Nangle Natters: Don’t look back in anger

I’m not old, I’m retro. And I’ll explain how that exactly works and isn’t a cry for every anti-wrinkle cream known to womankind.
I first noticed it when I was a kid. I coveted my mother’s clothes because they were original. The market stalls called it ‘vintage’ but I knew it just meant that the stitching was good enough that it hadn’t fallen apart yet, and the design was classic enough that it held its shape and both my mother and I could get away with wearing it. Although I quickly learnt that in borrowing such marvellous attire I shouldn’t bung her cashmere paisley polo neck in the wash with my Gap jeans. Vintage shrinks, apparently.
But it wasn’t long before I was wishing I still had that Alanis Morissette t-shirt with tour dates in my wardrobe. It wasn’t exactly ‘old’, I certainly couldn’t flog it as a collectable, but it was retro – a little bit cool, certainly not band up-to-date, but wearing its age well. And growing in value with its age.
Like me – I hope! So I’m retro. Pleased to meet you. Let’s become vintage together. Shrinkage optional.