouned her like a confident, yet unassuming aura.
Am I getting to airy-fairy for you?
What I'm trying to say is that she wore her clothes like it was second skin. Maybe my recollections of the event had put a spin on the events so that she and her dress stick out in my mind more than they should. In any case, I asked her whether she's a performer and she said she's a swordswallower. Then I realized that she must be Miss Behave, who was performing with La Clique during the festival. A very awesome woman, by all accounts.
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