today's history lesson: vintage in cambridge

My propensity for concocting elaborate fantasies around garments dates back to childhood. Nowadays, my penchant for seeking sartorial materializations of my personal values and idiosyncrasies habitually makes its way onto this blog (see: ferocious shoes of substance and character, a Sherlock Holmes-ian cape). Similarly, an affinity for ascribing human traits to apparel goes equally far back (see: my lust for Ms. Bustier and my brush-off of Ms. Crepe Dress).

When, back in December 2006, I caught wind of a brand-new boutique featuring vintage clothes with a story, I therefore squeaked aloud with glee. History, located in Cambridge's Porter Square, is like the storefront version of my tale-telling tendencies. To accompany each piece, owner Rachel Hirsch imaginatively cooks up detailed anecdotes of the previous wearers and prints them out on hangtags. Hirsch is no stranger to the significance of the past; she was once a high school history teacher herself.

Despite the store's relative proximity to my usual stomping grounds, I had never visited it until last month. (Chalk it up to the usual dreamecho lagtime between "want" and "execution.") Finally, one rainy March Saturday after a haircut at nearby Judy Jetson, I crossed over History's threshold and was transported into a time capsule of apparel and accessories, lovingly organized by decade.

Capturing brief moments in time, the scintillating hangtag stories were nearly as covetable as the garments themselves. I found myself racing from rack to rack to soak up each piece of clothing's chronicle.

Last but not least, my favorite, both in garment and in story:

Reviews elsewhere may have claimed otherwise, but I found the prices quite affordable. Items ran as low as a few dollars for simpler items (the pink velour/velvet puff-shoulder top was $10) while the fur coat surprised me by being well under three digits.

After a quick initial look-through, I approached the sales assistant at the counter to request permission to take photos for my blog. To my surprise, the "sales assistant" was none other than the owner herself! The incredibly warm Rachel and I chatted away about hometowns, and she tipped me off to her favorite local ice cream store: Rancatore's in Belmont. (As I am on a mission to try all of the ice cream stores in the Boston area, this information has been duly noted in the elephant mini-notebook.) Meanwhile, Johnny Cash, Rachel's dog, sidled up to us and graced me with a photo op. Though I didn't buy anything that day – having reached the limit of my fun money budget for the month – I shall certainly be revisiting this piece of history in the future.