Finding your vintage style at Make Do And Mend

If you’re feeling intimidated by the idea of vintage shopping, or aren’t sure how to incorporate vintage into your current look, my first suggestion would be: start small. I don’t just mean with accessories rather than a full outfit (although that’s an excellent way to add a vintage vibe to modern clothes) I also mean visiting a small boutique rather than a cavernous warehouse to try out vintage shopping. 

Make Do And Mend in Pop Brixton, the box park of food stalls and bars on Brixton Station Road, London is a small but perfectly formed shop, full of fabulous vintage clothes and accessories carefully chosen by Sarah, who started Make Do and Mend in 2013. As well as sourcing unique, good-quality stock from all over Europe, Sarah also works with local brands who upcycle old clothes, if you’re after vintage with a modern twist. We put together a selection of outfits to show how you can create vintage vibes from any decade, even if you can’t get hold of the real thing. 

If you can’t find it, fake it! 

Vintage clothes from the first half of the 20th Century are becoming rarer; they are likely to be expensive or very fragile, and probably not the most practical choice for every day. It’s really easy to create a mid-century look with clothes from later decades though: some 80s styles drew heavily from the 40s and 50s, and this pleated skirt could easily be worn with a t-shirt for a more modern look. 

A flower-print tea dress will always give you a 40s vibe, and this 70s jacket has the boxy shoulders and nipped-in waist that were a feature of 40s styling. Bring either of these pieces up-to-date by pairing with some denim or chunky jewellery. 

Select your silhouette

Although most decades are associated with an iconic look, that was rarely the only look around, and every decade was responsible for multiple trends: the 60s went from mini to maxi dresses, and from monochrome to psychedelia, in the space of a couple of years. Most decades will have something that will appeal to your personal aesthetic, but it’s always worth experimenting with something new. 

Although most decades’ signature looks focus on a specific idealised body type, most people (then, as now) didn’t have that body type and still had to buy clothes! Vintage shopping is a good opportunity to try out colours, fabrics or clothing proportions that have nothing to do with trends but are the style you’ve been craving and can’t find on the high street.

Be Bold

One of my favourite kinds of vintage find is a statement dress: something with a bold print that is instantly A Look even if I forget to put on any accessories. This is also a great first step into vintage shopping; with a statement dress there’s no worry about what to wear with it, and classic jewellery and accessories won’t detract from the impact.

But it’s also worth experimenting with something a little more unusual. Trousers often go unloved in vintage shops, but with fitted wide leg trousers coming back into fashion, now might be the time to try on those fabulous 70s flares. Trouser hems are an easy thing to alter (see my tutorial here), so the only “trick” is to find the proportion that is right for your body type. 

Create Self-Confidence

Most of us understand the power that the right outfit has to make us feel good about ourselves. Wearing clothes we love can make us feel more confident, and some well-chosen vintage can help you stand out from the crowd. Sometimes dressing the part even if we don’t feel it can give us the boost we need to make the right impression.

 I love the way the exaggerated proportions of 80s womenswear encourage the wearer to take up space, visually and physically, at work and at play. Any of these separates could be toned down by pairing them with modern neutrals, but sometimes part of the fun can be to go all in with a bold vintage look. 

Channel your Inner Child

Need reminding that you’re not as young as you once were (if your joints aren’t already doing it for you)? The clothes you wore as a teenager are back in fashion, although now they are “vintage”. At first my instinct was to shriek “why did I wear that?” as a rhetorical question, but as I dressed up as my teenage self I started to think about this question seriously. 

Buying clothes with friends rather than under parental supervision, sometimes with money I had earned myself from my Saturday job, was a key part of exploring who I was, and who I wanted to be, or could be. Clothing might be an ephemeral way of pushing boundaries, but it’s worth remembering that it’s an option that’s always available to us. With so much “advice” telling us what we shouldn’t wear, vintage shopping is a great way of discovering what we want to wear. If we buy clothes we love, we’re more likely to keep wearing them and take care of them, reducing our negative impact on the environment by keeping clothes out of landfill.  

All the clothes, jewellery and accessories I’m wearing in these photos are available at Make Do And Mend (except my shoes, which are from Po-Zu). Make Do And Mend is open 12-7 Sunday-Wednesday and 12-9 Thursday-Saturday. They are also involved with the Brixton Vintage Kilo Sale, in case your first taste of vintage shopping gives you a big appetite! Keep up-to-date with events and sales over on the Make Do And Mend Instagram. Pop on over to Pop Brixton and discover your vintage style! 

The joys of being overdressed

I’ve been wanting to write something about dress codes, or the expectations surrounding the way women dress, but every time I start collecting my thoughts, I realise the topic is a thesis, not a quick blog post. (this post had only been live for a few hours before a seriously offensive jacket made international headline news and I wrote an extra chapter of my masterwork in my head). So I’ve thrown caution to the wind (along with “sensible” clothes) and indulged my penchant for some fantastic frocks! 

It’s probably a bit odd to have a favourite obituary, but I think about Vicki Woods’ tribute to fashion journalist, mentor and muse Isabella Blow, published in Vogue Magazine, quite often. Woods describes seeing Blow crossing a busy London street near the Tatler offices: 

“She was dressed for work in a silk-satin mini-crini (Vivienne Westwood, knicker-length, hooped like a bordello lampshade) and a white satin bra (Rigby and Peller). Apart from Maud Frizon evening shoes with crystal balls twinkling at each heel, that was it... her impressive cleavage shivered like mounds of buffalo mozzarella.”

Instead of being met with jeers or catcalls, Blow’s appearance stunned the street into silence. What can you say to someone who is wearing that outfit with the utmost confidence? 

I visited an exhibition of Isabella Blow’s extensive wardrobe at Somerset House in 2013, and her love of dressing up was evident from the state of her clothes. These outrageous, one-off outfits hadn’t been museum pieces, she had worn them out and, by the look of some of the scuffed shoes and rumpled jackets, had one heck of a good time in them. 

We often cling to the idea that women (and especially older women) are covering up inner turmoil or tragedy by dressing in a flamboyant or eccentric way. It’s been an ongoing trope in the fictional depiction of women too, from Dickens’ Miss Havisham to Star Trek’s Lwaxana Troi (I wrote about her amazing costumes here). But one look at popular culture and we can also see women of all ages dressed to the nines and having the time of their lives. Think Beyoncé’s pregnancy photo shoot, Rihanna cosplaying the Pope at the Met Gala, 90-something Iris Apfel and her incredible, enviable wardrobe. 

Yes, there are definitely days when putting on a great outfit gives me the confidence I need to deal with a difficult situation. Stepping out in bright colours is a real mood-boost on days when the whole world feels grey. But I also just unironically love clothes. I’ve spent fifteen years learning how to make them, perfecting my skills, learning about fashion history, visiting exhibitions and building up my own collection of vintage treasures. 

It can feel like there’s a constant pressure to play it cool; to downplay your love of something, or to do it ironically (why? At the end of the day, you’re still doing the thing, so the joke’s on you). Celebrating your love of something can be made to feel self-indulgent; especially for women, and especially when it comes to spending money. The media informs us that we have to spend money constantly to improve our appearance, while pop culture mocks us for being vain shopaholics. We can’t win! 

What happens when we stop worrying about what other people think and start dressing for ourselves, or for the person we want to be? It might not be the answer to all our problems, but I’m not going to pretend that the idea of being a bit unsettling because I’m not dressed the way I’m “supposed” to isn’t appealing. I refuse to become invisible to pander to someone else’s idea of “normal”.

I’m not suggesting you subject your wardrobe to a whirlwind of debauchery (although please don’t let me stop you), but why not try taking some of the outfits you bought “for best” out for a spin? Not only will it alleviate any worries about owning clothes you never wear, but if you’re wearing your best outfit you just might find that you are living your best life. 

I'm giving sleeves the cold shoulder

It all dropped into place as I was watching the film “Hidden Figures”. As Taraji P Henson’s character, real-life NASA mathematician Katherine Johnson, climbs a ladder and raises her arm to begin writing on a huge blackboard, her dress just... stays put. The hem doesn’t lift awkwardly, the fabric of the bodice doesn’t bunch around her shoulders and neck. She looks focussed and poised, her dress an eye-catching flash of bright colour amid a sea of grey as she formulates the safe return of a person from space. 

The success of a dress can hang on its sleeves, and, once again, fast fashion is letting us down. 

As a woman in my mid 30s, the perceived wisdom is that I should be desperate for clothes with sleeves (presumably to cover my unsightly upper arms and armpits in case they are *gasp* sweaty or *double gasp* hairy). In fact the exact opposite has happened, and you will rarely find me sporting a sleeve. While I may not have the perfectly toned arms of an A-List star in a red carpet gown, I see no reason why my completely average arms should be a source of shame. If you are bothered by my (mostly shaved, but sometimes stubbly) armpits, perhaps worry about something else instead of policing women’s bodies? 

But I’m not just going sleeveless as a gesture of defiance against oppressive beauty norms, I’m not wearing sleeves because they just don’t fit properly. If you’re wearing a non-stretchy fitted top or dress, lift your arms above your head. Does the whole garment follow you? Does it stay rucked up when you lower your arms? Doesn’t that annoy you? Sleeves have become a complicated part of a garment, and fast fashion just doesn’t seem to be getting them right. 

I don’t blame pattern cutters; I’ve had trouble with sleeves ever since I drafted my first (terrible) sleeve pattern in my first term at uni. I’ve had years to practice drafting sleeves of every shape and size, and my initial pattern almost always needs tweaking. The difference between my pattern cutting experience and that of someone who sends their patterns off to a factory is that I have to take into consideration any requests from actors or private customers for better freedom of movement, and I usually have the luxury of time (or at least more time than the few seconds a factory worker would be given to sew a sleeve). 

The “factory method” is to machine the armhole with the garment lying flat first, then machine the sleeve seam and side seam all in one. This means there is very little ease in the sleeve head, not so much of a problem for people with a flatter chest, but not ideal for those with a full bust. The method I use for a couture garment is very different; I machine the side seams first, place the garment on the stand and then “balance” my sleeve, pinning it in place to check that it hangs correctly. I don’t always line up my sleeve seam and my side seam; sometimes setting the sleeve seam a bit further forwards can give some extra ease for a larger bust (this ease can help to prevent gaping on a button-down shirt. So can proper button placement, but that’s a rant for another time). I sometimes add a (historically inaccurate) grown-on gusset to certain styles of historical costume (or modern clothing) to allow for more underarm movement, but there are plenty of examples of historical sleeves where this simply wasn’t a problem. 

Up until the 19th Century, men’s shirt patterns were a simple series of squares and rectangles, with a diamond shaped gusset under the arm to allow plenty of movement. The creative pattern cutting of post-war mid-century fashion revisited this idea.  Despite its ubiquity in fashion photography, many women weren’t fans of the ultra-feminine New Look. After experiencing the freedoms afforded by paid work and practical uniforms during the Second World War, they were reluctant to go back to restrictive clothing. 

I found some great examples of the compromises made by enterprising dressmakers in the ladieswear department of the costume house in London where I work. These smart dresses all have cleverly constructed sleeves or underarm gussets to allow for movement in an otherwise fitted and demure dress. Compared to my high-street fitted dress with sleeves, the waist seam on these vintage dresses barely shifts when I raise my arms and I didn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable in a 70-year-old dress as I did in a modern one. 

We look at historical clothing in museum collections and marvel at how restrictive it must have been. But unless we are wearing stretch fabrics, our modern clothing isn’t much better. As the cost-cutting measures that enable fast fashion’s artificially low prices restrict the amount of time spent adjusting patterns and stitching garments, we are literally restricting ourselves in poorly thought-out clothes.

In this day and age, we pride ourselves of finding creative solutions to improve efficiency (even when, sometimes, these solutions were there all along). Maybe we need to take a more creative approach to pattern cutting and garment construction to provide the freedom we expect (and need) from modern clothing.

Fashion Revolution Refashioning Project

The fifth Fashion Revolution Week is happening this April, from the 23rd to the 29th. Originally set up to call for change after the Rana Plaza factory collapse in 2013, in which 1138 garment workers lost their lives and many more were injured, Fashion Revolution has grown into a movement to promote transparency and sustainable working practices across the fashion industry.

The simplest way to participate is to take to social media to ask brands “Who Made My Clothes?” Increased transparency in the industry’s global supply chains means that exploitation of workers is less likely to go unchallenged, and helps us all to remember that our clothes are made by people, not machines. 

Fashion Revolution also challenges us  to form a different relationship with our clothes: to resist seeing them as disposable, to choose clothes we love and look after them properly, and to see their potential as possessions that can change with us. 

I’ve made a “haulternative” video for Fashion Revolution Week: instead of showing off a heap of fast fashion purchases in a “haul” video, I’m showing off three maxi dresses that aren’t earning their place in my wardrobe, and discussing the alterations I’m planning to make.

The first dress might look familiar to people who have been following my blog for a while; I acquired two of these dresses from sample sales via someone who worked as a buyer because I loved the fabric, but the skirts aren’t full enough for me to walk normally while wearing them! I refashioned the first one into a jumpsuit, and I’m going to shorten this one to knee-length and use the leftover fabric to make a little sleeveless jacket, to create a late 50s/early 60s-style two-piece “costume”.

This grey maxi was a hand-me-down from my sister. I love grey, but this much grey doesn’t do wonders for my skintone (I’ve had to crop my feet out of this picture because they looked distinctly corpse-like) so I’m going to split the dress into two pieces along its waist seam, and flip the top around so I end up with a maxi skirt and wraparound top.

I’m going to keep this red dress (found on the bargain basement rail of a vintage shop) as a maxi dress, but I need to make a few alterations before I can wear it. The cowl neckline is a bit deeper than I’d want for a wearable day dress, and the lining situation is rather strange. The top has no lining at all, and the skirt has a lining that is only sewn in at a few strategic points as it doesn’t stretch as much as the dress does. I’m going to detach this lining and make it into a slip, so I can preserve my modesty and feel more comfortable wearing the dress.

You can follow my progress as I work on my alterations over on my Instagram, and I’m also doing an Instagram stories takeover for The Up Effect on Sunday 8th April so give them a follow and see what I’m up to. I’ll be revealing my refashioned dresses in all their glory during Fashion Revolution Week, hopefully in another video, so stay tuned!

'Balenciaga: Shaping Fashion' and 'The World Of Anna Sui': can couture cure us of our fixation with fast fashion?

Lots of fashion writers have predicted  the death of couture, as pressure grows on designers to produce more and more collections per year, trends appear on the high street within weeks of catwalk shows at a fraction of the price, and, if you are a public figure, being seen in an outfit more than once will be remarked on at the very least, if not ridiculed. 

The popularity of couture as an exhibition subject, however, seems to go from strength to strength. I visited Balenciaga: Shaping Fashion at the V&A and The World Of Anna Sui at the Fashion and Textile Museum, and although neither exhibition tops the superstar status of the Alexander McQueen retrospective (when the V&A stayed open through the night to meet demand for tickets in the final few days), the popularity of fashion exhibitions suggests we haven't completed the transition from seeing fashion as valuable to seeing it as disposable. Both exhibitions illustrate something important about couture that we need to embrace again in order to create a more sustainable fashion industry. 

The World of Anna Sui showcases a designer with boundless enthusiasm for fashion; someone who is constantly intrigued and inspired by the world around her and has pursued her dream of being a fashion designer from early childhood. Her maximalist creations, a mash-up of pop culture references, bold colours and striking fabrics, are the stuff of my teenage dreams, but her painstaking research into fashion history and her beautifully constructed takes on vintage styles held a particular appeal for my inner costume geek. I was swooning over her 40s tea dresses, which feature Christian Berard prints on jewel-coloured silks and fondly reminiscing about my attempts to recreate her 'pastel grunge' looks with retro finds from Brighton's thrift shops in the mid 90s. 

Her brand is centred around looks that are eye-catching and unique, optimistic and playful. Fashion is presented as something exciting, the clash of prints and textures showing a disregard for traditional 'rules' of dressing that echoes the rebelliousness of the subcultures that Sui references in her designs. 

There is much more regard for tradition at the V&A's Balenciaga exhibition, which is a celebration of the craft of couture, and of Balenciaga as a master cutter and fitter as much as a designer. The exhibition emphasises the importance of the choice of fabric in determining the drape and hang of a garment, and showcases the virtuoso pattern cutting which is central to the deceptively simple shapes of Balenciaga's outerwear. X-rays, reconstructions of garments in toile form and even a dress displayed on a mannequin inside out reveal the intricate inner structure of evening gowns, the boning and underpinnings necessary to create the perfect silhouette. I was impressed by the proliferation of pockets, even in an elaborate evening cape, and reflected on it over on my Twitter account, where the lack of decent pockets in women's clothing is lamented and ridiculed on a regular basis. 

As well as the garments themselves, there were also films showing the process of creating couture: mesmerising clips of the craftspeople at Lesage embellishing fabric with embroidery and sequins, as well as a short documentary showing the stages of cutting, fitting and finishing a made-to-measure jacket. As a dressmaker myself, I always appreciate being given an opportunity to see my fellow makers in the spotlight, as I hope it reminds people of the human labour that goes into the production of clothes. We are all garment workers, in the end, it's just that some of us have been fortunate enough to be given the time and opportunity to develop and perfect our craft, to have our work appreciated and to earn a decent salary. 

Obviously couture is elitist, and outfitting ourselves in made-to-measure luxury for everyday life isn’t a practical option, but even clothes that highlight wealth inequality can be viewed as part of a more complex story about the wider fashion industry. Today, the industry’s biggest problems are exploitation, both of people and the environment, through overproduction and overconsumption. People struggling to make ends meet are not going to be overconsuming, but those of us who can afford to splash out on a new outfit when the fancy takes us need to think about what we really value about fashion, and act accordingly. I spent hours at the two exhibitions (and the cost of at least one fast fashion outfit on tickets), and I was delighted by the creativity and craftsmanship I saw, and it reaffirmed that I want my own wardrobe to look like this, as much as possible, rather than the bland and uninspiring fast fashion that has turned me off high street shopping.

There is a possibility that the tide could be turning; earlier this year Stylist Magazine published this article about mental health and burn-out in the upper echelons of the fashion industry. Several designers, including Jean Paul Gaultier, now only produce couture, having found that the pressure to produce an ever-increasing number of collections sapped them of energy and inspiration. For those of us who need more affordable fashion options, many small ethical and sustainable clothing brands have also rejected the high street's emphasis on constantly changing stock, opting instead to sell multi-seasonal pieces that will be versatile enough for even the most carefully curated of capsule wardrobes. The ongoing popularity of good quality vintage clothes also suggest that people are nostalgic for more than cute floral prints, they also still value flattering fit and appreciate clothing that is made to last.

These two exhibitions are a must for fashion fans, but it might be worth taking along a friend who can't understand what the fuss is about. Being encouraged to see fashion as an art form might prompt more thoughtful shopping habits, or a new respect for the people who make our clothes, and this has got to be a good thing.