As a young girl, I was endlessly enchanted by fabric—any fabric. Chenille bedspreads, sheer curtains that danced in the breeze, old dresses from the back of the wardrobe, scraps leftover from sewing projects. My sister and I would drape ourselves in these bits and pieces, transforming the lounge room into a glittering catwalk or a bridal runway, depending on the day’s inspiration. We’d pin, knot, and wrap, stepping into characters born from folds of lace or a shimmer of satin.

Early on, I discovered the joy of layering clothing—building outfits that told stories through colour, texture, and print. Each layer added depth, mystery, flair. As children, we didn’t worry about what others thought. Styling was playful, experimental—an act of pure self-expression.

Growing up in the seventies, our wardrobes weren’t filled with items plucked from store racks. Many of our clothes were sewn by our mother or handed down by older relatives and neighbours. Each garment carried a quiet history—sometimes visible in the stitching, hidden between the seams, or whispered through a newly replaced button or trim.

I was fascinated by the life a piece of clothing could live. I’d imagine its first outing—freshly sewn or newly bought, worn proudly to a party or church picnic. Maybe the hem was later taken up for a younger sibling, the bodice let out during a growth spurt, a frill or patch added to disguise a tear. A dress might pass through several hands, shifting shape with each new owner, always changing, always loved. Eventually, it might find its way to a garage sale or op shop, where someone like me would find it, see its potential, and carry it home like a treasure.

That love for clothing with a story never left me. Over the years, I’ve collected vintage garments, costumes, and forgotten pieces waiting to be reimagined. I’ve rescued dresses from the brink, mended and restored them, marvelling at the stitching, the prints, the construction, and the imagination of their original makers.

Now, my collection has grown beyond what I can use or care for alone. It feels like the right moment to pass them on—to let these beautiful garments continue their journeys, to be chosen again, worn again, loved again. Whether for work or play, stage or screen, necessity or delight, each piece has something to offer. A bit of history. A touch of magic. A story still unfolding.

Lennie