Finding a deputy stylist is proving to be a big old pain in boot spurs. It’s enough of a challenge to find a willing worker skilled in sourcing vintage southwestern accessories, let alone one who’s willing to accept working under a veteran stylist like myself.
This is not to big note myself, but just to point out that style is not something you can learn in the course of 20 years’ life experience. You can learn the fashion of your day, sure, and you might even be an expert on it. Fashion is something that the young are most adept at. But style? That’s a different story, and when you add vintage to the mix, you’re in for a rude shock if you think that youth has anything to do with mastery.
I’m waffling, I know, but listen – I’m pretty sure buying my ranch was easier than all this claptrap. True, I got into that headbutt with Tony over not using his recommended conveyancing service. Elwood was in a market slump, which made selling the apartment touch-and-go. And the stamp duty was through the roof. But even in light of all that, it was pretty straightforward, because there weren’t any student fashion designer egos in the mix. Just old-fashioned property conveyancing, good manners and professional demeanours all round (no thanks to Tony).
Did I used to have fashion ego, way back when? Sure I did. That was back when I’d sooner buy a brand new pair of boots than go to the trouble of seeking out real deal vintage. Reading that last sentence, it occurs to me that I could be seen by some as more egotistical now than I was then, but people can think what they want. I know for certain that the younger me didn’t appreciate fine craftsmanship, and was hung up on looking as though he did.
Buying the ranch and going through all that unsavoury business with Tony probably shifted my thinking on the whole matter.