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| Boys Hair Styles |
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| Boys Hair Styles |
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| Boys Hair Styles |
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| Boys Hairstyles |
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| Boys Hair Styles |
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| Boys Hair Styles |
Post Title → Boys Hair Styles
Home » Posts filed under Boys Hair Styles
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| Boys Hair Styles |
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| Boys Hair Styles |
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| Boys Hair Styles |
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| Boys Hairstyles |
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| Boys Hairstyles |
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| Boys Hair Styles |
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| Boys Hair Styles |
Vintage has had a rocky ride to respectability. The Noughties saw the word become fashionable and then ubiquitous. Kate Moss paraded her Twenties flapper dresses, Topshop got in on the act, and vintage megastore Beyond Retro in east London became a hipster hangout. From T-shirts to tea sets, it became a watered-down label applied to anything second-hand. Now the pendulum has swung back: vintage is special again.
“Today, 'vintage’ is overground and it’s hard to find a town without a vintage clothes shop,” says Wayne Hemingway, designer and founder of Red or Dead, who has collected vintage since his youth. “But when I was growing up, wearing second-hand signified you were poor.”
Another long-term collector, Carmen Haid, gave vintage a respectable boost last year when she set up Atelier Mayer (atelier-mayer.com), an online emporium selling gems such as Halston from the Seventies and Nina Ricci from the Sixties. “I loved Net-a-Porter, but there was nothing like it for luxury vintage fashion. We have customers all over the world who buy our pieces because they want to look different, but want good service with it.” A shop opened to follow the website in Bayswater, west London, last summer.
Vintage at Goodwood and Atelier Mayer encapsulate the movement’s new image: polished, accessible and done with passion. They show that vintage can be relevant without being overhyped. But how do you class something as vintage?
“Strictly speaking, items have to be more than 25 years old,” says Haid. “We do take things up to the Nineties, but only if it is a fabulous piece.”
Hemingway sees the lines as more blurred: “I think it takes 20 years for something to look good. For me, it’s hard to class something from the Nineties as vintage. I personally wonder how anyone can be celebrating the Eighties again as, to me, it’s too recent, but it’s fresh to anyone under the age of 30. There’s nothing wrong with different generations interpreting vintage in their own way.”
Echoing New York’s established vintage scene, there’s a new breed of shops that offer well-chosen second-hand pieces at affordable prices, and with good shopping experiences. Wolf & Gypsy (wolfandgypsyvintage.co.uk), a new boutique in Brighton, offers an uncluttered selection in an airy, wood-floored shop. “Everything is hand-picked and I want customers to see that,” says Laura Pollard, Wolf & Gypsy’s co-founder. “I display the pieces to show off their character and charm, and the space makes for a pleasant shopping experience. These days, customers don’t want to visit a thrift shop that’s stacked to the ceiling.”
This appeals to the fashionable, time-conscious customer of today – and makes perfect sense. If you’re spending the same on a vintage dress as you would on the high street, you want the same level of comfort and service. These days, we don’t want to get our hands dirty finding bargains. Unearthing a forgotten gem is a hard task, which is why shops will often search on your behalf.
But for those who can’t stomach wearing cast-offs, however good a condition, vintage inspiration is never far away. Designer labels take endless cues from fashion that’s come before: just look at ChloĆ©’s Seventies-esque trousers for autumn, Miu Miu’s Sixties-style minis or Louis Vuitton’s Fifties-look dresses.
Canny high-street brands, including Toast, Anthropologie and Fever, use vintage shapes each season. “We visit vintage shops and flea markets in New York, Los Angeles, Bangkok and Singapore for influences in both print and shape,” says Matt Barker, creative director of Fever (feverdesigns.co.uk). “A Forties dress can be inspirational, for instance, because they were cut on the bias to get the best shape possible. We might combine a Forties cut with a Seventies print, and end up with a dress that’s really interesting. Customers don’t always just want newness.”
Some of us are born collectors. We can’t help it; we see, we want, we collect. I own collections of collections—tiny boxes, cat figurines,
But some of my collectibles are more ornamental than others, especially my antique hair comb collection. I have them mounted on a long piece of celadon brocade, and display them as a wallhanging.
I’ve always loved long
They are not always easy to find, and the fourteen I own have come from many different places. Most of them are made from tortoiseshell (which you cannot find now, and a good thing, too, for the poor turtles), and some are adorned with rhinestones and carvings.
From the top, #1, the largest one, curved with 21 remaining teeth, was found in a rummage basket at a small town flea market. It was clearly made for holding up heavy hair in the back, and it is a lovely deep honey-amber color. I think I paid something like $5 for it; I don’t think the woman who owned it recognized the treasure it was.
The two tiny combs, #2 with clear rhinestones and #4 with bright green ones, were found as a set in an antique shop in Portland, Maine.
I was having one of those “I got to get away/I got to get awa-a-ay” days, and had taken off for the coast.
At the time, I had grown my hair out to chin-length, and wanted to try using combs to hold back the hair over my ears. Well, that look did nothing for me, but I loved the combs.
As the store was one of those fancy-shmancy ones, I paid about $45 for the pair of them. But it was love at first sight; what could I do?
The center comb, #3, beautifully carved and set with blue brilliants, was found in a friend’s grandmother’s backroom in a box jumbled up with an assortment of oddments.
I pounced on it, and offered to pay my friend just about anything for it.
It ended up costing me nothing but a trip to the movies, popcorn, Cokes, and Milk Duds, my treat. The two round-top combs, #5 and #6, are set with rhinestones. These two, plus #11, cost me an afternoon of cleaning out my then boyfriend’s mother’s walk-in closet.
On that same day, she also gave me a pair of marble-sized pearl
The oval
She had gorgeous knee-length auburn hair when she was young, and I like to think of that lovely tortoiseshell comb with its intricate carving gracing that vibrant hair.
Note: Speaking about my grandmother’s long auburn hair, I have to insert one of my favorite stories about her. To say she was willful, stubborn, and opinionated is like saying that the ocean holds several bazillion cups of water.
Just before my grandparents were married, my grandfather used to like to watch her to brush out her hair. As he was enjoying the sight of that rippling titian mass, he said, “Phyllis, don’t you ever cut your hair!”
She snapped back, “NO ONE tells me what to do!” and with that, picked up the shears, cut it all off below her ears, and threw the shorn hair at his feet. He married her anyway. She knew he would.
The tiny bow-shaped barrette, #8, #12, a large barrette with the back broken off, and #13, with the curved rhinestone top, came from a church white elephant sale.
I paid about $15 for the three of them, and I remember the lady who sold them to me also made me take an unopened box of ladies linen hankies. I guess she thought that anyone buying hair combs would automatically be lady-like enough to appreciate hankies as well!
The little hourglass-shape barrette, #10, one of the lightest in color, belonged to a friend’s aunt.
Years ago, a dear sister of hers wore it constantly, and when the sister died tragically of pneumonia at age 11, the barrette was put away for good. I think it made my friend’s aunt glad to know that it would be out on display again.
My favorite, #14, was used to adorn a chignon. I’ve always loved its warm amber color, and as always I like to imagine who wore it and what their hair looked like.
This one came to me from a vintage clothing shop in Tamworth, NH, where I spent an unforgettable summer as an ingnue in summer stock. My own hair was never long enough to wear it, but I did own a genuine hair fall that I wore to play Jane in Jane Eyre. It certainly gave a better performance than I did!
So, there you have it—this is my collection to date. During a recent visit, my mother kindly re-arranged the combs on the brocade, some of which had come loose from random abuse from my cat, Blackie.
After giving Blackie a good talking-to (which did no good at all), Mom re-sewed the combs to the brocade, and we hung it a lot higher. They make a great conversation piece, and they are definitely unique.
If you are interested in collecting antique hair combs, you might want to check out this web
You may also be able to scare some up at online auction sites: www.ebay.com and www.yahoo.com/auctions. Happy hunting!
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