Cheap by anyone’s standards

It is perhaps heartening to realise that money doesn’t always guarantee instant access to the best that fashion has to offer. Sometimes, you just have to queue. But usually that queuing takes place at a hideous hour. In the hideous cold. With a hangover.

Queuing has never been part of my adult life. When I was younger, things were different: it was normal to wait outside gigs from midday just to ensure a place in the front row. But even that seemed pointless past the age of 15.

And yet a whole decade later I’m up at the crack of dawn twice in a month, queuing for the H&M Comme collaboration and the Angels Vintage Sale. And while the H&MxCDG yielded reasonable results, the Angels sale simply revealed that there are thousands out there even more desperate than myself. And by populating the front of the queue these people render my queuing attempts almost pointless.

For those blissfully unaware, Saturday’s Angels Sale saw the famous costumiers sell off a warehouseful of their old stock, priced by the bag for the equivalent of around £1 an item. Attracting a level of interest that clearly no-one expected, the keenest vintage hunters camped out a whole day in advance to snag those original 60s dresses and discarded Dr Who costumes.

A mix of poor maths and general stupidity had convinced me that, with 30,000 items on offer, there’d be more than enough to go round. Strolling up at 9.30 AM, I was met with a FREEZING three hour wait to enter a scene best described as a supersized jumble sale; the stock so depleted that hundreds were desperately trying sell off their pre-bought bags having found nothing worth putting in them. And with some camping out for 20 hours in advance to buy up all the stock, even those who had arrived at 8 AM were met with boxes of XXL blazers, musty trainers and WW1 helmets. Certainly not the ordered boxes of vintage rarities we’d be teased with…

What we’d hoped to find…

Angels has been given inevitable criticism in the sale’s fallout, with attendees complaining of poor management, over-hype and shoddy goods on offer. And while my haul of a giant’s coat and a size 14 jersey skirt wasn’t worth the chronic chilblains that now decorate my toes, it was nice to witness a fashion event that was truly democratic. The hardcore were awarded with the very best; those who dared to sleep in till 8 AM would’ve been better off in the local Age Concern.

If you want the best, sometimes you have to wait in line.

A giant’s coat and a size 14 skirt… all in a hard day’s work