They are referred to as “the drug bust pillows”.
They take up a 3 foot by 3 foot space on my wooden floor.
And they came with a sketchy past.
They once decorated a fancy Soho club until the owner was busted by the DEA for laundering drug money and everything was seized. The chocolate velvet pillows then made their way to a community second hand store and into my hands.
I live among objects of story.
There is a little pink house in Brooklyn that for years I’ve passed by and imagined it was mine. It has a little garden in front, and did I mention it’s pink? One day, I passed by it with longing, and was surprised to find a perfect pink velvet Victorian chair standing elegantly in front.
My fantasy house birthed my fantasy chair.
The house was just saying…no, you can’t have me yet. But I’ll tease you and give you a tiny piece of me to take with you.
And take it I did.
The folding chairs I own were once owned by the original incarnation of the world famous Slipper Room. They once held audiences sitting at the very edges of them while watching emerging neo-burlesque in New York City for years. They were also dragged on stage by burlesque girlies to sit down upon while peeling off their stockings. They also have handmade decadent red brocade slip covers made by Burlesque Queen, Jo Weldon.
My clothes, almost without exception, are finds from second-hand stores. When I do shop, I go for that love-at-first-sight moment…that *gasp* for the second that my eyes meet something beautiful and sparkly among the other tossed off things.
1920s sequins, beads, and silk.
1940s cream lace.
Still crisp 1950s gingham.
A 1960s Girl Scout Leader Uniform.
A 1970s leopard jumpsuit.
Vintage slips from the 20s to the 60s.
All with history, all with former lives with other women throughout time. And now they have landed in my hands, they know I will take them out regularly and often.
I will dance in them until the bouncers kick us out, and I will wind up in a pile of people in the gutter looking at the stars.
They get very dirty being with me. But we are living, hun-nay.
Size 10 roller skates.
My size. Rare.
A gift from New York City, herself.
She wants me to fly through these streets like a ghost.
Confession: I was feeling lonely for a moment yesterday morning and was filling my heart with all the beautiful pictures of you that you’ve left in the comment sections on previous posts. I love seeing you. I love being able to communicate with you like this. So…. do you have any beautiful vintage finds that have wowed you and made you gasp when you spotted them? Show me in the comments. I wanna squeal with you in delight.
Loving you from Brooklyn in my 1930s slip.