The idea of an introductory post, after all these years of chronicling little bits of life on various corners of the internet, feels strange and unnecessary and yet—one must start somewhere. Inevitably, like most things, the old blog and I outgrew each other (while we are talking about feelings, it feels wrong to suggest it was only I that did the growing) and it seems right that I alight elsewhere along with my new project—Augusta Anne Vintage.
I’d been promising to do it for years and finally last fall I launched tentatively at a beautifully curated local market, and it went very well, and I spent most of the year after that (just shy of) making a space for processing and storing and photographing some of the treasures I like to dig for in flea markets and estate sales. And struggling to finish my Master’s thesis, using the vintage mending pile as the carrot to finish one chapter draft after another. I spent a significant collection of moments here and there thinking of names—this was very nearly ‘Cake Life Vintage’ after a phrase I use to describe my culinary profession these last eight years—before realizing perhaps the most obvious and cliché choice felt the most right: my grandmothers’ names, Augusta and Anne.
There is something I’m working on articulating about it that hasn’t quite bubbled its way to the top of my brain, about legacy and women and family. Every collector of old things has that need for history in an object, an especial tug on the heart when an item is a little bit imperfect and maybe decrepit. The desire to know who wore it before is always there, and it’s one of those old chestnuts of a story trotted out when every collector or seller explains the why of emotions about old clothes. I do feel all that to an extent, but also I love textile and fabric and getting dressed. I've learned through tears and typing that the thoughts will distill themselves into prose eventually, and the poignant meaning will out. My mother and I are preoccupied, in a good way, with stories and family history so somehow it seemed right and important to name this little dream of mine after them.
So, anyway, here they are, some vintage snapshots of Augusta and Anne, some but not all of my favorites (where's the album? Buried somewhere safe where we wouldn't forget it and did anyway). These were also on the old blog at various points, but it wouldn't be the beginning without them: