I never imagined I’d be the type of person who truly, emotionally connects with vintage clothing. Last weekend, I found myself getting slightly choked up in a Goodwill store in Capitol Hill while holding a virtually flawless Laura Ashley dress from approximately 1983 or 1984. The dress was a light blue colour with small white daisies printed on it, and it had a sweet pie crust collar. The woman standing beside me asked if I was okay and I explained to her that my mother had a nearly identical version of this exact dress when I was young.
While I’m sure she may have thought I was having some sort of mental break, which, to be honest, I may have been. However, it was a positive break.
Lately, I’ve been observing these lovely “prairie” style dresses in abundance. Not only are they appearing in local thrift shops, but also on people strolling down the streets of Seattle looking perfectly at ease and decidedly not as though they’re attending a Renaissance festival. What’s happening here is fascinating to me and I’m really interested in learning more about it.
Obviously, I ended up purchasing the dress. For $42.00. Which felt like stealing. Until I realised it required about $60.00 worth of tailoring to properly fit. While my bank account didn’t seem too happy about it, sometimes you simply know that a garment is destined to be yours.
One of the many things that fascinate me regarding these extremely feminine, extremely romantic and almost comically feminine dresses is their relevance today. I mean, we’re experiencing what might generously be described as “unprecedented times.” Climate anxiety, chaotic politics and social media creating a sense of misery among its users — and our collective response appears to be wrapping ourselves in floral cotton and pretending we’re actors in a Jane Austen film adaptation.
However, I totally understand why. There is something profoundly comforting about these soft, enveloping silhouettes. A few weeks ago, I attended a panel discussion regarding sustainable fashion (a work-related function, not my idea of a fun evening, however it was actually somewhat intriguing). Three different speakers mentioned this desire for “protective dressing,” and essentially stated that we are all seeking armor. Often, that armor will have ruffles.
The number one lesson I learned through several fashion disasters is that you simply cannot wear these garments the way they were intended to be worn. If you wear the white tights and the delicate shoes and perhaps a headband, you’ll resemble a person in costume. Not cute.
My friend Jessica discovered this fact before I did. She owns a vintage piece that is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The background is black and features tiny pink roses. She wears this piece with Doc Martens and a leather jacket. The first time I saw her in this outfit I was immediately reminded that this combination shouldn’t work; however, it does. The contrast between the sweetness of the dress and the edge of the leather creates a dynamic that makes the entire ensemble appear current rather than nostalgic.
Since then, I’ve attempted to achieve a similar balance of contrasting elements. Although, much of my experimentation has occurred through trial and error. With emphasis on the errors. There was an unfortunate experience involving a flower print maxi dress, kitten heels and a display of what my roommate politely referred to as “very committed historical accuracy” that we don’t need to discuss in great detail.
What I’ve learned is that you merely need to alter exactly one aspect of how these garments would have been styled. Can be the shoes — a large pair of sneakers with a delicate dress is unexpectedly perfect. Can be the hairstyle — give up on the curls and ribbons and opt for something messy and unkempt. Can be the proportions — my coworker Sarah wears vintage Laura Ashley blouses with wide-leg jeans and gold hoop earrings, and the combination of prim and modern is perfectly balanced.
Last week, I wore a high-necked floral blouse (which I purchased for eight dollars, and possibly my greatest find this year) with black leather pants and pointed boots. The contrast was correct — I had a feeling that I had not done too much, although I probably wasted hours in front of my closet trying various combinations that morning.
Accessories create an enormous amount of difficulty with these types of outfits. Large shoes tend to work well — I have seen people wearing prairie dresses with Air Force 1s and still manage to pull off the look effortlessly. As far as jewelry goes, it can be either minimalist or bold, and nothing in between. These high necklines can support bold earring, whereas delicate chain jewelry tends to disappear.
Please, for the sake of all that is holy, do not attempt to create ringlets. I observed a woman at Pike Place Market wearing a beautifully restored vintage dress with an abundance of 1980s-style hair and makeup, and it was just a lot. All of the best examples I have witnessed maintain a great deal of simplicity in both accessories and hairstyles.
I met a stylist I know at a coffee shop in Fremont last month, and she was wearing a cream-colored prairie-style dress. Clearly, the dress had been altered to hit higher on her ankle rather than the floor length. Upon complimenting her, she replied, “It’s about changing one thing. Change one element and the entire ensemble feels current.”
That line has stuck with me. One change. It seems to be a formula for making vintage appear modern.
Needless to say, authentic Laura Ashley items are becoming increasingly expensive. At the Fremont Sunday Market there is a vendor who attempted to sell me a stained blouse for $250.00. Like, I appreciate vintage fashion, but I’m not paying rent money for something that resembles it has been assaulted by a toddler using spaghetti sauce.
Fortunately, contemporary brands have taken notice of this trend. & Other Stories released an entire collection last season that was clearly inspired by the prairie style without directly copying it. Even Target has started selling floral dresses with pie crust collars. Although the quality is certainly not the same as a true vintage garment.
From a sustainability perspective, I find this to be interesting. These original Laura Ashley dresses were created to last. Using real cotton and building each garment with care, and featuring classic designs that were not reliant upon fleeting fads. During an era where most of the clothing manufactured today is designed to fail after six months, there is something uniquely appealing about wearing a garment that is already endured for forty years and may endure another forty.
A few days ago, my mom phoned me, sounding incredibly enthusiastic. She had located her old prairie dresses in the basement. “Is this a fashion trend again?” she asked, sounding somewhat puzzled that the fashions from her youth were now trendy. Meanwhile, my neighbour’s teenage daughter has been borrowing her mother’s vintage garments and pairing them with combat boots and bucket hats. Looking every bit as comfortable and confident as a teenager who has been wearing this style since she was born.
There is something positively endearing about that. Fashion once again takes an item from the past and gives it a new life and makes it appear current. My friend Katie has a hypothesis that we are all seeking “slow clothes” after the numerous years of fast fashion exhaustion. “I want to spend money on pieces that my hypothetical future daughter may want to wear someday,” she said to me during lunch, wearing a prairie-style dress that gave her the appearance as if she had stepped out of a particularly fashionable painting.
Finally, I worked up enough courage to wear my navy daisy dress to a party last weekend. In the 1980s, this dress would have been paired with pantyhose, delicate shoes, and possibly a velvet headband. Instead, I wore it with flat leather sandals, simple gold earrings, and a denim jacket. The compliments were pleasant, but the greatest reaction came from the host’s daughter, who is approximately seventeen years of age, and asked if she could borrow it sometime.
This was the ultimate validation, you know? Like I was able to take a particular vintage aesthetic and present it as current and desirable to someone who wasn’t even born when these garments were originally popular.
As I walked home that evening, I caught a glimpse of myself in the window of a storefront and had a strange moment of seeing my mother — younger than I currently am, preparing for some forgotten occasion, smoothing out the skirt of her blue floral dress. Fashion is strange like that, isn’t it? The most progressive industry in the world, yet we’re constantly revisiting styles that provided comfort or inspiration to us previously.
