I would like to introduce you to Rhiannon from Vintage Extraordinaire.
This is her guest post, enjoy...
Name: Rhiannon Derbyshire
Blog address : www.vintageextraordinaire.blogspot.com
A little about me : Born and raised in Cardiff, but I saught for the bright lights of London as soon as I hit adolesence. I’ve since moved to Epsom (don’t worry no-one else’s heard of it either) to study fashion journalism, and the obvious added bonus is that London is a mere 30-minute train journey away. At the age of six, I told my mum, “I won’t be wearing those Doc Martens” and ever since, I’ve been in charge of my own fashion decisions. Some choices have inevitably been ill thought out (my “sporty spice” phase at the age of 11 for example) but since then I’ve developed a huge appetite for the latest trends and am constantly on the lookout for the ‘must-have’ item of the season. Quite obviously though, I am not Paris Hilton, so I tend to keep an eye out at local charity shops and am an eBay expert, bidding in the last 10 seconds on a pair of battered old brogues. Nevertheless, I’ve come a long way from being a stroppy 6 year old that refused to wear Doc Martens (I’d love a pair now actually...).
Oh, and I secretly wish I was a 50’s housewife baking cakes all day.
One of my favourite vintage finds :
On my blog, I do a regular feature in which I show off my favourite vintage finds, but the one I’ve had the most wear out of has to be this navy jacket. Bought last September at Beyond Retro (just off Carnaby Street in London. If you haven’t checked it out yet you simply must! It’s brilliant!). It was a steal at £17. As I reached the till, this is approximately, what was running through my head: “Oh my God! How come this is so cheap! It’s brilliant! Ohh I love it. God I’m starving” I added the “God I’m starving bit” because I utter phrase roughly once an hour. Nonetheless, I skipped out of the store with a carrier bag on my wrist and a song in my heart, but there was a down side to this tale of glee. It wasn’t until I collapsed in a cafe to fulfil my stomach’s needs that I noticed that the jacket was just a bit tiny. In my haste, I hadn’t studied the jacket properly, and a glance at the label gave me an idea of the size – “GENUINE SCHOOL UNIFORM.” Well this can’t be good “Size‘s’ – age 7/8”
I instantly had the sinking feeling that I get when I realise I have a deadline by tomorrow morning and all I’ve done is sit by my laptop scoffing crisps. I didn’t want to have to take it back so I tried it on, hoping for the best. The fit was snug, but not unbearably so, and I decided to keep the jacket. The ride home was a bit awkward, our relationship was like with someone you’d had a whirlwind romance with, only to later realise that we hated each other. A few months later, the big chill hit Cardiff, and I found the jacket hidden under a pile of old hats and scarves. The snug fit actually worked to its advantage as it stopped the breeze fluttering through to my pale skin. And the occasional lack of circulation to my wrists was worth it for the warmth. The whirlwind romance was back on track.