It's been a long time since I wore "real" vintage regularly, for a bunch of reasons. One is fit: it's hard to find vintage that fits well without scaffolding-type undergarments. Another is availability: the days of hitting three thrift stores in an afternoon and turning up a Courreges (yes I once found one) and half a dozen fifties frocks are long gone. And a third is that sometimes vintage can feel like costume, especially head-to-toe (and dresses are head-to-toe). But Mr. Dress A Day had a "Gatsby"-themed work thing yesterday, so I dug out a 1930s dress (I don't have any 20s stuff, and besides, Fitzgerald didn't die until 1940, so I figured that gave me an out) and put in my contact lenses (glasses didn't seem very Jazz Age) and off we went:
I'm kind of slouching (kind of slouching a lot) and the shoes are wrong (and of course a lady shouldn't wear a watch to an evening event) but hey, vintage!
I forgot how much I love this dress, even though it has no pockets and is slightly too long in the waist. It has a button front (which you can't really see, as they're black buttons on a black background) and the collar is closed by a little hook and eye.
The pin was a present from a friend years ago — it's a Lea Stein fox, which I didn't even know was a "thing" until Moya told me about them earlier this year. It looks deco but it's an anachronism as well, of course.
The other hard part about wearing vintage is that each wearing brings a favorite piece a day closer to death. The seams on this dress are awfully fragile, and the fabric's getting thin … it's basically just one ill-advised reach from some unfixable tear. But I have sworn to enjoy it while it lasts …