It’s easy to explain the millennial generation’s obsession with vintage stuff. These days, store shelves are filled with tin lunchboxes, “grandma-style” jewelry and feather quills, all brand new items made to look old. Everywhere I go, stereotypical hipsters are walking around in patterned Dr. Martens with glass bottles of Coca-Cola and huge, retro sunglasses in tow, pausing in their steps to skip to the next Beatles song on their iPod or readjust the straps on their “distressed brown leather” Fossil bag.
I’m definitely guilty of perpetrating the trend; I can never have too many old leather belts and faded Golden Age DC comic books, and some of my favorite songs and movies came out before my parents were even born. But here’s the simple secret behind my, and everyone else’s, vintage obsession: “old” is synonymous with “wise.” In associating ourselves with fashion and fads of the past, we are subconsciously speeding up the process of accumulating wisdom and life experience. But we have to remember that the process isn’t a middle man that can just be cut out — it takes time.
It’s usually expected that a person who still listens to records of a long-forgotten indie band is someone who was a young groupie during that band’s height of fame. We would expect them to have such interesting stories to tell about their first, wild concert or the time they chased the lead singer’s limousine for an autograph. But instead, we find that 20-something-year-olds who can barely remember what they had for breakfast are buying Rolling Stones records from thrift stores and are fluffing their image with things that they never experienced or truly understand. I’m not sure how it happened, but we hipsters are regarding each other with reverence that should be given to members of older generations who actually lived through the exciting decades behind us and have truly fascinating stories to tell.
When someone asks an 80-year-old grandmother about the meaning behind her faded gold locket, she’ll probably get carried away with a wistful story about her late husband who sent it to her while he was stationed abroad during the war. Ask a hipster the same question, and you’ll get a 30-minute spiel about how annoying it was to bargain with their old neighbor during her weekend yard sale. There’s no deep emotional connection there, just a unique addition to his or her outer image.
I’m reminded of one of 2012’s most popular songs, “Thrift Store” by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. With refined hip-hop inclination, the rapper says “I wear your granddad’s clothes/I look incredible.” I won’t argue with him there; few people can rock fur and a fedora as well as he can. But he says it all in that one line: the theoretical clothes he’s speaking of belonged to someone’s theoretical grandfather — a man who might have lived through a lot more than Macklemore and would have sole rights to the impressive image that his coat or hat are now giving some young millennial.
I recently reconsidered the many vintage accessories that I love to flaunt, and I’ve found that most of them are definitely associated with stories and memories that I now call my own, but I probably have no right to. My favorite Polaroid camera was once my grandfather’s, and every time I load it with a deck of film, I imagine him snapping photos of a three-year old version of my dad. I have a colorful set of slightly rusted “Yellow Submarine” pins on my jackets that remind me of the Beatles, a great band that I always wish I could have seen in concert back in the 60s. My everyday purse, a black leather satchel with silver fastenings, was once my mom’s. She was proud of it as a teen; it was a pretty stylish thing to wear in New York in the 80s, and I love carrying that feeling with me when it’s draped over my shoulder.
We crave all of these old things because of the way they make us feel: cool, compelling and unique. A perfect example can be explained by the popular use of outdated technology, like Polaroid cameras. The limitations of such antiquated technology emphasize the creative inclinations we might already have, making us feel fit to burst with ideas and visions that extend beyond our chosen medium’s capabilities. When we pick up an outdated piece of technology with the intention of creating art, we feel innovative. We feel unique. We feel brilliant. But this doesn’t make us wiser; we’re just more alert to the small things that surround us that might serve as artistic inspiration.
It seems that this newfound appreciation is the only true form of wisdom we can acquire from the old things that we love to collect, and for this, I’m grateful. It’s because of this that “rusted and useless” becomes “vintage.” These days, nothing is thrown away, in both a literal and figurative sense, before being appraised as a potential work of art or a unique accessory.
In the old practice of instant photography, the sudden permanence of every photo transforms even the simplest of subjects into art. A power line or a lonely tree in a field would usually make boring subjects, but when captured in black and white within the confines of a white, square frame, they become so much more than meets the eye. It’s as though something is hiding, or the whole story doesn’t show. The objects really aren’t anything special, but because they now exist as Polaroid still lifes, they suddenly have value. The “fake wisdom” that a buyer secretly accumulated when they bought the camera on eBay allowed them to see everything through a new lens.
I’ve found that there is hardly a greater thrill than looking at a Polaroid photo of myself, in lush sepia tones speckled with sun spots, and thinking, “Is that really me? Or a great-great aunt from whom I must get my looks?” Old cameras, old watches and old books all add years to our own lives; years we have not yet lived. We’re not as cool as we think we are, just because we have some old stuff that no one else knows about and companies no longer manufacture. But somehow, these things still give us an appreciation for what has passed, what is yet to come, and what surrounds us every day.
Vintage clothes, accessories, toys and decorations let us consider the possibility that some modern things we hardly value today might be overpriced and much sought after treasures in 50 years, and if young people of the future are going to get a kick out of wearing our old hats and sunglasses, we should all learn to channel some “hipster spirit” and value everything we currently own for the unique works of art that they are.
