Party time with a hand me down

This is the story of a dress.

My mother gave me a Girbaud dress that she no longer wanted, and immediately I wondered when would I ever wear it? My mother is an art critic in Tribeca, I am a rural professor. But I made a vow not to give the dress away until I had worn it at least once.

To my rescue came a very old friend from high school who invited me to join her at the New Year's Party at the Harvard Club in New York City. At last I had an occasion at which to wear this long and dramatic piece of clothing.

I tried it on in the guest quarters at my parents the evening my mother had given it to me. She had also mixed us a martini, which put me in such a giddy mood, I asked her for another. When I was finally alone again in my room, late that night, I decided to try on the dress. The photo is not the best quality, but it gives a pretty good idea of what it looks like, and perhaps also, what I look like after two martinis.

I have tried it on again at home, and, with the aide of my fashion savvy husband, have stitched the bottom up a bit so that it's not quite so long. I went to TJ Maxx to pick up a little bit of bling. Looking at photos of runway models in Girbaud was helpful for accessorizing. And it was fun to scroll through these pretty wild but gorgeous outfits.

This Cinderella also gets to go to the ball.

Revolution day

Revolution in White River Junction has a Facebook page, so when Kim, the owner, let everybody know that she had tights, I was curious. I also wanted to drop off some sweaters after purging my closet. There weren't that many, but as I was sorting through my tiny closet (by female standards), the big white box containing a pair of hardly ever worn Frye boots reminded me of my foolish spending moments.

I had bought them around my birthday, in an attempt to add something very cool to my wardrobe. I had bought them new, thinking that they were an investment, that they would never go out of style, and that perhaps one of my daughters would want them. After a few years, I've worn those boots maybe four times, and my daughters have no interest in them. So it was time to purge those too.

Kim took everything I brought. In the mean time, I looked through her Johnson (Vermont) woolen mills selection and bought my husband one of their grey herringbone vests, and also a "gently worn" skirt that Clara who had been in earlier, had set aside.

White River Junction never ceases to amaze me in its ability to give me a little vacation from the blandness of the rest of the region. Besides Revolution, which is a vacation in and of itself when you simply walk in, there is the theater which has a nice little repertoire, and several restaurants and cafes. I finally tried the restaurant Elixir, which is located in a restored freight house. The bar, made from an enormous recycled door, was one of the most unique surfaces I had ever eaten on.

Finally, there is the Upper Valley Food Coop, a small supermarket that sells mostly organic food, but also locally raised, locally grown, meats, cheeses and produce when in season. The people who shop there are so crunchy, with their woolen hats no matter the season, and their hand knit oversized sweaters, and an overall demeanor that says "I am kind to the earth" , "I will always vote for the most left-wing candidate," and "I care about other people more than I care about myself." It amazes me that I can be just a few miles from the incredibly "normy" town of Hanover, where people are either training for a marathon or for Wall Street or for both, and feel a completely different vibe. You are in Vermont the minute you walk into the Upper Valley Food Coop. If you are searching for authentic crunchiness, the Upper Valley Food Coop is the place for you.

An afternoon on Newbury Street

I spent this Saturday afternoon shopping by myself on Newbury Street. I can't say that I enjoyed it, it was rather awful. The sidewalks were barely walkable, and the shops were filled with rich college girls walking around with enormous Louis Vuitton bags. The ones that were with their mothers frightened me even more, because the mothers were trying to resemble their daughters. You had to wait in line for a dressing room, you also had to wait in line to pay, clothes were on the floor, people were pushing their way into racks.

I counted three "Second Time Around" shops and another consignment shop located just across the street from one of them. The mutation clothes undergo from new and very expensive to priced down because used does not require many steps in that neighborhood.

I also went to Filene's Basement for the first time, and fondled some gorgeous Missoni coats ($600 a pop).

Who are these Saturday shoppers? I am beginning to understand who has the wealth in this country. I am also beginning to understand the Occupy Wall Street movement. There's just way too much conspicuous consumption on the one hand, and way too much poverty on the other.

It didn't help that the only bookstore in the neighborhood, a Border's, was closed. How can Back Bay, a residential neighborhood filled with college educated people, not have a bookstore? Do these people not read anymore? Or only read on their electronic devices?

Fortunately my drive home turned my mood around. After an aborted attempt at rescuing my husband at an airport where he wasn't going to fly into until the next day, and having my car's burned out headlight bulbs replaced at an "Autozone" by two very nice gentlemen, I was on my way home again. On the trip home, Garrison Keillor and his gang were up to their usual tricks. Their "Occupy Wall Street" piece was well worth listening to, and had me laughing down the dark interstate that brought me home safely. I was alone again, and finally enjoying some solitude.

My sole purchase: a rather Puritan outfit, which is appropriate given that it was purchased in Massachusetts. On sale at Lucky Brand were bark colored corduroy pants and a white gypsy blouse.

recycling again

I finally put on the dress I bought in Montreal last June. It comes from a shop on the rue Saint-Denis that sells local designers' creations made out of recycled materials. With it I am wearing a scarf I just bought at Revolution made in the same spirit, old clothes (cloths), new creation. Meanwhile, Rosalie is in Morocco lamenting that there is no recycling program per se. But she did post a photo showing coal being sold in old couscous sacks.

thrifting into fall

Clara found a very stylish homemade dress at the salvation army in White River Junction. And I took some photos of early foliage.

Burlington, VT

Today was the big outing to Burlington, Vermont with Rosalie, the older daughter who is in college and is going to spend a trimester abroad in Morocco. We felt a little strange driving north on I 89, passing vehicles that were clearly headed to towns in need of emergency assistance from the flooding caused by Hurricane Irene. We saw a great deal of muddy water and flooded fields.
Burlington was nice and dry, with beautiful clouds wafting over Lake Champlain. We found a mother/daughter symbiosis, whereby we effortlessly were attentive to what the other one wanted to do. So, for example, while Rosalie went into a ski and bike shop, I went into a consignment shop next door to it, where I found a black cashmere cardigan for younger sister Clara -- she's been wearing the same black sweater for a few years now, and might be willing to replace it. Burlington also has a "Second Time Around" where we took a quick peak as well. We had a very nice lunch at Rosalie's favorite crunchy restaurant, Stone Soup, and we followed that with tea in a real Indian tea room where you can sit on pillows and lean against rugs hanging from the walls.
On this shopping trip, I had better luck finding new clothes rather than "gently used" ones, possibly because Burlington's downtown has a nice balanced mix of independent and chain stores. At the Outdoor Gear Exchange, which has moved to the pedestrians only part of Church Street, you can always find a great deal on new athletic clothing, although they also sell consignment. That's where I picked up an Ibex sweater coat on sale. The North Face store, oddly situated just across the street from the Stone Soup restaurant (two very different crowds) was also having a sale. There I picked up some "Darn Tough" made in Vermont socks for hiking. Underwear and colorful tights at American Apparel, a plaid shirt for Rosalie at Urban Outfitters, which also sells its "Urban Renewal" combination of recycled and vintage clothing, and, the Vermont based Salaam brand has its own store on Church Street where I found two dresses on sale.
New clothes are sold in excess, which is why so many used clothing shops have proliferated all over the western world. Every time a new store comes into the town of Hanover, New Hampshire, where I work, it's either a women's clothing store or a restaurant. So how do I explain my recent acquisitions of "new" clothes? I guess I'm not trying to prove anything to myself or to the world. I do want to be conscious of my buying habits or even obsessions, of my need for "retail therapy" and my own excessive consumerism. The TJ Maxx in West Lebanon, New Hampshire has helped me relax after some pretty stressful moments, just by the very fact that I am not looking for anything in particular. I'm just looking. The pleasure of looking. And the pleasure of finding.
Which is precisely what I like to do in Burlington, Vermont where there are plenty of beautiful things to look at.
From much chitchatting with Rosalie, I also came to the conclusion that, at some point, someone has to buy something new in order for it to become old or used. That seems like a tautology, and I'm not looking for an excuse to spend money on new things. But vintage or gently worn or whatever you want to call second hand clothing had to belong to somebody who at some point bought it new. I also want to invoke the "quality" clause, and reassure myself that I also am interested in buying new for the long run. All these used items bought at very low prices become throwaway items very quickly because of their low value. It's so much easier to accumulate clothes and forget about them when they were bought dirt cheap. And it's so much easier to part with them when they already look a bit worn. There are some exceptions of course. But overall, one tends to develop a fondness for one's material belongings because of their quality not their quantity.

car boot sale

Clara is back from Edinburgh where she bought two dresses at a car "boot" sale. She is wearing her "Wednesday Adams goes on a picnic" dress on her first day of school.