Opening the boxes of my mother's clothes felt less like going through an old wardrobe and more like stepping into a time capsule. She was the original free spirit, and the clothes she collected are a vivid testament to that era. I'm talking about real-deal hippie clothes: gorgeous, intricate macramé vests that are miniature works of art, flowing linen skirts, and a collection of crocheted tops in every hue that practically hum with a 1970s summer. Each piece was heavy with history and the kind of hand-crafted detail you rarely find today. This isn't just clothing; it's a textile memoir, rich with the stories and sensibilities of a generation that valued peace, love, and a fantastic, fringe-heavy silhouette.
The one challenge, and perhaps the irony of inheriting such a treasure trove, is the fit. My mother was shorter than I am with a much fuller bust. I am taller and have a different frame, meaning these incredible vintage pieces did not quite drape on me the way they did on her. A shift dress that hugged her perfectly hit me a little too high, and the elaborate cut of a blouse designed for her shape needs significant adjustment to sit correctly on mine. , It was a shame to get rid of them but I’m sure someone is wearing them and smiling today.
This is me at her house years ago. she had dozens of tops like this.
My wife had stashed away some clothes from the same era that I ended up donating for the same reason; our daughters body build. Thanks for the post and trip down memory lane.
