I know you by your legs

Okay, potentially creepy/stalkerish sounding post title, I know, but I promise you there is an entirely innocent explanation behind it! :)

You see, as a general rule, when reading posts in my feed reader (Bloglovin'), I do so by starting with the oldest posts first, which are at the bottom of the page of new entries. Thus as I work my way from the end of the list to the top, I often see a person's feet and/or legs first as a photo accompanying an outfit post appears.

{1940s image source}

I've been reading my feeds like this for years now and have been following many of the blogs that those gams belong to the authors of, for far longer still. As such, I can often tell who a new post is from before I even scroll up to the part that says the blog's name, simply by seeing their feet/legs. I find this rather charming and hope you'll see it as such, too, for it leads me to a far greater point.

In about two weeks from now, this blog will hit 6.5 years of life. In that time I've had the great pleasure of getting to cross paths with literally thousands of fellow bloggers (vintage and otherwise). Some for the briefest of spells, others for multiple years, and some for longer still than I myself have been penning a vintage blog (I started following their sites prior to launching to my own). Quite a few of these folks have become friends - also for varying lengths of time - and a few have become so dear to me they feel like sisters.

It's scarcely a state secret that the vintage blogging world has shrunk somewhat in the last (roughly) three years (a point that I briefly touched on in this post). There are a plethora of reasons (the rise of certain "instant share" sites like Instagram certainly being one them) for this and I won't go into great deal about such here now. Suffice it to say, the vintage blogging pool is not as vast as it once was and that makes me all the more grateful for those who are still keeping at 'er, as I myself am, too.

No matter if such folks are blogging peers, personal acquaintances, friends, or die-hard BFFs, I know them - or in other words, I know you. Whether we've only talked through our blogs - perhaps even one sided-ly (in other words, I've commented on your site, but you haven't on mine) - or have conversed elsewhere, too, by sheer virtue of the fact that you've been sharing part of your life with me - and the world - online for quite some time, I genuinely feel like I know you and this is a beautiful thing unto itself.

I appreciate all of my fellow bloggers, particularly the vintage ones, as we walk a similar path in this new found digital world of ours. I find myself remembering fellow blogger's birthdays, anniversaries, and even due dates. I know who adores 1940s swing dresses, who can't get enough of two tone 30s shoes, and who 1950s circle skirts make go positively weak in the knees.

From BF/GF/husband/wife/partner's names to what people studied in school to favourite colours and foods, a body of knowledge has been acquired and cataloged for many of my fellow bloggers simply by virtue of the fact of how long I've known them and how frequently I've read their wonderful blogs. I have know doubt that many of you reading this post today can say the same about me and I love that fact.

Even the most raw, open and honest person never shares everything about themselves online - and that's a good thing (we all need and deserve some privacy, after all), but we all present a certain version of who we are to the world via our blogs (and social media presences) and what we opt to divulge or not.

Whether we chose to be an open book or present a very curated picture of ourselves and our lives, we still share who we are and those who give of themselves and their time to kindly follow our sites, learn about us through our photos, what we write, and sometimes even what is left unsaid.

I guess what I'm trying to say is how much I care for and appreciate every single one of you, my fellow bloggers and friends. Thank you for opening up your lives with me and allowing me to do the same here day after day, week after week, and ultimately year after year.

We've shared so much and I hope that a great deal more lies in store for all of us who continue to keep our blogs alive and going strong. I look forward to getting to know you even better - shoes and all - and hope that we can keep on supporting one another's sites, efforts (long term frequent blogging is a huge amount of work and very often a sheer labour of love for those doing so, especially in a relatively small niche like the vintage world), and cheer each other on as we continue to blog, share and grow as both individuals and an online community as a whole.

Pacific Standard deviation

 
Over the course of my blog's life, I've had the wonderful pleasure of being interviewed by a wide array of magazines, websites, and even BBC radio, and running through those various interviews was always a common thread of sorts created by a general set of questions pertaining to my interest in history, how long I've loved vintage, why I wore old school fashions and so on. I enjoy questions like this and don't mind that sometimes I need to come up with creative ways to rephrase what is essentially the same answer time and time again (the truth is the truth after all!).
 
Change can be a good thing though and so it was with great interest and a certain sense of the unknown that I embarked on being interviewed by Pacific Standard magazine earlier this year, whose questions, by and large, were anything but run-of-the-mill.

Indeed, over the course of many emails containing a collective 8,000+ words, phone calls with two staff members, and a photo shoot (done by Tony - ahh, the perks of being married to someone who is a professional photographer on top of their busy corporate 9-5) dictated by a specific set of guidelines the magazine required, I was put through my paces when it came to a substantial array of vintage related topics.

By and large, Pacific Standard - a terrific bimonthly magazine that focuses on current American and international issues pertaining to the environment, education, economics, health, science, and society - was not interested in my favourite red lipstick, where I bought that cute 40s tilt hat, or what my first memory of liking vintage was. No, they, not surprisingly, came-a-calling to discuss my thoughts on the subculture of vintage as a whole and what it's like to live with one foot planted firmly in the past, while still being an active member of today's culture.

With the rapid fire finesse of that sort that few aside from journalists and lawyers can level at those they are addressing, the chap who was interviewing me shot thought provoking question after question at me on topics pertaining to the vintage subculture, my place within it, my views on the good and the bad (i.e., misogyny and racism) elements of the mid-twentieth century alike, and scores of other topics which few, if any, interviews I'd ever had before even so much as flirted with.

This was not a fashion or vintage lifestyle magazine interview and that point shone through in each question, most of which came with follow up queries that I felt were intended to get a precisely honed answer from of me. It was a spirited few weeks, those email filled ones with Pacific Standard, and when all was said and done, I wasn't quite sure what to expect when it came to what would actually appear in print.

{The cover of the July/August 2014 edition of Pacific Standard magazine which includes the recent interview I had with this engaging, highly modern magazine. It was, to say the least, a deviation from the the usual types of interviews that I tend to have with publications – so hence the punny wordplay in title of this post. Image from Pacific Standard’s Facebook page.}

I knew that it was to be a relatively short piece (I'd been informed of as much early on), part of an ongoing series of the magazine's which examines various subcultures and other smaller groups within the bigger mainframe of society. However, having sensed (whether such was actually the case or not) that they were looking for comments amongst my replies which might incite a touch of controversy or ruffle a few feathers, I will admit to feeling both trepidation and excitement about seeing the final article.

It wasn't until just last week when the print copy that Pacific Standard kindly sent my way arrived that I finally had a chance to do just that. In short note point form, weaving together snippets and lines from various answers I'd given, the interviewer selected a modest sized handful of my statements (amongst scores of others that didn't make it into print) and put together a fun piece that aimed to provide a quick, engaging, informative overview of what the world and daily lives of those who delight in vintage is all about it.

Would I have ideally liked to have seen certain other points that I made there, too? Yes, for sure, but I was able to at long last at least breath a certain sense of relief because my words weren't twisted so as to take what I said out of context (always a risk with any magazine, newspaper, or other media interview - not a reflection on Pacific Standard in the slightest).

It's worth nothing again that this piece wasn't meant to be just about me. I was momentarily the voice for the entire vintage adoring world as a whole, a point that I was acutely aware of when answering Pacific Standard's questions, and I hope dearly that those who read the piece from within in our yesteryear loving world will feel that I did a good job of delivering on that front (to do so, you will need to get a hold of a digital or print copy of Pacific Standard).

I am wholeheartedly grateful to Pacific Standard for this interview and that, out of all the vintage loving folks in the whole wide world, they honed in on, and wanted to talk with, me.

Doing so with them was outside of my comfort zone, unique, and laced with plenty of hard hitting questions that went considerably deeper and further towards the marrow of my passion for vintage, my view on our subculture, and why it's important to celebrate the past than any other I'd been a part of before ever had. For that reason alone, amongst many others, I will always be happy that I had a chance to be interviewed by a magazine where vintage was not at its heart in the slightest.

Comfort zones, like a cozy and much loved vintage sweater, are warm and wonderful things, but they can lull us into a sleepy stupor, so to speak, if they're all we surround ourselves with. It is important, at least every now and then, to put on a sheer blouse, tweed suit, pair of leather pants, or in this case, take part in an interview with a prestigious current affairs magazine, and show to ourselves and the world that we're able to hold on our in a wide array of situations, be they sartorial, journalistic, or darn near anything else.