Shopping with Claire

Fashion "Falls Back" With Vintage Clothes for Autumn

By Victoria Scott

Amy Mayberry, owner of Viva Vintage, enjoys the stories that accompany the clothing she purchases and sells.

Claire Bryant, 21, loves clothes. "I have a whole closetful - and more under the bed," she admits, laughing. Describing her style as "classic, but a bit trendy," the Columbia College student, RoundTable staff member and part-time restaurant hostess says she shops for clothing that "will last more than one season."

While she loves Ann Taylor Loft and the boutiques in her Chicago neighborhood, Claire says she returns again and again to Evanston's Viva Vintage, 1043A Chicago Ave., to "find things other people won't have on" at cheaper-than-new prices.

She goes to the vintage store for pieces that catch her eye and flatter her figure rather than for a particular item, she says. Though Claire suggests she might not be a typical vintage-clothing shopper, Viva Vintage owner Amy Mayberry thinks she is.

"The vintage business has changed in the last five years," says Ms. Mayberry, dressed in a black cowl-neck top and a black-and-white-print full skirt accessorized with black leggings and large, black plastic earrings with rhinestone trim. "[Fans of vintage] used to be people who chose to be different," she says. "Now it is a more mainstream clientele, people who like to mix a few vintage pieces into their regular wardrobe" along with those in search of theme-party or theater costumes.

"Some things never go out of style," says Ms. Mayberry, "and so much of modern clothing is copied from vintage."

Older shoppers do seem to balk at buying relics of their fashion past, she says, and tend to bear out the adage, "If you've worn it once, you're not gonna wear it again." Still, her customers range from 16 to 40, she says, with some outside those ages.

Ms. Mayberry, whose background includes a degree in English literature from Northwestern University, has a passion for fashion. She wore vintage in high school, but developed a more intimate understanding of it as store manager for Viva's predecessor, Fabola. Fabola closed in the fall of 1997; Ms. Mayberry opened Viva Vintage at the same address in March 1998.

Her accumulated knowledge includes general principles ("how to buy not what I like, but what customers like"); particulars about vintage clothing ("supply and demand are problematic in this business"); and intriguing sociological observations (hat and waist sizes are much larger than they used to be; people used to dress up more).

Viva Vintage is not a consignment store, where people bring used clothing and share in profits. Ms. Mayberry purchases clothing outright. Nor is Viva Vintage a secondhand store, which Claire describes as "mostly Gap things two years out of style."

Viva clothing is neatly arranged by era and type. Almost everything is dry cleaned before being displayed (though cleaning fancy hats is apparently an art lost to an era of baseball caps and bare heads), and clothing is in "wearable condition" - neither too damaged nor too fragile to wear.

As for sizing, Ms. Mayberry measures and marks items according to modern sizes. But she says customers should be aware of how clothes have changed shape over the decades.

"If you think you can't wear vintage, you haven't tried different silhouettes," she says. She, for example, cannot wear the straight clothes of the 1930s or 60s, but her hourglass figure fits well into the cinched-waist styles of the 1950s. "Decide what you like and what suits your figure," she advises.

Among the pleasures of her business, says Ms. Mayberry, are conversations with buyers and sellers. Sellers bring in their prom dresses ("Are you still in touch with your date?" she asks them) as well as their deceased spouses' wardrobes. She calls the latter a "delicate emotional situation," adding, "I have learned a lot about dealing with grief." She enjoys their stories, including one about the dress one seller wore to the airport to meet her husband on his return from Vietnam.

Romance plays a part in Claire's predilection toward vintage clothes. She likes the 70s, she says, and is currently "into checks and stripes." Today she selects two dresses and a skirt before heading to the dressing room. The checked wool skirt is too small. She lingers longer over a patterned, pleated dress but decides "I don't like this on me."

"What is it about the fit?" asks Ms. Mayberry, who says she never tries to talk customers into buying. "I want them to feel happy about something they buy," she says. Claire also rejects a fuchsia wool sheath, even after belting it, then moves toward the shoes ("I look for designer names," she says. "Shoes are the best because they're so cheap. I've bought them at garage sales.").

She eyes a rack of coats. "I love these big coats. They remind me of the movies," she says. Not ready for wool on this muggy summer day, she gambles on waiting. That is the maddening and magic thing about vintage: There is only one of whatever you love.