dressing up to feed the birds

when i first started working, in a drug store, at 16, i quickly learned that money could go a long way if i bought second hand clothes. i also learned that i could find the greatest, and most unusual things if i bought old clothes, which fit in nicely with my teenage mood of hating everything around me. it annoyed my parents, who were trying to be upstanding citizens, and were disgusted with my aim to not look like or be like the conventional teenage girl they wished they had. the kind they could be proud of.

encouraged by the music and style of late '70's england and new york city, i wore my tatty old things and dyed black hair to high school, which also prompted disgust and anger. people threw things at me. at the time i honestly had no idea why-i thought i was cool. apparently not. i'd go home and listen to records and feel better.

we lived in a suburb of toronto. i started going downtown on the bus to record stores, head shops, and vintage clothing stores...flying down to rio, south pacific, courage my love, exile..there were a few places on queen west then-indigo? mood indigo? can't remember (this was 40 years ago)these things were mixed with army surplus store finds, 'world famous' canvas bags, army pants and jackets..and converse high tops..things were cheap cheap cheap, and it was a relief to not have to ask my mother for clothes, the clothes i didn't want.

fast forward to 2020-one of the few things i missed about normal life last year (and this, so far) was the pawing through used clothes in thrift shops. it's a well worn shopping meditation-focusing on colour, material, age, i can happily lose myself and forget everything. come home with a treasure, another tiny bit rescued, reused, recycled..

someone is getting their stitches out this morning!

💓