My wardrobe isn't a very extensive one. None of it is old enough to be called vintage, but it does contain the odd item that dates back to when my age was still in the single digits, and which I still fit into (this doesn't mean I am skinny- far from it in fact, it just means that the young BFH wore a lot of oversized clothes), and of these, the one I loved most was a pink chiffon blouse* that fastened at the neck with a pink chiffon rose. The flower in question wasn't a necessary part of the garment, just a silly bit of frippery, but my nine-year-old, fifteen-year-old and twenty-one-year-old selves can all remember being impossibly in love with it, which might have also been partly due to the fact that the blouse was so delicate that it only got pulled out for Very Special occasions.
The football World Cup final in 2006 was the last of these, which I remember rather clearly because I slopped gin down a sleeve after Zidane headbutted Materazzi. It was also the last time I ever saw The Rose, which was unpinned from the neck in order to save it from the rough-and-tumble of a cleaning it didn't need. Six months later, when a party begged for The Rose to be worn with fuck-off boots and scruffy jeans, it was nowhere to be seen- despite the fact that I'd lovingly wrapped it in tissue paper and tucked it away in a box. Much searching of cupboards ensued, but nothing came of that, and even now I can't bring myself to wear the blouse again, despite the fact that it looks perfectly all right with nothing at the neck. It's still really pretty, though..
I'm rather curious about the sartorial loves and losses of my readers, too- whether via misplacement, destruction, getting given away or grown out of..do tell me about it, please?
*not too far off in shape from this one, only it was sheer, slimmer and had a higher neck. And of course, the one in the picture doesn't have The Rose.