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Once, you could find rare fashion items in the local op shop. But today, it’s unlikely you’ll discover a coveted designer label from the 1980s, ’90s and early noughties under a stack of old clothes dropped off at a charity store. Clothes from this era are now referred to collectively as “vintage”, and it’s become one of the strongest growth areas in fashion worldwide. Here, three Australian collectors discuss the thrill of building their vintage fashion treasure troves.
Gilles Du Puy
The founder of Déclic, a men’s clothing and accessories business in Melbourne and Sydney, has been immersed in fashion and design since he started his business in the late 1980s. His warehouse-style home in South Yarra, Melbourne, is filled with suits, shirts and hundreds of ties that capture the history of fashion through the decades.
The ties include those from New York designer Gene Meyer, along with Moschino, Hubert de Givenchy, Piero Fornasetti, Dolce & Gabbana and Hedi Slimane, with Slimane heralding the return of the narrow tie and silhouette for men in 2000. A knitted panelled shirt from Comme des Garçons from the early 1990s also appears in his collection, along with a pristine white shirt by Viktor & Rolf with its original swing tags. A rack of suits by Versace, Paul Smith and Zegna, also from this period, stands nearby, with many of the ties kept in a vintage suitcase or in boxes in the basement.
A Dolce & Gabbana tie from the early ’90s includes a racy image of a female from the 1950s, concealed on the tipping (the lining at the end). “When I was working, I’d always wear a suit and tie,” says Du Puy. “Now these pieces act as touchstones to my past as much as reflecting each period.”
He also recalls the impact that certain films had on fashion: “Remember Michael Douglas in Wall Street and the power image his character [Gordon Gekko in the late 1980s film] portrayed, as well as his brashness?” Pleated trousers, braces and wide ties all became popular as a result.
This overly confident attitude of “anything is possible” is reflected in the width (up to nine centimetres) of many of the ties displayed on the oak table in his own library. “Hedi Slimane made a similar impact with his narrow ties, ushering in a time of considerably more restraint,” he says.
While Du Puy has since sold Déclic, he still loves visiting great vintage stores in Paris. He sees the “thirst” of Parisian shoppers hunting for vintage pieces, including those from Maison Margiela. Stores, such as The Broken Arm in Haut-Marais, sell vintage Comme des Garçons with substantial price tags. “Often, these shirts from the 1980s are more expensive than the latest designs,” he says.
While the urge to buy has slightly subsided, he still enjoys returning home to Melbourne with a vintage shirt or tie. “They’re like art, but wearable art. It still feeds my creativity.”
Sandy Geyer
Interior designer Sandy Geyer, who founded the Melbourne-based practice Geyer (now Geyer Valmont) with her partner Peter Geyer, could have easily chosen a career in fashion. In her teens, she would pore over Vogue patterns and make her own clothes.
Today, meticulous cataloguing in the bedroom of her Victorian terrace in Parkville, Melbourne, includes images of the shoes found in the 100 or so boxes that line her wall-to-wall wardrobe or are neatly stacked below the bed. The names on the boxes, along with the labels on her mainly black clothes, are a who’s who of the fashion world: Yohji Yamamoto, Comme des Garçons, Vivienne Westwood and Maison Martin Margiela, along with early designs from Thierry Mugler, Romeo Gigli and Jean Paul Gaultier.
When Geyer started working in the 1970s, she could afford to buy the latest fashion from the House of Merivale and Mr John. “The first thing I bought was an aqua, double-breasted fisherman’s rib cardigan, paid off in instalments,” she says. Later, other stores in Melbourne and Sydney, such as Masons, Saba, Trellini and Cose Ipanema, started to import Japanese and European fashion. A 1990s Martin Margiela wool coat, with its high collar, is still a favourite.
‘There’s that sense of exhilaration in purchasing something unique, or a limited-edition piece.’
Sandy Geyer
Geyer delights in presenting each piece and explaining its history, the cut and silhouette, as well as the fabric. She recalls going to Singapore for business during the ’90s and hunting down what was known as “The Gorilla Store”. Her route took her to an eight-storey housing estate with shops and other commercial uses at ground level.
“The roller door was shut and I had to wait for at least an hour,” Geyer recalls. The wait paid off when the first box opened revealed an organza shirt appliqued with oversized roses from the mid-1980s. She knew instinctively it was by Comme des Garçons. A pleated skirt with a boxy-shaped shirt, both from Yohji Yamamoto, are often worn with jewellery designed by Mari Funaki, one of Australia’s most revered contemporary jewellers.
For Geyer, clothing is an art form, as exemplified by her Yohji Yamamoto black leather handbag from the mid-1980s, one of only two in Australia and designed with its own pedestal. It sits on the bedroom ledge in front of a painting by Scottish artist Leon Morrocco. “I wouldn’t say that I am, or was, obsessed with chasing great clothes,” she says. “There’s that sense of exhilaration in purchasing something unique or a limited-edition piece and the feeling of wearing something so beautiful. It elevates the spirits.”
Cara Weinstock
The owner of Cara Mia Vintage, Weinstock has been hunting for vintage clothes for almost 30 years. Her Mediterranean-style home in Sydney’s eastern suburbs includes a large space referred to as the “shop”, which is brimming with racks of clothing both for sale and for her own personal wardrobe – an estimated 1000 items between the two.
“Certain pieces move between both,” says Weinstock, whose personal collection includes a strong representation of Vivienne Westwood, including an impressive six corsets from the early 1990s. “I just sold a number of vintage pieces to a stylist who was searching for gowns for stars attending red-carpet events in Los Angeles.”
Weinstock, who studied media and communications before switching to law, and later followed her passion for vintage, recalls a “lightning bolt” moment when the “hunt” started. “I bought a Versace couture dress at the Rozelle collectors market when I was 16. From memory, it cost about $50.”
Her largest windfall was 10 years ago, when she came across a Melbourne woman selling vintage Yves Saint Laurent from the 1970s and ’80s on eBay on behalf of a friend. That stash comprised about 500 pieces, with most items unworn and with their original tags. Weinstock was told that many of the items, including bags and shoes, came from the iconic Georges department store in Collins Street, so she jumped on a plane to Melbourne that day. After the shock of the “great reveal”, she purchased the lot (a condition of the sale was that it be sold in its entirety), and shipped everything back to Sydney. “I still have a few pieces but Yves Saint Laurent designed for tall slim women and I’m shorter and curvier,” she says. “That [Melbourne collection] was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
She still receives calls, such as a recent one from a woman in Canberra who had been collecting designers, such as Chanel, for 40 years. In this instance, a trip resulted in a couple of Chanel suits from the 1990s and a few evening dresses from the ’60s and ’70s.
For Weinstock, as with many people addicted to vintage fashion, wearing vintage allows her to feel “special” and reflect her own personality.
“Vintage comes with a whole other life, a history. It’s also beautifully made.” For serious hunters of vintage, there’s always just one more purchase.
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