unicorns are a rare find, you know. July 14, 2005 2:48 am >> I was wondering around Oxford (UK) one day and came across this somewhat run-down-looking shop. It had a little bit of graffiti here, a little bit of cracked wood there... But the thing that really caught my attention was its window. "What a great place to play dress up," quoth I (I am a 5-year-old at heart). "And look at those purses in the window." Instantly intrigued by this rarity of a shop, I tried the door. No luck, it's 1:30 pm, and all is not well -- why is this Unicorn shop not open? We walked next door to the sandwich shop I call Herpes (actually Heroes, someone just tampered with the sign), and asked whether the shop was still open. "Why yes," quoth she. "The woman just opens it whenever she feels like."
I must have checked back 4 or 5 times before the elusive Unicorn was finally open. That fateful day was a rainy day, and 3 guys were standing outside with umbrellas while their girlfriends packed themselves into the tiny open space, crawling over each other to get to the goods. It's not that the shop was small, it's that there were so many piles of clothing everywhere. Piles as tall as I am. It was amazing, it was like digging for gold -- you never know what you're going to pull up. And you couldn't even get to the back half of the store, because there was this huge wall of clothing cutting you off from it. The little gray-haired woman who ran the store kind of reminded me of Miss Havisham, sans the rotting wedding dress. She had that musty smell about her, and it permeated the entire shop, as if she hadn't left the place in ages, and just sat in there at night, watching over her collection in a place that never sees light (when I went in, the store was dark -- there were no lights). She had kind of a creepy yellowed-teeth smile, and her hair looked like the cotton batting you would stuff your teddy bear with. She just climbed all over her clothes to get where she needed with Smeagol-like dexterity, and she had that same mischievious twinkle in her eye.
Maybe it's because she knew she was cheated me out of some good money. Yes, that's right, I found a couple of wonderful pieces. The first being a Victorian-inspired velvet jacket (love velvet jackets) with shoulder pads (so '80s, I know, but it actually looks quite regal with the jacket's cut). It has satin ribbon lining, which gives it this high-collared look at the neck. Gorgeous, and perfect for the fall, with the velvet and the Victorian both being all over the runway. Miss Havisham (the Unicorn woman) told me that it was designed by Laura Phillips, a well-respected seamstress in England. I was skeptic, as I should have been -- I came home later and googled it, and nothing came up. But that was supposed to explain why the jacket was ₤29 -- it was a "coveted piece." Uh huh. But I justified it to myself -- never in the States have a found such a great vintage store. Plus, I loved the jacket, and when was the next time this store was going to be open, anyway?
Same for the second piece -- it's this great paisley '70s bohemian-looking shrug. I saw it and thought, "I'll never ever come across a piece like that again." It was a basilisk, that shrug -- it froze me in my steps -- that's how taken I was. Plus, I like the kimono-inspired bell sleeves. So again, Miss Havisham had me -- this time for a mere ₤24. Ah well, such is life. These are the best kind of souvenirs anyway -- the ones that actually mean something to me personally. They're better than a plastic Union Jack flag or a cheap Eiffel Tower replica any day. As much as I feel like Miss Havisham takes advantage of me, I do hope to visit her again at least once before I leave. But we'll have to see what happens -- I kind of feel like that store is the Atlantis of vintage.
the spanish civil war, pt. 2: mango v. zara July 7, 2005 4:14 am >> Everyone always told me that when in Spain, one shops at Mango and Zara. I think it's kinda like when in England, you shop at H&M and TopShop. In other words, none of these stores are the best you can find out there, but they're still something to check out, if only to know what everyone else is talking about.
Of course both Mango and Zara have stores outside of Spain (Zara even has one in Houston), but I thought I would check both out in their fatherland (maybe they would be more special that way?). So, I give you my impressions:
MANGO:
Honestly, I didn't stay in the store very long at all. I am what you might call a "super power shopper" -- I go into store, glance around at stuff, and can tell pretty quickly after that if I want to look any further at their clothes. I'm not one of those people that has to touch every single item in the store for 30 seconds apiece. And seeing how I didn't stay in Mango for very long, you have probably guessed that I wasn't very impressed. The clothes seemed just very basic, and while everyone needs some basics, it would have been nice to see a little personality as well. It's a store that is totally forgettable, and so are the clothes. If you wanted me to find an American equivalent, it would probably be an Abercrombie without so many jeans for sale, because the prices weren't super-cheap, and there was that general aura of blandness. I think the Spaniards felt pretty much the same, because there wasn't exactly enough people in the store to call it "busy."
ZARA:
Zara, on the other hand, was absolutely crawling with people. In fact, for the day and a half I was in San Sebastian, I must have seen at least 50 different people (all locals) running around with Zara shopping bags. And the bag carriers spanned all ages, from 10-year-old to grandma. When I went inside, it was pretty difficult to navigate because of the sheer amount of people packed into the tiny little trendy-store aisles. I have to say, the clothes are better that Mango's -- there are more prints and little details to make the clothing more personalized. The prices were about the same as Mango's, if not a slight bit more expensive. It really reminded me of an Express, the same kind of trendy prints on fabric of so-so quality that they can sell off for more than they really should charge -- you know what I mean.
I am glad that I went, however, because I found a girl in a great outfit to paparazzi-stalk. I'm not even joking, I saw her in Zara and was like, wow, what a great outfit, so I sat across the street from the Zara entrance and waited for her to exit. I felt so weird, and definitely got some weird looks, but hopefully I could just pass it off as being a brainless American tourist. I even sent my boyfriend on reconnaissance missions back into the store to see where this girl was and when she was nearing the entrance. I'm really glad she was with a friend, so she didn't notice that she was being stalked by American tourists (we really are ridiculous, I know).
the little old woman who lived in a tiny shoe store July 4, 2005 5:37 am >> From Barcelona, we moved on to San Sebastian, a gorgeous little resort town in the Spanish Basque country (right). It was amazing how everywhere we went -- Sevilla, Barcelona, San Sebastian -- had such a different feel to it. But I guess its the same for the States -- NYC, Atlanta, and LA are all strikingly different, so I'm not sure why it surprised me so much about Spain. San Sebastian had a much cozier small-town feel to it than the other two, not to mention the promenade and its view of the Bay of La Concha were breathtaking.
It was our last stop in Spain before entering into other countries, so I absolutely had to pick up a good pair of espadrilles. I have been in love with them since I was a zygote, so really, I couldn't pass up the chance. My boyfriend/translator (he speaks the Spanish and I speak the French) asked the hostess at our hostel where she recommended finding a quality pair of said type of shoes, and surprisingly, she didn't understand "espadrille." Now that's funny. Here I was always thinking that espadrille was a Spanish word (so maybe I'm ignorant), when in fact, it was French, all along. Tricksy, that word "espadrille" is. So after describing the shoe to her, we come to find out that espadrilles are actually called "alpargatas." Off we went.
top of the day to you, my dear July 3, 2005 4:41 pm >> I'm baaaaaack (for right now, anyway)! After a week of plane-, train-, and city-hopping, and nearly missing my [insert connecting flight or train here] multiple times, I've finally settled into good old London, England, home of my boy Union Jack. Don't worry, just because I was in foreign surroundings doesn't mean that fashion became a foreign thing to me. If anything, I have TONS of good stuff to relay. So sit back, put your seat upright, and prepare for takeoff!
Tightsplease
Blugirl