Charity Shop Hommage

If you take a walk down the loosely named high street in my town you will see charity shop after charity shop lining the street. I think we have about 7 in total. The dusty smell, the shuffling of old ladies, the distant murmur of music/radio 2 - what's not to love? Admittedly it isn't the chicest retail has to offer, but the excitement of unknown treasures, along with the next to nothing price tags always entices me in. 

After foraging around a bit recently I found an old Topshop skirt in a beautiful berry pink, a cute little black vest - featuring some folk style embroidery and a tapestry fronted black bag. It came to £10. Nuff said. And it isn't just the price, unique finds, or the fact that the money goes to people who really need it that makes charity shops so wonderful; it's the undeniable sense of history in every stained, faded, once loved piece. 

Who emptied their daily essentials into their tapestry bag every day, clicked the fastenings together and slung it over their shoulder on the way out the door? Were they a bag hoarder? Was it their single, sacred accessory? Is it well traveled? Maybe it was dragged across a dust beaten path in Ireland, rushed through a drenched Devon field in the pouring rain, or clutched close on the Piccadilly line after a night out. I will never know. And the reality is most definitely much less idealistic and glamorous. 

Vest, Skirt and Bag: charity shop. Shoes: Hobbs via my auntie Nita. Necklace worn as a belt: Psychedelic vintage.