Love is a funny thing. When it happens that you first meet ‘The One’, you simply know that they will be all you need. You will go roofless, shoeless, sleepless and none of it will faze you because ‘they’ are with you. When my special gentleman first moved to Dublin I was brimming with such happiness that I knew I could live just in the clothes in which I stood and be ecstatic by his side forever.
Then the weekend happened. And what d’ya know? It turns out that maybe this one outfit won’t actually do forever more… maybe my eyes have started roving … toward the shop windows around Drury St.
If you are a female you have without doubt been advised (read: accused) of having plenty of beautiful garments to choose from for your next pressing engagement – they have not been ‘worn to death’/ you are not too large/ you have plenty. I take particular offence to the last one… I mean since when did ‘plenty’ equal appropriate?
Boys will never ‘get’ clothes like girls do. Boys wear clothes but ladies, we dress. My look on any given day can completely give away my feelings. They are a true representation of my personality and although with time we mature and our tastes change, these clothes often remain important to us as they recall a time, place or experience that we want to cherish. Now I know that not everyone has this relationship with their clothing but you see I was never a volume shopper – it’s always been ‘specialness’ over quantity and it is because of this that I feel attachment for nearly every garment hanging in my wardrobe. This is particularly true of my beloved vintage items.
As it does, life went on with my Boo and me. Milestones were reached and developments occurred. One of those significant times happened recently when we decided to move in, just the two of us, to our would-be love nest. Excitement, trepidation, and lots of day dreaming ensued. Oh wouldn’t this just be love-a-lee?!
Soon it was time to unpack. My clothes. And his clothes. Into a small wardrobe space. Apparently this is where that novel word everyone had been bandying about came into play. Com … Comp… Compromise! What a charming little idea. Ok, so I see that you’re struggling to fit your clothes into the wardrobe my dear, so (and only because it’s you now), I have decided that I shall squash my sheets over to just one corner of the airing cupboard and make room for your clothes! Isn’t sharing just wonderful?
This wasn’t received well. Oh dear … he’ll have to go.
Well it turns out that I actually still quite liked the old chap and so, in a very grown up manner, decided to release some of my clothes in the name of love. Now I’m a huge supporter of charity shops and I also have a ‘dress up’ box in my Mamas for those clothes that I feel really represent an era in my life that my nieces will love me for keeping. (My nieces are 4 and, although dressing up is very much their thing, they’re currently rocking more Cinderella than Wigfield. Still… one day). Neither route felt right for this particular undertaking however. This time I wanted to see my garments off to their new homes. And so, as I’d always threatened to do, I took a stall at my favorite Dublin market, The Ferocious Mingle.
The Mingle is a wonderfully bizarre mix of incredibly talented characters, donned in fancy dress, selling eclectic goods and generally having a rather wonderful time. Every time I’ve gone, I’ve been infected by the energy and buoyant atmosphere. I’ve always found marvelous items from an array of artists/ designers/ bakers/ you-name-its. For this particular Mingle, the Front Lounge was being taken over for the first time and completely transformed of a Sunday afternoon. Although slightly nervous for my virgin stall outing, I relished in the buzz and had quite a thrilling day. I was completely taken by surprise when I my first browser visited and I was suddenly overcome with nerves. I must have been acting slightly edgy for some time because it took a good 2 hours before I actually sold anything… but once the first deal was done I was on a roll. (The first item was a dress that my little sister had often borrowed from me. The buyer was my little sister! Oh well, her sympathy was much appreciated.)
I’m sure those people that did take home some of ‘my’ clothes were slightly scared by the Spanish Inquisition they encountered before sale was final, but at least I knew the good owners my much loved apparel were off with and so we were both happy in the end. Of course, there was a third party happy too. Special Gentleman now has exactly one-tenth of wardrobe space … all of his very own.
And so with the weekend that’s in it, I heartily recommend that you take your Valentine off to Sunday’s Mingle in The Food Co-op to feast together on one of Caryna’s divine Cakes and then perhaps choose a gift from the unique A Box For My Treasure collection or the (steeped in history) Muskoka Jewels.