My apartment is filled with strangers’ things.
Well, not their things presently. Things that once were not mine, but someone else’s, but are totally, legally mine now. Clothes, tableware, furniture, someone named J.T.’s copy of Dylan’s “Bringing It All Back Home.” I don’t even know if I can actually comfortably say these were once strangers’ possessions as, to me, vintage pieces tend to feel like they don’t belong to anyone at all. They’re kind of on a never-ending journey from owner to attic, thrift shop to owner, lending use, meaning, and bulletpoints to a hoarder-in-training’s resume (i.e. me).
This is essentially what I love about vintage and why I’m starting this project. These secondhand items that occupy my home are like physical symbols of the cycle of life, kind of like plants are but in a way that’s less likely to leave me with muddy windowsills and the conviction that I will inevitably destroy everything I touch. The way I see it, some 1950s newlywed may have received my vintage green dinner plates as a housewarming gift, gone on to serve her kids’ birthday cakes on ‘em, then eventually splurged on a Pottery Barn set post-retirement, dismissing the old ones to the yard sale where I finally, fatefully, found them. Who knows? Whatever their history, these items’ stories are ongoing and I can’t help but feel vaguely hopeful about that. That something good can sprout even when it seems something has nothing left to offer or inspire. So, Voyage of Vintage is where I intend to share what I’m adding to all these narratives. How I re-style and rework these pieces to fit this century and my city apartment before inevitably sending them all back to the thrifting universe for a new life. Except for J.T.’s copy of “Bringing It All Back Home.” That is never leaving my side.