Really, it's just the modern word for second hand of course, so do you ever wonder where it's been?
It's hit and miss anyway. I remember as a student we used to frequent a place that sold suede jackets and American baseball jackets and stuff of that ilk. It was quite pricey even then, and was all the rage, spreading outwards from the Flip phenomenon in London.
Even before that it was de rigeur at sixth form to get overcoats, etc., from Oxfam. My mum used to go mad. Why did I want to get a grotty old thing like that when she could get me a nice gilet or something. There had to be a compromise. But there wasn't really. I wore stuff from charity shops and when I was out she gave them to a jumble sale. So at least there was some recycling going on.
Mrs F-C is vintage mad, and picks up some groovy stuff. But me not so much. I'll go into the shops with her, of which there are many now, but for men it's a load of nasty sweat-stained airtex shirts, odd-shaped check numbers and don't even start on the shoes or trousers. I've picked up the odd nice jacket - one I recall was especially good from Martha's Vineyard near Cape Cod - but I've bought all sorts of things and eight times out of 10 there's a nasty old tissue lurking in the depths of the pocket or an ancient chewing gum wrapper. It's unlikely you'll find a tenner. The pockets are always really greasy and you just know someone's wiped a surreptitious bogey in there. And the smell...
And who knows under what circumstances these garments found their way to the vintage shop. That bomber jacket might have belonged to a murder victim. An old man may have lain dead for weeks in that jacket. Those racy 1970s floral curtains may have been hanging in a house of horrors. Brrrr.
But don't let that stop you.
