While the only audience to it is those who see it on Instagram, myself and my cat, I have a deep, deep love of vintage lingerie.
I love lace. I would live in lace if I could. But, that would be spectacularly impractical. So, having it on what I go to sleep in at night has to be about the greatest extent of it because, with two kids and a rather daft young cat, its not exactly the most ideal of fabrics. For that matter, vintage anything isn’t wise to wear around my house and so it is one of those things that gets put on right before I leave the house or hop into bed.
But ohhhhhh do I love the 1940s and more than that, pink and lace and bows and so I had this one in my Etsy cart for two weeks when I finally hit the buy button. I wasn’t going to get it but then I felt really depressed last week and voila, more debt but something beautiful.
While I may only be working part time at the moment, I give these gifts to myself because I have had so many nasty relationships with men that were all about pleasing them as though I were a possession. I was their fuck doll or their addiction but never a person.
I don’t think I have ever really had a long term relationship with a man who saw me as an individual. I don’t think I have ever experienced that kind of love. I pray that I do. And, yes, I do realize how ludicrous it is to talk about what I pray for in a post that is about vintage lingerie but I do have that prayer, that hope in my heart, that desire to find that happiness.
That and I have a rule about lingerie and the internet and that is never show any more than anyone would see at a public beach.
So, this is me in something beautiful because I want to wear something beautiful and it doesn’t have to be for someone else.
I remember asking a therapist as to why I seem to get harassed so often in public, like if there is a crowd of 50 women in public, why am I automatically the one that is going to be the one that is the most slandered by the crazy man or get the dirtiest comment from the misogynist just standing there making rude comments to women passing by and he said that it was because with the red hair and my kind of demeanor, I am the most visible. Well, that night I went home and dyed my hair a whole shade brighter of red because, as far as I am concerned, it is their problem, not mine. I am going to be who I am no matter what and it doesn’t matter that there is some hateful prick…. or thousands if not millions of hateful pricks out there trying to oppress us. I am fucking tired of being oppressed. I am am fucking tired of being kept down because I couldn’t get through higher education because I was suffering from a mental illness that had been misdiagnosed at that time. I am tired of being poor, of not being able to work to my full capacity and really use the gifts God gave me.
I have so much, a love of vintage fine things is just the tip of the ice berg. I have a lot to tell the world: