I am a total vintage hound. Usually this applies to accessories like purses, coats, or jewelry, but I will certainly buy a vintage piece if its in good shape or has a fantastic cut.
Recently I bought a navy blue clasp-top pocketbook at a local thrift store. It’s straight up old-lady style with two handles, paisley and multi-pocketed interior. Oh, and it’s vinyl. I love everything about it, especially that the handles hang from my forearms but are too short to put over my shoulders.
For weeks, weeks! I’ve been walking around with this thing of beauty, this $6.50 find, excited every time I open the clasp, delighting in the snap of its closure. Not a soul has said a word about my granny purse. She’s quietly gorgeous. She’s roomy enough to fit my keys, calendars, wallet, gum, tissues, lip balm, business card holder, pencil case, and a medium-sized notebook. It’s like Mary Poppins’s chic little handbag, but without all the pomp and circumstance of Ms. Poppins herself.
Ah, but today at the coffee shop, a woman after my own heart stopped me. “Excuse me,” she said, all excited, “Will you please tell me about your wonderful vintage handbag?”
“Oh, of course!” I gushed. How long had I waited for this? A month? Two? “I only got it at Southern Thrift, but isn’t it wonderful?”
“Do you know what brand it is?”
“It isn’t, it’s just vinyl, but look at the inside,” she gasped when I showed her the fantastic orange and blue paisley. I knew.
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. I just wanted to know because it looks like a vintage Yves St. Laurent,” she said, beginning to turn away, but she was still smiling at her friend who was checking her phone.
“I know, thank you so much for noticing,” I walked back to my seat, careful not to spill my coffee onto my purse. Not that it matters, but some things are too precious to mess up.