Mint Green Dream

Way back in May, my friend Meg and I got together for a photo shoot around Harvard, followed by some Pho, and reminiscing. I opted to wear this quintessentially 50s circle skirt dress with a full petticoat because, well, why not? This is one of those dresses that makes me see the world through rose-colored (or perhaps more fittingly, mint green) glasses. Everything seems so much sweeter, more hopeful and it just makes me feel--to quote Fitzgerald-- “a heightened sensitivity for the promises of life.” For me, getting dressed is my favorite part of the day and I love that I can literally alter my disposition just by throwing a dress over my head. Life can be so hectic and discouraging sometimes, I think it's important to indulge ourselves in doing little things that make us happy and hopeful.

For me, getting dressed up is my way of mentally preparing myself for each day. Thankfully I have a job that is different everyday. I never know what subject I'm going to be teaching or what students I'll be working with, and that's kind of exciting. Looking back on the past nine months, I’m in awe. Subbing has taught me more about what it means to be a teacher than my master’s program ever could (no offense, Lesley!). Looking back on old posts, and reflecting on the last year, I'm in such amazement at everything that's happened. I've had the chance to work alongside so many inspirational teachers, build relationships with such insightful students, and naturally do it all in variety of fun vintage frocks.

So, if I’ve been a bit of sporadic blogger, this is why. Between working full-time in a high school, teaching ESOL part-time, advising two different clubs, going to grad school, working 2-3 part-time jobs, volunteering as a tutor, and trying to have some semblance of a social life, I don’t have nearly enough time to complain about how busy I am. But even on the more challenging days, when adolescent boys are doing everything in their power to push my buttons (e.g.,“Ms. Stevens, he threw my pencil out the window!” “Ms. Stevens, when are we going on that date? “Ms. Stevens, how many tattoos do you have?”) and thwart my every attempt to actually teach a class, there’s always something that reminds me that becoming a teacher was the best idea I’ve ever had. A couple weeks ago, I received a thank you note from a couple of students after chaperoning an event, and in it one student thanked me for brining in a poem I wrote because it inspired her to start writing again. Those seemingly miniscule details are the silver linings of my days, my driving force.

But enough of all that sentimental sappy wannabe-teacher hullaballoo—this is a fashion blog for crying out loud! Well, on that note, I must report, that something truly amazing recently happened to me. Now, I was always under the impression that my two loves, education and fashion, were just too different to ever come together in a happy—though admittedly odd couple-ly—marriage. Students always ask me where I get my clothes and why I dress the way I do, and I love having the opportunity to connect with them over something fun and creative, and not really academic—but, seeing as fashion has not yet been added to the state mandated curriculum, I figured I’d be holding my breath a long time if I wanted to actually teach fashion. I would even make offhand jokes about establishing the fantastical Sara Stevens Academy for Fashionable Young Women. HA! C’mon, girl, keep dreaming!

Then, after months of job hunting, and sending out throngs of resumes for positions I was either under-qualified for or under-interested in, I stumbled across a posting I was convinced was too good to be true. The title of the ad read: Hiring Awesome Fashion Instructor. I reread the ad about a hundred times determined there had to be some kind of catch. Did they want me to have doctorate degree in the fine art of thrifting? Perhaps, I’d need to teach the class while wearing eight-inch stilettos? Once I had recovered from the shock and convinced myself this was a real position and not a practical joke or a hallucination, I wrote the most genuinely giddy cover letter ever in existence. I gushed and gushed and gushed, and somehow, after a phone interview, a whole lot of wishing and hoping, and a tiny bit of moping around convinced I didn’t get it, I got it!

That’s right, this summer I will be teaching DIY Fashion at an all girls summer camp in Northampton. I get to talk about fashion, play around with different fabrics and accents, tackle my ever-expanding Pinterest DIY tutorial board, and help a group of creative teenage girls make their fabulous fashion design dreams a reality. What’s more, I will be living on the gorgeous campus at Smith College for the duration of camp, and orchestrating a fashion show as the culminating event. This can’t be real life! Someone needs to pinch me because I’m pretty sure I’m living the dream.
 

Outfit Details:

1950s Mint and White Striped Dress with Eyelet Details ~ Vintage Revenge
Vintage White Beaded Gloves ~ a gift from my mother
1950s Gold and White Basket Purse ~ Garment District
Vintage Double Strand Pearls ~ a gift from my mother
Pearl Bracelet ~ a gift from my mother
1950s Pink Tulle Petticoat ~ Ebay
Alice and Olivia Retro Heels (DIY spray-painted mint green) ~ Urban Renewals


Photography by Meaghan Moulton

Les Souvenirs: Reflections of an Overdressed Boston Girl

In French, “les souvenirs” means memories or recollections; as a verb, souvenir means to remember. I think it’s interesting how in English, souvenirs is something we ascribe to tangible things, things that you can hold in your hand, purchase at a flea market or an airport gift ship, and carry home with you. For the traveler, souvenirs are a way of conjuring memories, objects that symbolize a place and what that place meant to us, who we were then, and where we were headed. For me, my wardrobe is cache of souvenirs. Every morning, as I leaf through my dresses, I find myself coursing through my own history. Every hanger holds a relic—a reminder of who I was with, where I was, who sold it to me, or what happened to me the first or last time I wore it. Even stains and missing buttons are little footnotes of my own clumsiness. My dress collection is a richer, more accurate diary than I ever could have written. Often times, that’s the way I prefer it.

I have agonized over how to write about the changes that have recently taken place this week. I wanted to choose all of the right words and carefully crafted phrases so that I could process this on my own terms. But I realize now how foolish it is to think I ever have that kind of control, over language or life, or over how those two are received in print. No matter how I choose to render this, it will always be incomplete, but that’s okay. That’s part of the frustrating singularity of memory and experience: you can never fully translate it to someone else. You can describe it, trying to be exact as possible, but there will always be things that don’t exist in our limited vocabulary, feelings we don’t have precise enough words for.

Many of the dresses in my collection harken back to home for me: Boston, and all its surrounding settlements. This particular dress was the last dress I bought from Vintage Revenge before Denise closed up shop last spring. I have such fond memories of that store and I miss terribly the endearing second-hand-store gossip that came customary with every purchase.  I remember that this dress was an early birthday present to myself and I wore it that year to Cuchi Cuchi to celebrate the beginning of my twenty third year with a small gathering of friends. I called it my Disney Princess Dress because that’s how I felt wearing it. And also because it reminded me of the water in Switzerland—this surreal shade of blue that seemed purposely dyed that way to stupefy tourists in wonder.  Being that I don’t lead quite the lavish lifestyle that my closet would have you believe, many of my formal vintage dresses spend more time on hangers than flouncing about in sunshine. This particular dress, I have only had the chance to wear twice—with the second time being a few weeks ago, when I simply made the executive decision to make my own occasion. Some days, you just need to throw on a fancy dress and go gallivanting about with your fabulous photographer friend. Now, I’m really glad that I did.

These pictures were taken a few weeks ago in the Boston Gardens, just two blocks away from where the bombings occurred at the marathon finish line. This is the part where I gulp and freeze up. Something inside just aches when I think about how this place that I walked through, absentmindedly, hundreds of times—where I would occasionally plant myself against a tree between classes to read a book or work on a short story—is now forever associated with violence and senseless tragedy. My heart goes out to the victims of this attack and their loved ones. I cannot possibly imagine the tremendous sense of shock and grief they must feel. I know that my sadness pales in comparison to that, but still, I cannot deny the profound effect that this act has had on me.

That night, as I sat with my friends in a restaurant in Cambridge, feeling so many things and understanding none of them, the television screens kept replaying the footage of the explosions over and over. And the thing that struck me most was how unfamiliar that scene truly was. A few days earlier, I had walked through Copley Square on my way to tutor at the Boston Public Library, and I remember they were setting up the bleachers for the marathon. The scene being replayed all around me bore no resemblance to the Copley Square I knew—the Copley Square of farmers’ markets, and book fairs, the Copley Square where I spent my lunch breaks when I worked at H&M on Newbury St. This Copley Square was filled with smoke, blood, and panic. Every time the video played, I had to keep telling myself: this is real, this is real, this is real—this isn’t some foreign place; this is my home and it has just been attacked. And, I remember being angry with the restaurant staff. How could they keep this on, over and over? It seemed cruel.

And it was. But cruel or not, it’s real, and turning it off doesn’t make it go away. Things are just different. Every memory I have of Boston will now come attached with a qualifier of before or after the bombing. Part of me really hates that, feels it’s unfair, a complete contamination of my memories and my hometown. But that part of me is still grieving this, and the initial stage is fairly selfish and unable to accept change. Days later, the wound is still fresh but I understand now how little claim I have to indulgent forms of mourning like this, and how purposeless it is to spend any prolonged period of time holding resentments like these. Instead of despairing about how things will never be the same, I think it’s important not to resign myself to wasteful negative, emotions like bitterness and anger—and instead focus on finding ways to help, to care, to love.  

We can never undo the violence that was inflicted on our city, especially not if we focus on the pain, but we can band together and try to find ways to heal. Seeing so many people reach out to help in different ways gives me hope, and inspires me to find a way to be useful. Right now, the primary ways to help out are through donating blood or contributing to the Boston One Relief Fund. But, Bostonians are a resilient and resourceful people, and I have no doubt that in the coming weeks, we will see a wide variety of different types of volunteer opportunities, community efforts, and creative approaches to providing support. I know I will be looking for ways to be personally helpful, to turn compassion into action, and I hope you will, too—in the way that makes the most sense to you.

In the meantime, I am not going to let these bombings replace my memories of a city that has meant so much to me. I have resolved to make new memories, ones that include many more cameos from my fancy vintage party dress collection. I say, life is short; wear what makes you happy.

1950s Blue Lace Chiffon Party Dress ~ Vintage Revenge

Vintage Basket Purse ~ Davis Square Flea Market

Vintage Peal Necklace ~ a gift from my mother

Seychelles Pearl Peep Toe Pumps ~ DSW

Artifaktori Photoshoot @ Vintage Girl Studios, Winter 2013

Fifteen Minutes of Fame

Shame on me for not posting this sooner! These last couple months have been a hectic, dizzying mess and my brains have apparently morphed into marshmallow fluff. That's the only excuse I can think of as to why I would completely forget to share this lovely feature with my wonderful, charming, impeccably-dressed readership. Is that enough compliments to hold you all over until my next post? I sure hope so!

Back in February, I was contacted by Boston Globe Style Editor, Christopher Muther, about doing a brief interview for a retro-themed Instagram feature. Naturally, I was scouring the racks at Buffalo Exchange when I received the email, and I stopped, mid-browse, and proceeded to jump and squeal for several seconds, much to the dismay of neighboring shoppers. When I managed to compose myself, I promptly replied with something along the lines of, "Yes, a thousand times yes!"



You can check out the full interview here. Meanwhile, I'll be basking in the sweet leftover accolade that is my fifteen minutes of fame...oh and also, probably procrastinating doing schoolwork by ogling peep toe pumps on Etsy. 

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Have a Very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Outfit Details

1960s Lord and Taylor Red Plaid Wool Dress ~ a gift from my mother

Vintage Green Belt ~ (goes to another dress) Buffalo Exchange

Charcoal Oxford Heels ~ Second Time around

Gold Bow Headband ~ Sally Beauty Supply

Black and Gold Woven Box Purse ~ gift from yard sale vendors 

Racing Against the Sun

Yep. It's that time of year again. The time when the sun sets at 4:30 so I'm rushing around like a madwoman, taking a million buses and trying to get to from Medford to Allston before dark. The other day, as I rode on the 66 bus, I was watching the sun like I was the bus driver and we were racing for our lives (personally, I would've preferred to lip-synch for my life but the sun probably doesn't watch Rupaul's Drag Race). 

It was close, but in the end, I was victorious (take that you good-for-nothing, winter solstice! What is this? Scandinavia?!). I got off the bus around quarter past four, roughly fifteen minutes before sunset. We took these shots right on the walkway bridge over the Mass Pike--while passersby shot me weird looks.

Thankfully, on this chilly day I was wearing my new favorite winter staple, a 1970s double breasted brown wool coat with a super soft fox fur collar. Seriously, this coat is like something out of my dreams!  I love the quintessentially 70s fit and it has such a flattering cut. I found it at Poor Little Rich Girl at the end of the summer (probably while making some absurd gasping noises), but forced myself to wait to buy it until it got colder.

In mid-October, I returned, and thank god, it was still there! There's this unspoken rule with chronic thrifters like me: if you love something, set it free. If you come back and it's still there, it's meant to be! (This is also the unspoken rule for justifying vintage additions/hoarding.)

Forgetting that I had traveled by bike, I absentmindedly snatched that coat up and had to ride home with two gigantic shopping bags on my handlebars (okay, I bought a sweater poncho and a 1950s suit too). I only almost crashed once or twice. It was pretty comical and only slightly terrifying. Ah, the things we do for love vintage!

This 1950s dress was a similarly serendipitous find. My mother and I were browsing the racks at The Dress Code, a primarily contemporary consignment shop on Gloucester's main drag, when we happened upon this adorable and quintessentially midcentury gingham dress with THE ORIGINAL TAGS from Jordan Marsh. 

Lastly, we come to this amazing vintage cross stitch purse that I found at a small store on Beacon St (this place is roughly the size of my bedroom) between my house in Porter and Inman Sq. I first spotted it in the window display months and months ago (swooning like a goon in the process), but the store had weird hours and I never seemed to walk or ride by when it was open. Then, about three weeks ago, when I was planning on going to Providence for a vintage bazaar, plans fell through and I found myself biking to Inman Sq., and as luck would have it, they (Suzuki Bean) were open! The owner was incredibly sweet. She told me how she bought the bag in Berlin and it traveled all over Europe and then back to the states with her. She said she was so delighted that the purse going to a good home, which made my day! I have to say, my favorite part of the hunt (apart from acquiring amazing new things, of course) is bonding with other vintage lovers and piecing together the history of each new find.

Outfit Details
1970s Brown Double-Breasted Wool Coat with Fox Fur Collar ~ Poor Little Rich Girl

1950s Jordan Marsh Deadstock Tan Gingham Circle-Skirt Dress ~ The Dress Code

Miz Mooz Tillman Pump

Vintage Floral Cross Stitch Purse ~ Suzuki Bean
Cream Fingerless Gloves with Knit Rosettes ~ Buffalo Exchange
Tan Fleece-Lined Tights ~ TJ Maxx

Happy Halloween from Mary Poppins & Bert

Happy Halloween!

Outfit Details:
1950s Navy Wool Suit with Rhinestone Buttons ~ Poor Little Rich Girl
Vintage Navy Hat with Bows ~ Poor Little Rich Girl
1980s Victorian-Inspired White Shirt with Embroidered Collar ~ Artifaktori
Red Bow Necktie ~ Buffalo Exchange
1980s/90s Victorian-Inspired Gray Boots ~ Material Objects 
Vintage White Gloves ~ The Red Velvet Shoe

Photography by Nicolle Saylor