I fell in love with vintage clothing because of simple inevitability. Growing up in rural Wisconsin, with parents who had come through both the Great Depression and World War II, clothing had purpose, and if it happened to be fashionable too, that was just a side bonus. I can’t remember my mother remaking one of my grandma’s old wool coats into a new suit of clothing for me, but I do have pictures of that coat somewhere. The mantras of reduce, reuse and recycle that we have today were really born from the necessity of poor families all over the country. At my house we considered catalog ordering the highest echelon of shopping and pored over the pages of the JC Penney, Sears and Montgomery Ward publications to see the latest styles. There was a certain visceral attachment to garments because they were bought with hard-earned cash and 
were not disposable but instead passed on to other family members. Sometimes when I am in a vintage clothing store, the smell of the wool coats can take me back to my grandpa Clifford’s closet with its cedar chips and mothballs protecting the precious few garments he and grandma Esther owned. That smell, while repugnant to some, still reminds me of home, safety, comfort and love.
When I got a little older, I discovered the TV 6 “Late Late Show,” which came on after the 10 o’clock news. I would sneak down after mom and dad were in bed and as silently as possible turn on the black and white console in the living room. I would lay about a foot away from the set and turn the sound up just enough to barely hear it so as not to wake them up. These 
were the days of local networks replaying the flickering images of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Marlene Dietrich and Gary Cooper instead of infomercials or late night chat fests. I had found my nirvana! These actors’ names do not ring a bell to many young people today, but to me they exemplify why I love the world of fashion. Watching them was a schooling of sorts on movement, drape, cut, fit and style. The films also set a standard as to the way men and women everywhere dressed for each and every moment of their lives.
When I moved to Madison in the late ’70s, the vintage clothing stores were just coming into vogue here in the Midwest after being popular on both coasts with hippies and hipsters alike who loved the times gone by and the link to past glamour they provided, as well as the small price tag. I literally helped support myself by buying ’30s and ’40s dresses, coats, hats and shoes (which were plentiful at the time because 
polyester was all the rage) at thrift stores in the Madison area and reselling them to these vintage boutiques. It was a challenge to hunt and gather these remnants of the past and bring new life to them. It was a master class in social anthropology, along with clothing construction and design principles.
Upon my arrival in Milwaukee in 1982, I found work at George’s Vintage Clothing on Water Street on the block where Rosie’s Water Works is. That tavern had just opened, and there wasn’t much else around save for a wholesale florist across the street. I steamed, ironed, repaired and sold clothing to a growing number of fashionable Milwaukeeans who loved standing out in the crowd.
There is a reason that so many stars wear vintage gowns to premieres or simply in their own personal lives. It is the story of style and fashion told through what we wore and when we wore it. Where do you think so many designers of today get their reference? They certainly aren’t pulling shapes out of thin air; they are going back to tried-and-true silhouettes (think the shoulder-padded gowns at the Golden Globes) and adapting them for up-to-date fashionistas.
Just what is considered vintage is debatable. I would suffice to say that a few decades must pass before a garment enters the vintage realm. The ’80s are popular today, and original looks from that era fetch high price tags. The easiest way to tell if something is from another era is to look for a union card attached to the inside seam. A union tag is proof that the g
arment was made and supported by a clothing makers union. These unions were in existence in this country before we started all the overseas production in the ’80s. They might say something like “ILGW,” which stands for the International Ladies Garment Workers Union, or they may simply say “Made in the U.S.A.”
Given the economic and social climate we have here in Milwaukee, it has never seemed more right to buy pieces of American history that are sadly vanishing year after year along with the memories associated with them. Who knows what your parents or grandparents have in their own storage areas, attics or closets? Give them a call and go visit. You just might learn something about them 
and score something great for your wardrobe in the process.
At the least, take a stroll down memory lane yourself by supporting some of our local vintage stores or even thrift stores. I proudly wear my vintage pieces and often get complimented on them, and what’s so bad about that?
