Casual Friday: Vintage Wool and Chambray

This cream and navy checkered wool jacket was a discovery amongst the folds of a forest of fabrics, polyester dresses and silk scarves and thick blazers, in the back of a corner vintage shop at the base of the Sacre Coeur in Montmartre. Despite the volumes of pieces in this cluttered shop, tucked away between hair braiding salons and the type of butcher stores where whole skinned cows hung in the window, swinging like meat pendulums, and the general sensory overload of the streets, my eye was captured by the golden yellow trim and the smooth, dimpled golden buttons. The waist-grazing cut, the classic wool, the nautical color scheme, seemed such a sharp juxtaposition to the flavors of Rue Poulet, spices from far away, uncooked pink chicken, fried flour, wafts of caustic hair spray, ready to set the air ablaze, with a single strike of a red-headed match.

Unfortunately, and all too commonly, after making my almost impulse purchase of this jacket and transporting it back to the east coast, I realized the wool glistened with an acute perfume, a mingling of lived experiences and wardrobe stagnation. I did a bit of research, and tried a simple home remedy: soaking the item in a basin of warm water with a cup or so of white wine vinegar added, then allowing it to air dry. Incredulous at first, I was pleasantly surprised when the trick worked.

 

For our day of denim in the office, I paired my Parisian flair with a simple and comfortable chambray shirt dress, another apt juxtaposition. 

An emulation of the taut braids, adroitly woven with nimble fingers with painted nails, these golden earrings wrap, tangible metal electron orbital shells, silent and no longer moving.