Some years ago I took to buying tons of second-hand clothes and accessories of previous decades on eBay, some of them authentic, most imitations. Thus, I enriched my wardrobe with a kaleidoscope of rubbish that, after some time, ended up in the dumpsters opposite my home. A cute gallery of Twiggy mod 1960s mini dresses went by my wardrobe, in psychedelic floral prints with Peter Pan collars. I used dozens of hangers for keeping my 1970s elephant- legged pants, so bell-bottomed they were that I could sweep the floor wherever I went as if I was wearing two brooms. I compulsively stored more 50s pin up dresses than the full cast of the film “Grease”, despite the fact that those puffy skirts with their voluminous cancans underneath made me difficult to close the wardrobe doors easily, so to get them closed I had to push harder than a Japanese Oshiya in action.
Serving wench faux suede bodices, heart shaped corsets worthy of Marie Antoinette’s admiration, topolino shoes with enormous wedge-shaped soles and open toes, 80s bat-sleeved jerseys and oversized blazer jackets with jumbo shoulder pads, as bulky as a rugby player’s.
I was an unleashed fury, my strong urge to buy totally unrestrained. I eagerly looked for clothing items to create new outfits, all equally extravagant and, of course, fanciful. My fixation with buying equipped me with a red-and-gold bullfighter’s jacket, extremely tight fitting, that I bought for a ridiculous price, a Soviet military peaked cap (winter model, to keep my head and ears warm), multicolor wool leg warmers, a marabou feather stole to wear on my shoulders, several corduroy blazers with elbow patches like the ones Spanish socialists used to wear in the 70s, and an authentic 1920s female bathing suit with lace-up bathing slippers and a fancy cap.
I, who have never smoked in my life and am hyper-squeamish, carried away by this buying frenzy, went as far as to buy a long tortoiseshell cigarette holder -detachable of course, for easy cleaning- to flourish for fun while having breakfast at Tiffany’s.
With such arsenal of sundry items of clothing, I surely was the envy of the crème de la crème props people, although for the rest of professionals, less well versed in props, I may have been a pathetic bonehead off her rocker.