How much of the cost of a veil actually lands in my pocket? The answer, it turned out when I tried to work it out, is not straightforward. I’m not sure whether I was surprised by the figure I kind of landed on, but I found it interesting enough to share it.
This example is based on an Etsy order I received before Christmas for a fingertip Happily Ever After veil.
Woohoo! A new order!
With the local taxes in the customer’s US homeland, the total paid by them Etsy was £421.20 (~$567.72 US).
Before the money leaves Etsy, there are a few immediate deductions, which Etsy very kindly lays out:
Fees laod out by Etsy
I get a little confused here because if you take that £83.58 away from £390 (after tax), you get £306.42 (right?!), but what lands in my bank account a few days later is actually slightly more, £310.52. Where the extra £4.10 came from is anyone’s guess but I’m not complaining, especially in low season.
The mystery figure that landed in my bank account
Either way, I then have some more hard costs to cover:
Hard costs for shipping and packaging
I use (almost award-winning; highly commended in the Quirky Awards 2023) sustainable packaging from Tishwish, Royal Mail’s international tracked & signed service with extra insurance, plus the new US 10% import duty (and Royal Mail’s 50p fee for handling this for me). All this brings what landed in my.bank account down to £242.52.
That’s before I even buy the materials for the veil itself.
Hard costs for veil materials
I make enough veils that I can buy many of these in modest bulk – not exactly the economies of scale big manufacturers see, but, for example, I can halve the cost of tulle by buying it in 50m rolls, knowing I’ll get through it. So, the cost of the raw materials of this particular veil are £26.52, just under 7% of the purchase price, bringing the total going to me to £217.
So let’s consider the time it takes to turn a pile of tulle, thread and ribbon into a Happily Ever After fingertip veil. It takes approximately three days to cut, embroider, sew and assemble to completion, so call it 24 working hours, based on an eight-hour working day.
I set my hourly rate at £75, but the time taken to make this veil for £217 slash that to just £9 per hour, which isn’t even minimum wage.
How much per hour
However, most of the time required to make this veil is for embroidering which my machine (theoretically at least) can mostly get on with without me. So, let’s say only a quarter of those three days requires me hands on. That brings my hourly rate to a more palatable £36 per hour, but still less than half what I should be charging (more on this here).
But, and here’s where it gets a bit tricky to calculate again, we need to consider the cost of that beautiful embroidery machine, and all the other equipment I need to make the veil.
What I bought to make my veils
Embroidery machines are EXPENSIVE. I bought mine, an entry-level industrial multi-needle embroidery machine (swoon), for £6,000 a couple of years ago. It literally cost six times more than I paid for my car (priorities, my queens). For context, the next model up is £10,000. Even my first (now back-up) embroidery machine was £1,200 seven years ago, and that only has a single needle, meaning I have to rethread it myself for every colour change, which is every three minutes or so for this veil.
The software I use to create and edit my embroidery designs was £900 and I’ve since paid a further £250-ish for the latest edition. There’s also my Cricut (£300) which even actually works sometimes, but I do have to swear at it a lot first.
A few further costs not included in the image above are my business insurance (public liability, professional indemnity, stock in trust, etc) which is another £500-odd a year; machine servicing at around £200-300 a year and miscellaneous business costs including phone/WiFi bill, mortgage, etc.
As tricky as it is to put a fair price on my work, I think I usually get it about right. I only employ myself and I feel well compensated, so that’s a decent measure, plus I absolutely adore my job.
If you think I should be earning more for what I create, please consider that the next time you see a veil or wedding dress on an ultra-fast fashion site for next to nothing, and think about what the person who actually made it will earn from it.
For the second time this week, I’ve seen a video (a different one this time) recommending lidocaine spray to brides so they don’t feel their painful wedding shoes.
Lidocaine is a local anaesthetic, so a liberal spray all over the feet will numb them to pinching, pressure points from heels and rubbing.
I don’t doubt that it works but can we please STOP normalising wearing things that hurt?! And it’s ALWAYS for women.
What you wear on your wedding day – shoes, dress, corset, etc – should allow you to to walk, dance, sit, stand around, eat and ENJOY your day.
I had a bride in for her final fitting once who was looking concerned as she moved in her dress in front of the mirror. I could tell something was wrong and was scrutinising her corsetted dress for the cause of her consternation. It looked perfect and I was started to panic, first that I’d don’t something wrong and second that I couldn’t even figure out what it was.
Eventually, she said hesitantly, “Is this actually right? I wasn’t expecting it to be… comfortable!”
Weddingwear is not designed primarily for practicality in the same way as gym kit, but it shouldn’t be uncomfortable and certainly never painful. For all sexes.
Seriously, can you imagine telling a man to spray his feet with anaesthetic so he can tolerate his wedding shoes?
Should I store my wedding dress hanging up, in a box or some other way?
I’m often asked what the best way to store a wedding dress is, between buying and wearing it on the day (I’m not talking about preserving it after the wedding – that’s a whole other field). They’re big, don’t fit in many wardrobes and you’re probably also having to hide it – something the size of a person – from your other half.
Special shout-out to my recent bride who kept her wedding dress in the bottom of a laundry basket, partly because it was second hand and didn’t come with a bag or box, but mostly because she knew her financé would never find it there.
The best storage method depends partly on the type of dress you have, how voluminous it it, how long the train is, and the fabric(s) it’s made from. Generally though, these are, in order, the best ways:
1. On a Mannequin, Under a Dustsheet
The gold standard, but turn off the lights and put a sheet over it 👻
This is the gold standard of wedding dress storage, but unless you live in a stateley home and happen to own a mannequin set to your own measurements, it’s not practical for most people. If you actually do have a spare room with a mannequin in it, keep the dress, including train, completely covered with a breathable dustsheet (a duvet cover or flat sheet works well) to keep dirt and sunlight off. Draw the curtains too to prevent sun bleaching but bear in mind that it will probably scare the living turds out of anyone who opens the door to that room. Another reason this is my favourite method.
2. Laying Flat on a Spare Bed, Under Cover
If you have a spare bed and aren’t expecting guests for a while, lay the dress out on the bed and cover it with a sheet.
3. Hanging Up
If keeping your dress hanging up in its bag is the most practical option for you, there are a few things to check. Make sure the hanging loops are what’s taking the weight of your dress, NOT the straps, as they could get stretched out of shape. Check what the train is doing. If you have a hook high enough, let the train hang out of the bag rather than scrunched in the bottom, but keep it covered with a sheet or duvet cover. If not, you can either fold or roll it gently into the bottom of the bag, or use the hanging ribbon usually found on the underside of the train to hook it up to the hanger.
Side-note on dress bags: only use waterproof ones for transport, never long-term storage. The slightest bit of moisture gets in and you have stinking mould. I can still smell the dress I unzipped from its plastic garment bag in the recesses of a boutique a decade ago. Don’t make me smell another one.
4. In a Box
Boxes should be sturdy, protective and breathable
Wedding dress boxes certainly have their place and are usually the easiest way to travel with your dress, and they fit neatly on top of cupboards and under beds. They’re also great for concealing details of your dress. However, keeping your dress folded up multiple times in a box is not ideal, especially for bigger dresses such as ballgown and voluminous A-line styles, and those made from stiffer fabrics such as Mikado and duchess satin. Crepe, stretch, lace and tulle gowns tend not to hold their creases as much but it varies from dress to dress. I’m not saying definitely don’t use a box, but factor in extra time (and potentially cost) for steaming/pressing if it’s so crumpled at your fitting that it doesn’t hang properly when you put it on – I need to be able to see how much it needs taking up accurately. Similarly, make sure you have time to get it nice and smooth before you you wear it on the day.
So, lots of options, each with its own advantages.
Overall, my three essentials are: Keep it covered, keep it dry, keep it dark.
Bonus points if you can prank someone, in which case, hide a camera and please send me the results.
“Can I ask if any brides are planning on changing into a 2nd veil for the evening? I’m not sure my cathedral veil will be practical for all day,” I read in a wedding group on social media this morning.
While some newlyweds stay in their wedding finery throughout the day and into the evening reception, it’s not uncommon to see a change in outfits. It might be the same outfit slightly modified – the train of the wedding dress gets bustled to make the back the same length as the front for dancefloor practicalities, a suit jacket or lace bolero discarded in the heat, detachable sleeves or overskirt whipped off for a transformation.
The transforming wedding dress I created for Gill, featuring a detachable cape veil and overskirt
Some people change their dress entirely. In Japan where I once spent a year, couples go through so many outfit changes on their wedding day – around five – that they start the morning with a feast because they won’t have time to eat again until the end of the night.
Other people change into a different dress or alternative outfit for the evening. It might be for practical reasons, or simply aesthetics.
Left: The dress I made for Rachael for her ceremony; R: Her sparkling evening reception dress
But what about the veil? In the last year, I’ve seen my first requests for veils specifically for the evening reception. Just like dresses, some are transforming and some are shorter versions of the ceremony veil.
Two transforming veils I’ve made for customers, that use a mechanism similar to dress bustles to make them shorter
I’ve also had orders for a shorter version of the ceremony veil so they can still wear a veil for evening without the worry of it being trampled once the dancefloor throng is in full swing. I’m currently making two versions of the same veil for a customer – one 144″ long for the ceremony and the other 30″ for the evening. I’ll share both as soon as I’m allowed.
“It’S nOt TrAdItOnAl!”
I’ve seen some backlash though, from cries of “I’ve seen it all now,” to seamstress refusals on principle to add a bustle to a veil. My favourite scoff as ever is, “It’s not traditional.”
So let’s not forget why we have wedding veils in the first place. In western culture at least, they were intended for the very practical purpose of concealing the bride from evil spirits lurking around churchyards hunting for virgins and, as we know, all brides are virgins. This was once a very real fear.
Over time, the superstition may have faded to near obscurity but the association of the veil with the wedding day has passed firmly into aesthetic tradition. Anyone not subscribing to the fears of old and/or chooses not to wear a blusher tier over their face is already wearing a veil for aesthetics only and not tradition in the strictest sense.
The only reason I didn’t keep my own veil on all day and night nearly 17 years ago was that it was my ‘something borrowed’ and I wanted to give it back before it fell in my dinner/down a toilet. I replaced it with a tulle wrap in the evening. It simply didn’t occur to me to wear a different veil that could take a little gravy (or worse).
So let’s agree that a veil is a headpiece like any other bow, hat, sparkly accessory or whatever. No-one would bat an eyelid at someone changing in or out of one between their own wedding ceremony and reception so I am absolutely here for the evening veil.
The Three Fs to consider to make sure your dream wedding dress doesn’t become a neurospicy nightmare
Shopping for – and wearing – a wedding dress is a whole new experience for most people. Seeing yourself as The Bride for the first time can be surreal and overwhelming, and you’re often in and out of several dresses in quick succession. Consequently, you might not have time or emotional energy to notice the little things that will make wearing one for a whole day uncomfortable.
Add the sensory issues that often come with neurodiversity into the mix and the dress of your dreams can end up feeling like a nightmare.
But not all dresses are created equal, and there are some common culprits to look out for when you’re choosing your dress, mainly around the three Fs: Fabrics, Finishes and Fit. Feel free to add your own F if you hit all three.
FABRICS
I’m not just talking about synthetic fabrics (polyester, nylon, etc) that make you sweat here, as you’ll be hard pressed to find a dress made from 100% breathable, natural fibres (e.g. silk, cotton, viscose, etc) in most boutiques. Sometimes you get a choice, especially if you’re going bespoke. Get samples you can take away and experiment with if you can.
Lace
Lace can be scratchy (particularly the stiffer kind in direct contact with your skin), or conversely tickly – I’m looking at you, eyelash lace necklines. Eyelash lace can usually be trimmed down to the solid edge if necessary so don’t let it put you off an otherwise perfect dress.
Tickle tickle! Beautiful and delicate, eyelash lace can also be a bit tickly for some people.
Check which parts of your body will be in contact and whether it will irritate you.
Feathers
Another tickly one is feathers. Even if you’re not outright allergic, feathers can tickle mot just your skin but the inside of your nose (they shed too). There can also be sharp bits.
Sequins
One of my biggest bugbears with wedding dress manufacturers is the placement of beads and – worse – sequins under the arms of sleeveless dresses where they will chafe the delicate skin of bare inner arms. Have you ever felt the edge of a sequin? Those buggers are SHARP. Now imagine rubbing your arm on clusters of them all day and night.
Even if they’re not right up in your armpit, check what your wrists will be brushing against if your dress has beads and sequins on the skirt. If they’re somewhere annoying, you can have them removed. Alternatively, if they’re too pretty to ditch, have your seamstress cover them in a soft sheer fabric such as tulle or organza so you can still have the sparkle without the scratching. If you’re open to a bit of a restyle, you could even add sleeves or gloves to protect your skin.
Glitter
A huge trend at the moment is glitter, especially on tulle, although I’ve also seen it on satin and even lace (and I’ve actually made two wedding dresses using a black glitter lace satin!). By its nature, it has a slightly rough texture so I usually recommend putting it under a layer of tulle rather than have it as the top layer of a dress. It will still sparkle but feel softer.
Veils are different as they’re not in constant contact with your skin.
FINISHES
It’s not just the fabrics themselves that can cause an issue, but what you do with them and where on the dress you wear them.
Stitched tulle
For example, even the softest tulle becomes a serious rash-inducing irritant when it’s folded and stitched, especially for a neckline; it makes every tiny fibre an inflexible ridge that RUBS. I see red skin under a lot of illusion panels where the edge has been turned under and sewn. It’s usually better to leave the edge raw and unstitched; I cut some away for a bride during her fitting this week and the relief was immediate.
Some tulle necklines and arm scyes (that’s the technical term for an armhole) have to keep their stitched edge to prevent them stretching out of shape during wear. In these cases, ask your seamstress to put something underneath the narrow hem to protect your skin. Depending on the dress, I’ve used iron-on soft interfacing (often seen on the back of embroidery on T-shirts for example) organza ribbon and clear silicon tape. Sometimes we need to experiment a bit to find what will work best for the dress and the wearer.
Unstitched tulle
It also depends on where on the dress they are. Unfinished stiff-tulle hems (usually in underskirts and inner dress layers) feel like barbed wire if they come into contact with the tops of your feet. When I get in a hot shower after a day when I’ve worked on stiff tulle, my hands and forearms suddenly sear from all the micro abrasions and scratches they’ve sustained from the edges.
Enclosing them in a rolled hem or encasing them in bias binding protects skin. I do this as standard on all my bespoke dresses, but not all manufacturers do (the last Vera Wang dress I altered didn’t; also polyester BTW), or they’re inconsistent with it (some Wed2b dresses have their stiff tulle hemmed, others don’t)
The raw edge of stiff tulle
Boning
Not quite a fabric, but an essential component of many wedding dresses is boning (stop sniggering at the back). It shouldn’t be uncomfortable but check where it finishes at the bottom to make sure it’s not digging in your tummy, hips or the tops of your legs, especially when you sit. I’ve had to shorten bodice bones for many people, especially wheelchair users.
Need a light boning, anyone? Fnarrrr
Smells
Smells might not be the first thing wedding dresses make you think of, but have a good sniff when you’re trying them on or choosing fabrics. Some manufacturers spray fabrics with chemicals that have a distinctive smell that not everyone can tolerate. Some have a sickly sweet smell and others more unpleasant odour of fish mixed PVA glue.
Cheap stiff tulle seems to be a repeat offender here. I once had to leave some outside (literally on the washing line) for two months before I could tolerate it inside, even after machine washing it twice. The smell still hadn’t completely gone so I gave up on it and invested in a better one, making a mental note never to cheap out on stiff tulle again.
If you’ve bought your dress second hand or a vintage number and specialist cleaning can’t get rid of smells, my friends in theatre always recommend spraying with cheap vodka.
FIT
Of course, making sure your dress fits well can solve a lot of sensory issues. But when you’re trying on samples that don’t fit you properly, make sure you understand what a proper fit will feel like.
Heavy + strapless = tight bodice
For heavy strapless dresses in particular, it might have to be tighter than you’d like. A weighty skirt section needs to rest snugly above your hips so it doesn’t fall down and have to doing the yank-it-up dance all day. By snug, I mean firm and supportive; you should still be able to breathe normally and feel like you could enjoy a full meal. Wedding dresses are not usually designed or worn for practicality but they shouldn’t be uncomfortable and should certainly never be painful.
If you’re someone who easily feels constricted in tighter clothes, consider whether a looser style might be for you. I’ve seen a dress trigger a panic attack once it fitted as it should because the bride didn’t realise that it would need to be so tight to stay up. She was autistic and had sensory issues against feeling squeezed. When she bought her heavy satin strapless ballgown, it was some inches too big for her – gaping all over and falling down – and she didn’t realise how much more snug the bodice would need to be to support the weight of the skirt. Even leaving it slightly looser than I would normally to accommodate her sensitivities (she explained them to me at our first appointment), it still felt too restrictive for her.
THE GOOD STUFF
I would love to be able to provide a definitive list of Fabrics, Finishes and Fits that won’t cause sensory issues. As we know though, if you know one neurospicy person you know one neurospicy person. Everyone’s needs, likes, dislikes and sensitivities are different, just as every dress will be different. Satin is lovely and smooth and could be a safe bet for many but it can be heavy and people like my daughter hate the sound and feel of someone running their nails on it. Most things are surmountable but might need more budget for alterations.
What I’m hoping to achieve here is to give some things to consider when choosing a wedding dress, whether that’s in a boutique, creating something bespoke or buying second hand.
Because I don’t ever again want to see someone’s face as they realise at their final fitting that they’ve made a mistake in their dress choice.
“Do you make wedding dresses for men?” To answer an increasingly FAQ, I make wedding dresses, veils, bridalwear* FULL STOP. For whoever wants it. Women, men, non-binary people, everyone.
I don’t care what your wee comes out of; just don’t leave any on my loo seat.
You are very welcome to, but don’t even have to, tell me how you identify, what you were assigned at birth or whether that differs now, whom, how many – or even whether – you’re marrying. If there’s consent in your relationship, there’s no judgment, kink-shaming or awkward questions here.
Oversharers are always welcome (hello, kindred spirits!) and the only things I ask all my customers to tell me relate purely to the tasks of designing something you will love and making sure it fits you perfectly:
1. Are you anticipating changing your weight, shape or size before you wear what I’m making you? These don’t make it impossible, but need to be factored in. For example, are/will you be:
Pregnant or trying to conceive?
Breastfeeding?
Undergoing surgery?
Taking medication such as hormones or steroid therapies?
Dieting?
Body-building?
2. What else will you be wearing? Bring everything to fittings that changes your shape, size or height including:
Padded bras, cups or inserts (I have a well-stocked basket of boobs you can try if you don’t have your own);
Padded pants;
Shape-wear, corsetry, binder, etc;
Prosthetics;
Shoes.
*I use the term bridalwear as loosely as possible because not all of my customers identify as brides. I try to use more inclusive terms where I can. I specialise in dresses and the traditionally more feminine styles of weddingwear such as dresses, veils, jumpsuits and separates rather than men’s suiting and tailoring and I’m still answerable to the SEO gods – I need people to find me! As language, attitudes and social mores evolve, this will change of course. In the meantime, I’m always happy to learn and stand corrected if I’m saying or doing something deplorable.
It’s finally happened. I’ve had brides arrive for wedding dress fittings without their shoes or underskirt several times but today brought a first: a bride just arrived for her without… her dress.
It’s absolutely not her fault; she’s storing it at her parents’ house and her dad handed her the wrong grey storage box. We only realised what had happened when we opened it in my fitting room and found an assortment of summer clothing and books.
While she runs back to her parents’ house for the correct grey box, I thought I’d put together a list of what you need to have with you to make sure I get your dress fitting perfectly:
Yourself. As you are, no worries about whether you’ve gained/lost weight or that your dress won’t fit. That’s why you’re here.
Your dress. Obviously.
Your shoes. Unless you’re absolutely 100% certain you don’t need your dress taking up.
Your underskirt. This can make an inch or more’s difference to the length, especially if it’s hooped. If it has a suck-you-in waistband, it can also change how the bodice fits. They tend to sit Simon-Cowell-waistline high so if you have a sheer bodice and/or an open back, nows also the time to check whether it’ll be on show if we don’t do something about it.
Your undies. Anything that changes your shape or size such as a padded bra, minimiser bra, shapewear, padded knickers (would not be a first) will need to be on you when I pin you in your dress. Just remember to take them with you when we’re done (but it also wouldn’t be a first if you forget).
Belt. Especially if you want it sewn on.
Not essential, but feel free to bring your veil, jewellery, garter, and anything else you’d like to try to see if it works with your dress if you’d like and we’ll have a proper play.
I’ve just come out of a wedding dress fitting with a bride who loved her dress bit now wants me to restyle the neckline of her dress because the priest (Catholic, if it’s relevant) conducting her church ceremony asked her:
Not my actual bride in question, just another badass.
“How revealing is your dress?”
Consequently, she has gone from loving her dress and feeling confident with the V-neck illusion panel (ie skin-toned translucent tulle) to being paranoid and wanting to add approx 4″ of lace to conceal her cleavage.
I’m not religious so wanted to get perspective(s) on whether I’m right to be feeling angry on her behalf. I feel the priest is policing her body, was sexist to ask her this (he didn’t ask the groom) and what she chooses to show of her own body at her own wedding is no concern of anyone else.
If it even makes a modicum of difference to the priest, should he even be a bloody priest? If he’s worried about what other people think, that’s irrelevant. If he’s worried about being distracted himself, or having “impure” thoughts provoked, that’s a him problem, not a neckline issue.
If he’s concerned about some epidermis causing a distraction, I’ve offered to dance at the back in a bikini.
I realise this is technically none of my business either but I’m feeling invested now after seeing the effect his probing has had on the bride.
My first sewing machine, dusted off to list for sale
Why can’t I part with it? Yellowing, with a spool holder thick with layers of glue, it’s still in perfect working order. This little Singer Tradition sewing machine isn’t the byword in Vorsprung Durch Technik. It has a fiddly front-loading bobbin, I’ve never managed to get the needle threader working reliably, and it clatters along well below the top speed of my later machines.
It’s not even my most cherished machine. That accolade resides with the early electronic machine I inherited from my beloved grandma, with the once-working metal toy machine used my mum a close second. I also have two beautiful, decorated handle-wound antique Singers, both in need of a good service (and me a good lesson in how to actually use them).
With one of my ornamental antique Singers that I wouldn’t know how to use even if they still worked.
After several years lying fallow under my desk next to a further two spare machines, it was time for this one to find a new home. But I couldn’t do it.
This was the machine my parents, grandparents, siblings and in-laws had clubbed together to buy me for Christmas over a decade ago. The machine two of my best friends from my NCT commune, Siân and Fiona, had taught me to use. The machine that accidentally changed my career and a fair chunk of my life.
I’ve been sewing since I was 5 but sewing machines terrified me. All those sharp things hammering away, grabbing and tugging at your precious fabric. No thanks. My grandma ended up making most of my GCSE Textiles project because I just couldn’t get my head around the machines (she got an A). So I did everything by hand.
I had time and it was just a hobby. Then another great friend had a knicker-making workshop for her hen do. We only had a couple of hours. There was no avoiding using a machine. I took a deep breath, winced a bit and my tense, clawed toes nudged the pedal. Bbbrrrrzzzz. Done. Elastic in.
I did it! That was so easy! That was so quick! It wasn’t me that had been the problem; I just hadn’t had the right machine! It went straight to the top of my Christmas list. I remember thinking this was going to change everything.
The Fabricland Massive: me with Fiona and Siân
Siân and Fiona taught me everything. How to thread it, rethread it when I snapped the thread again, why I kept snapping the thread in the first place, how to change the feet, the stitch type, stitch length and tension. I could run up outfits for my toddlers while they were at preschool in days; dresses for myself once they were in bed.
Friends asked me to make things, then friends of friends, and before I knew it, I had a viable business. A year later, Siân also started her own sewing business and we continued learning together: new techniques, overlookers, coverstitchers, embroidery machines.
More machines have followed in the eight years since and I’ve realised I’m far too sentimental to sell the one that started it all. I do need the space though, so my yellowing Singer Tradition is now on permanent loan to a the mother of a very good friend, whose daughter is going to teach her to use it. Her daughter, my very good friend, is Siân.
Anitta in the infamous “vintage*” Atelier Versace gown in Sarah Hambly’s video that had me spitting my tea. *Or is it..?
This week’s tea-spitting moment was brought to me by the otherwise utterly awesome dressmaker Sarah Hambly casually mentioning in her Grammies fashion round-up that Anitta’s Atelier Versace look was, “Vintage, from 2003.”
Here’s a confession: I believed she was right. I’d assumed that ‘vintage’ stemmed from the French word for 20, ‘vingt’. The uproar in the comments prompted me to check my facts.
I was wrong.
Or possibly not because I can’t find an actual, to-the-year, official definition.
A good year
My beloved dictionary of etymology informs me that ‘vintage’ is actually born of the pre-1425 Old French ‘vendange’, meaning a yield from a vineyard. A grape harvest if you will, as evidenced by going even further back to the Latin ‘vīndēmia’, which itself is formed from ‘vīnum’ (wine) and ‘dēmere’ (to take off). You can see where we also get our words ‘vine’, ‘wine’ and ‘vintner’. And why we talk about wines having a “good vintage” (or not), first recorded in 1746.
No mention of any age, 20 or otherwise. Oops.
Despite the word being used for nearly 100 years (since 1929) to describe something being of an earlier time, I can’t find a firm definition for how old something has to be to be be officially ‘vintage’. At least, not one with universal agreement.
Cheers to vintage
Contrast this with ‘antique’, which seems to enjoy broad acceptance as meaning aged 100+ years old. Just a quick Google of definitions of ‘vintage’ throws up anything from 20 to 93 years or more.
Cars
It also depends on what we’re talking about. Cars have clearer definitions, with only those manufactured specifically between 1919 and 1930 considered vintage, regardless of how old they are at any given time. At odds with the above, cars are officially ‘antique’ at just 45 (11 more months to go for me then), and ‘classic’ at 20.
My dad c1983 in his Lotus Europa, which would now be an antique had he not totalled it in 1984, and a family heirloom had he not sold what was left of it to fund flying lessons shortly before he died (in unrelated circumstances) in 2020. I’d love to know who has it now, to buy it back.
Clothing
For clothing specifically, it depends whom you ask. I suppose traders have a vested (pun intended) interest in maximising the critieria to allow them to sell more so it makes sense for them to include items as young as is credible, albeit tea-spittingly so. Other sources (e.g. Farm Antiques) says most antiques dealers consider 40 years to be vintage.
I have been contacting fashion and textile historians this morning for more authoritative clarity but have had no luck yet; I’ll update the blog when I can.
UPDATE: 10 February 2023
I’ve had a response from the V&A’s assistant curator in its Textiles & Fashion department Claire (no surname offered). She tells me: “Apologies in advance not to be of more assistance. As far as I’m aware it’s not a term we have a specific working definition for at the V&A.”
That’s actually helpful in itself and good enough for me: ‘vintage’ seems open to interpretation.
While spitting my tea was the appropriate initial reaction, I can wipe down my cutting mat and go back to enjoying a fresh cup. 🫖☕️
