Sniffing Grandma’s Cardigan.
For sure many of you may hate this phrase and attempt to scrub it off your computer with the sexiest brand of detergent you can find (stop trying silly, it’s not going to work!) Of course I probably sound a little creepy right now and without a doubt my closest friends will not deny that I am a creepy little freak at times. But come join me for a moment and bask in the ambiance of that which is the glorious, most fabulous and stimulating word ... VINTAGE. Vintage style, vintage fashion, VINTAGE CLOTHING!! Gimme Gimme Gimme!
Ah so now you realise huh? I don’t have a yearning to sniff the pits of the mature, just simply the clothes they’ve seen so much in and looked so magnificent wearing in the process. Although many of you vintage obsessives out there probably aren’t too bothered about it, some may even feel repulsed by it, for me it brings a wave of joy through my mind and sets off the body popping butterflies in my stomach.
Take for example possibly my favourite store on earth and where I hope to give birth to my first child; Beyond Retro. It is my church (unfortunately minus the wine and those yummy biscuitty things... sad times). As I walk in a wave of Grandma’s Cardigan grabs me and fills me. I am engulfed by the smell. I want to inhale it so my insides are made of fabric. Suddenly that sick excited feeling takes over me and I feel utterly confused. The bows, beads and bursts of colour make my eyes vibrate; where should I start? Left? Right? Jumpsuits or sparkly jackets? Gently walk or cartwheel? I formulate a master plan in my mind and BOOM SHAKALAKA! The race has begun!
I search like a maniac for my dream item (let’s call it items; by this point I think we’ve all realised I’m not only a little mental but also a raving shopaholic). It may be pure bliss at first but it soon begins to feel like a job that should come with daily back massages and foot rubs! Yet as I drag my bag along the dusty floor determined not to give into the knowledge that I only have £30 left in my purse, the magical smell of lived in and loved clothes reminds me what I am here for. Yes it is painful, yes you feel sweaty and tired, yup ‘tis true your mouth is pretty dry from all the squealing and shamefully there is pressure on your bladder, so much so that you praise Gaga you’re wearing that panty liner when you see that pineapple skirt on the discount pile (there is only so much vintage yumyumyumminess you can take!) But in the end you are presented with a wonderful gift; the gift of style. I am just hoping the gift of life will be as simple! (I know it won’t, thanks to my mother’s frightening honesty, but let me dream people, let me dream!)I won’t make you weep with my tales of the fitting room. I am at my most annoying in there; you have been warned! Cautionary tale over, I praise Carrie B for my trusty boyfriend/bag carrier/tea maker/moan-absorber who aids me on the journey home after lending me an extra £50 for those things that I desperately ‘needed’ (when I say needed I mean wanted and if I didn’t get them I would be a miserable cow all the way home and ignore him all night because he wouldn’t help me out with my destiny as a cardi sniffer). Feeling exhausted after such a long day of hard work I get home and realise, alas, i have lost that beautiful smell forever! But wait, what’s this? My items are sneaky little thieves; they've stolen that fabulous scent from the store... F*** YEAH! ...
Basically how the story ends is I create wonderful outfits out of my newly bought vintage clothing all night with my boyfriend who also doubles up as a watch-me-try-on-my-clothes-and-pretend-to-care-because-that’s-what-i-want man (he should in fact be grateful he gets to see me in my under garments, even if it is laundry day!) I then spend my days looking utterly fabulous, you all get to watch and I live happily ever after smelling like the Grandma I always aspired to be! THE END.
Not buying it?
Well it is true that the smell is pretty much a combination of old age, warehouse mould and funky dust, but who gives a damn! I bloomin’ love it and you watch, in 2200 the robots will be bottling it up, spraying it on their unfortunate synthetic skin and feeding it to their children on toast or whatever the hell it is robots eat!
So there you have it! Grandma’s Cardigan; the only smell I love more than my boyfriend wearing Armani Code whilst eating pickled onions in the pouring rain... DAYMN! (Maybe the Robots should put that on their little perfume bottles? And maybe I should have gone into advertising...)
Now it is time for me to climb into my wardrobe and fall asleep beside the moths on my smelliest vintage item :) until tomorrow my lovelies!Well, that is if i don't suffocate under my mounds of dusty clothes... :/
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