I’m a sucker for vintage . . .

In the closet of someone’s stylish great-grandmother is where I feel my most girly, my most playful, surrounded by crisp Edwardian whites and lascivious Art Deco velvets. Channeling my love of bygone eras into House of Simpkin satisfies the little girl in me teaching herself how to make a homemade hoop skirt with wire hanger and shoelace. Caressing the antiquity of Victorian silk, or twirling in the softness of Mid-Century voile, brings out the silliest of smiles. For me, vintage is a vacation from the present, an indulgent reprieve from the more analytical obsessions of my mind. Time-travel with me. Shop a little greener, wear clothes a little prouder, and feel for yourself what people mean when they say, “They just don’t make ’em like this anymore.”