This Denim Vest
Let me tell you the story of this vest.
I found this denim vest in my grandma’s closet. I was sleeping in a bedroom in my grandparents’ house, where all the closets are full…full of my grandma’s clothing, on hangers neatly, every hanger loaded with fabric, floral and thick, every closet stocked, end to end. So when I found this denim vest in my grandma’s closet I felt I’d found a needle in a haystack. A special reward from the cosmos for all the rifling-through-closets in my grandparents’ house that I’d done diligently over years of visits. I went to my grandma and I said “Grandma, I love this vest, I sort of need it. May I keep it?” And I think she could tell I was only half-asking, more telling her that I was going to have it. She was confused, vaguely, I could tell; she laughed, telling me I could take it, sure. She wondered, I think, what value or use I’d find in a faded old denim vest… Well, it’s a perfect example of how socio-cultural meaning gets layered on top of something as simple as a denim vest. To me, the new article of clothing held substantial possibility! It was a sweet signifier of my queerness, my fashion sense, my femme, and how they were all intertwined.
I’ve adorned the vest since, with buttons and patches and pins, and worn it here and there, and depending on where I am, when I’m wearing my denim vest, I might seem like a hippie, or a punk, or (unless I flatter myself) an enigmatic fashion-forward femme. And to say the least, I don’t think my grandma would approve of many of the places I’ve chosen to wear my denim vest… Maybe especially here, tits out, model for hire, drawn for money, in a bar of all places !
I thought it made a lovely costume piece that’s only sort of a costume and also not really at all.
