New Studio

Today was the first day in my new studio. That's right, ladies and gentle beans. I have a studio now. Gone are the days of modeling clothes from 1:30 to 4 PM to maximize prime daylight. Gone are bad weather days affecting my entire week. It's all indoor, professionally lit photography from now on and I couldn't be happier.

Secret between you and me? I always feared the glass ceiling with outdoor porch photos. Even though there was a certain charm to everything being modeled on a porch, just a white wall and three-point lighting makes a world of difference. It's clean. It's simple. It's professional.

Our store is one year old and I'm truly looking forward to the next chapter in Alameda Vintage. I suspect the site will be getting a makeover soon, starting with these new, totally rad studio pics phasing out the porch photos. I can't believe it! It's Miles Davis cool and it wouldn't have been possible if we didn't get kicked out of our old place.

Thanks, dog prejudice! You did it again.

Professionally Lit,

Sabrina London

House-Warming Gift

Vintage '50s Barren Trees Dress - Times Up Shop

With all the craziness over the past few days, I decided some retail therapy was definitely in order. I found the most STUNNING vintage '50s dress from Times Up Shop, a vintage boutique based in Copenhagen, Denmark. European vintage? Yes, please.

The barren tees print reminds me of Salvador Dali's "The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory" painting. Something about the muted tones, the horizon line, and the dead trees just has Dali written all over it. Also, the painting is from 1954. Coincidence? Probably!

I'm so, so in love with it. When we moved, I threw away so much of my old clothes from college. It was liberating but nostalgic. I said goodbye to a lot of memory pieces: the jacket I wore when I met my husband. A couple peasant maxi dresses from my first trip to LA. I thought about auctioning a few of these, but it felt unnecessarily awkward putting a price tag on sentimental treasures of years past.

More than anything, I'm elated to start over. New wardrobe, new memories. I simply can't wait to get this dress.

Undressed,

Sabrina London

The End of Porch Fashion

On Friday afternoon, I was relishing my day off, enjoying a cheese quesadilla in my underwear and husband's Captain America shirt. It was one of those rare nothing-to-do Fridays where I could flip open my laptop and spend all day writing. Utter bliss.

Then: a staunch knock on the door. Gestapo-worthy.

This triggered my little chihuahua into a panic. Her alarm system activated, and I hurriedly rushed her to the kitchen, simultaneously looking for a pair of pants.

"Sabrina. Open up. It's Tatiana."

Worse than the Gestapo, it was my landlord. A tall, deliberate Ukrainian woman, who scared the shit out of me. In two years, I'd never placed a work order because I was scared of getting yelled at or having my rent increased. The first week I moved in, I accidentally locked myself out of my apartment one night. She appeared 30 minutes later in her pajama pants with a scowl that could sober a baby. "You must be SERIOUS, Sabrina. You grow up. This can never happen again. I charge you $100 if this ever happen again."

Guess who developed OCD that night?

As I approached the front door, with no pants on, I had the immediate sense of bracing myself. For all her no-nonsense, Tatiana was also extremely non-confrontational. If she received a noise complaint, you wouldn't hear about it for months. This hands-off approach to management came in handy when my brother needed a couch to crash for X months or when my husband and I bought a puppy without permission.

About that.

I was never trying to artlessly break the rules by bringing home a 3 pound chihuahua, but our neighbors had cats. Giant ones. And I justified if we could litter box train our puppy and teach her to be quiet, she was no different than owning a giant, sociopathic feline. That's right, I call Dexter on that shit. Cats have no remorse.

As I unlocked the door, I wondered if I still remembered what Tatiana looked like. It always sort of surprised me. I knew she was tall and her accent robust, but then you remember she lives in Hollywood and that's where silicone lip injections and DD boobs throw you for a loop. I opened the door, and was met with a familiar snarl.

"Sabrina, you have dog?" She said. This was a question.

I stared at her blankly. The puppy alarm system had not stopped barking from the kitchen. How had we slipped under the radar this long? We had Sophia for almost a year, and not a single complaint.

"Please, come in," I said and stepped aside for her boobs. It was the only phrase that came to mind. Didn't Olivier Martinez invite in Richard Gere after Richard found out he was fucking his wife? I took a deep breathe and opened the kitchen door. Sophia waddled out, trepidatiously. She feared strangers.

"Landlord tell me to check if you have dog. Neighbors complain. If you have dog, she say, you must give up dog or you move out in three days."

I felt my stomach sink somewhere in my lower intestines. Tatiana wasn't the landlord?

"You are no allowed to have dog, Sabrina. No. Dogs. Allowed."

Perhaps she was speaking in the third person. Foreign people do that, right? Pronouns.

"Landlord does not allow dogs, ever. Cats, yes. But dogs not allowed."

"Tatiana," I said. "I understand where you're coming from. But Sophia is trained. She uses a litter box just like a cat. And we're very strict about barking. If we'd known someone had a problem with it, we could have done something. No one said anything to us.

My husband and I are not planning to have children. Just this puppy. She's our family and we can't give her up."

Tatiana shrugged without empathy. "Then you have 3 days to move out."

Oh holy hell.

"Three days? Tatiana, I've lived here for over 2 years. I can't move out in 3 days, it's not possible. Please just give us some time to find a new place. If we absolutely cannot compromise on the dog, give us a chance to get something else lined up. This is coming out of no where."

"I don't make rules," she said. "Three days."

Suddenly, tears spilled down my cheeks. I picked up Sophia in my arms. This wasn't a decision. This was an eviction notice. And I looked around the home I helped build, the place where I'd spent Christmases and New Years, the place where my husband proposed to me.... the idea of leaving was devastating.

Not prepared for the emotion they call sadness, Tatiana was immediately unnerved by the perspiration coming from my face and said, "Stop it. Stop crying."

"This is our home, Tatiana. We were planning to live here for years. And you're telling us we have to leave," I said. "I know it's not your fault. I know we broke the rules. But we were good tenants. Our rent was always on time. We didn't ask for anything. We loved this place and built our life here."

"Maybe you write letter," Tatiana relented. "To landlord. And tell her what you tell me. Ask her if you keep dog. I tell you now, in 23 years, she never make exception. But you write letter. And don't tell her I told you so."

I wiped my eyes. It was the wispiest of olive branches but at that point, I would cling to anything. "Okay. I'll write her a letter," I said. As if that would help. As if it would make a difference. For 5 or 10 minutes, I actually believed it might.

Tatiana pet my dog before she left. She told me she had a dog once in the Ukraine. She loved dogs. This was not her rule.

I called my husband and broke the news. I couldn't stop myself from sobbing. After Tatiana left, and I heard myself say "maybe if we write her a letter," I knew we were doomed.

The next morning, my husband, brother (who was still crashing on our couch), and myself went in search for a new apartment. We decided to make the best of it and try to upgrade from our current studio to a one-bedroom. It would be impossible to beat the incredible city view, but if we could stay in the same neighborhood, I could be happy.

We checked out a few places. One without air conditioning. Another that looked like it was from "The Shield." Then we found Kaitlin Court - a beautiful courtyard complex 4 blocks from our old place. The manager met us - and Sophia - and said if we signed a piece of paper saying she was a service dog, she could live there.

On Sunday, we moved out. It was the longest 20 hour day of my life. Packing, boxing, moving, lifting. It never, never ended. But the emptier our studio got, the more it reminded me of how little we had when we first moved in. I remembered having nothing more than a couch and some silver ware.

At 3 AM, my husband and I came upstairs to get the last of it. We walked through our empty apartment. Our first home. There were so many memories here. So much love and excitement and good news and fights and makeup sex and movies. We held hands in front of the balcony, where I had photographed so many vintage dresses. You could see all of Hollywood from our window.

"This is hard," I said.

"I know," Sean said.

We both cried, quietly. "You know, honey. I know this is especially difficult because we were kicked out. We didn't choose this. And I know this place has always felt perfect to us. But Sophia is not welcomed here. She's our little girl. And if she's not welcomed, then it's not perfect for us."

I nodded.

"Let's build a new home. Our new place is beautiful. And though it won't be the same, we can make it better. It will already be better because we'll have Sophia."

He kissed me. I nodded, knowing he was right but not ready to say so just yet. I took the keys off my key ring and placed them on the kitchen counter.

"It will be okay, sweetheart. I love you."

Sneak Preview: New Items!

TONS of new items will be added to Alameda Vintage tomorrow night. Jot it down in your diary and don't forget to check out Thursday's ending auctions!

http://stores.ebay.com/Alameda-Vintage

http://stores.ebay.com/Alameda-Vintage

Finally Sunny,

Sabrina London

Cut It Out

The weather is perfect for a Madeleine Peyroux CD and a chocolate Earl Gray tea, which is exactly what I'm up to right now. Recipe for the curious: make a cup of regular Bigelow's Earl Gray tea and add chocolate milk, 2 teaspoons of sugar and whipped cream. It's better than a dessert.

It's been raining in LA since last week. This has slowed down how many things I can model each week, but the good news is that our back inventory is AMAZING. I went on two epic thrifting excursions, coming home with over 70 different pieces. The pile in the back of my closet is growing, which is equal parts intimidating and exciting.

Knowing a good opportunity when he sees one, my husband wants to expand our DIY cut-out sweater project on Etsy. Since the skull cut-outs have been so popular, he thinks we should create a whole line of modified clothes called CUT IT OUT, a subset of Alameda Vintage.

It's an intriguing idea. We could customize really cute cut-outs like a lightning bolt, an owl, or a Hello Kitty. Even seasonal designs like a Christmas tree or candy cane. I think they're universally wearable and really sweet. My only concern is how much work it would be, tacked on to what I'm already doing. To do it right, this would be like starting up a new business and I don't know if I have the energy. Just thinking about it makes me want to take a nap.

In case you don't have it bookmarked, here's our Etsy shop: http://www.etsy.com/shop/alamedavintage

And while we're at it: http://stores.ebay.com/Alameda-Vintage

Sleepy Now,

Sabrina London

Reality Show

On Thursday afternoon, I was invited to appear on a new reality series about vintage clothes. The show revolves around self-prescribed vintage expert Elizabeth Mason, who owns a shop in Beverly Hills. The producer of the show, Mike, wanted me to bring in a few pieces of clothes I thought might be valuable and have Elizabeth appraise them. "If she likes what she sees, she may make you an offer," he peppered in with intrigue. "And if you have anything owned by a celebrity, that would be even better."

As a matter of fact, I did. A beautiful, red double-knit dress coat with a faux-fur trim, owned by Audrey Hepburn. I bought it a few years back from a film historian, who got it from her makeup artist. I'd never considered selling it before, but I'd also never been on a reality show with cameras, appraisers, and a fat check book before. "Let them make you an offer, and then decide," my husband agreed.

So I arrived at the boutique, armed with fashion. When I got there, Elizabeth Mason and the camera crew were out to lunch, but the store assistant said I could look around. It was pretty deluxe. Racks of garments were labeled Chanel, Dior, Yves Saint Laurent, and Karl Lagerfeld. I found myself drawn to a wall of vintage shoes, with everything from Manolo Blahnik to Ferragamo (my spell check is going insane, btw). It was pretty overwhelming. I felt like I couldn't shop, so much as reverently observe like being in a museum.

The crew returned from lunch, chatting and laughing. Mike recognized me immediately and greeted me. Then, it was down to business.

"We'd like to keep you away from Elizabeth Mason, so it will be as natural as possible when you meet her for the first time," he said.

"We're going to shoot you walking into the shop with your dresses, and that's where you'll explain a little bit about where you got them, what they mean to you, and what you know about them. How many pieces did you bring?"

"Four," I said.

"And the Audrey dress?"

"Yup."

"Perfect. Now that's going to be the big-ticket item, so let's do that one last. And are you an Audrey fan?"

"Yes."

"Great! So we'll have you rattle off lots of facts about Audrey Hepburn, little trivia and things."

"Okay."

As Mike and I choreographed being "natural," I could see Elizabeth in the corner of my eye mulling about. The shop assistant, Monica (?), shadowed her while Elizabeth bossed her around in the most measured, quiet voice.

"You know, Monica sent me the sweetest text message the other day," Elizabeth divulged to a crew member, off-camera. Immediately, Monica's eyes bulged and she zipped away as if just remembering she left the gas on.

"She said to me: 'I just wanted to thank you for everything you've taught me in the last few days. You're a wonderful mentor.' I thought that was so sweet," Elizabeth arced her shoulders and sighed, with whimsy.

"Alright Sabrina, are you ready to get started?" Mike asked.

I was carrying 8 pounds of clothing, I had a microphone strapped to my bra, and I'd been loafing around the storefront for the last hour and a half while they blocked the shot. I was ready.

"And, whenever you're ready!"

With that cue, I walked past the mall of clothing to a jewelry display case where Elizabeth and Monica were sorting papers and chatting idly. I set my clothes on the counter and waited. No one looked up or said anything.

"Okay cut. Let's try this one more time. When you get to the counter, say hi! I'm Sabrina. I brought some clothes to be appraised today. Elizabeth, greet Sabrina when she gets there."

Greet the customer? What a novel idea.

I shlepped my stack of clothes back to my mark and again perused to the jewelry counter, where Elizabeth and Monica pretended to be in the middle of something.

"Hi, I'm Sabrina. I brought a few things to have you look at," I said.

"We'll finish this later," Elizabeth said to Monica. She turned to me. "Hello there."

As we finally made eye contact for the first time, I could finally see Elizabeth. She was a slender, white, impeccably well-groomed woman in her early 50's. She had a whispy halo of blonde hair on her head, and big green eyes that never changed expressions when she talked or smiled. She kind of reminded me of a Fox news commentator: her speech always friendly, if not meticulously controlled.

"What do we have here today?" She said, eyes piercing.

"Well the first thing is this Saks Fifth Avenue dress and coat set. I bought it for a $1 at a yard sale, but the silk lining is hand-sewn and the material feels really expensive."

"I see. What first stands out to me are these stains by the buttons. Have you tried washing them out?"

"No, not yet. But they look like makeup stains and I'm pretty sure I could get them out with Oxyclean."

"See, I don't think so," she said. "There's one on the lining too and how would you get makeup on the inside of your coat?"

"Is that a real question?"

"And it looks like you have the matching dress AND jacket? See, that seems a bit costumey to me. People don't really wear matching coat and dress sets like they did in the '60s."

"I suppose not."

"If I were you," she said, "I would throw away the dress. Just try to rock the jacket."

"Okay."

The producer chimed in. "Okay cut. Elizabeth, why don't you tell Sabrina what you think the jacket and dress are worth?"

"Certainly," Elizabeth said. "You know, I really wouldn't put much value on it. It's not by a designer."

"Well, it's Saks Fifth Avenue."

"Right, but it's not a designer," she insisted. "I would say it's worth the dollar you paid for it."

As she shuffled my dress and coat aside, I began to sense something. Annoying. Happening.

"Tell me about this dress," she said.

"Well it's a 1940's cocktail dress made by Omar Kiem, who custom-made party dresses for the stars in the '40s and '50s. I'm really in love with the super full, silk tafetta skirt," I said, splaying the material over the counter.

"I can tell you right away, it's not from the '40s." She said.

"Okay. Well I actually researched it and the tag comparison on Vintage Fashion Guild specifically points to the '40s."

"It doesn't matter what some web-site says, you can just tell by the style. Also, it looks like there are a few tiny holes in the skirt. That's called silk rot. Did you try to fix these?"

"No, my assistant patched it up."

"I would fail her in my Home Ec class. These holes can't be patched up. The silk is falling apart, little by little. If you wear this, it's going to fall apart."

The producer interrupted, "Okay, and what do you think it would be worth?"

"Barely anything. I'd say $200 as a reference piece for a designer."

"Why don't you show the holes to Monica and try to mentor her?" The producer suggested. "That would be great. Let's get some of that."

While Elizabeth repeated everything she just said, except facing Monica, I quickly realized this whole set-up had nothing to do with appraisals or selling. The producer kept having to remind Elizabeth to put a price tag on something, and she always talked around giving a number. She also could never see past anything with a stain or a hole, which I found very odd given that we're talking about vintage and that's part of what we do. We love clothes that are old.

When it came time to bring out the big guns, the producer pulled me aside for a pep talk. "Now with this item, I want you to get really excited and say, 'This is my PRIZE possession. I bought it a few years ago and it means everything to me.' And pump up the energy."

I couldn't tell if he was coaching me to "be excited" because I'd been dull the whole time, or they were just really banking on this Audrey Hepburn dress. But I said exactly what he told me to, figuring it was better than rattling off some random Audrey Hepburn trivia.

No sooner had I said "Audrey Hepburn coat" that Miss Elizabeth Mason's permanent smile began quivering at the corners.

"How much did you pay for it?" That was her first question.

"It's been a few years. Maybe $500."

"Oooh," she winced. "$500 is a lot of money for you."

"Um..."

"Do you have a picture of Audrey Hepburn wearing it?"

"No."

"Who signed the certificate of authenticity? Was it Audrey?"

"No, Audrey Hepburn is dead. It was signed by her make-up artist friend, who worked on virtually every movie in the '50s and '60s."

"I see. Well, I actually designed a dress for Julia Roberts, which I resold with a picture of her wearing it. So you see, that's proof it belonged to her. But as far as you know, this could have belonged to anyone."

By that logic, most things at the Hard Rock Cafe could belong to anyone...

"So obviously, this item has the most value because of what it represents to YOU. That makes it invaluable," she said.

A million different defenses sprung to mind, but I knew I couldn't use a single one. If I defended myself, they would have footage that could make me look like a bitch. All I could think to do was not show even a suggestion of emotion. Whether it was excitement or disappointment, I knew what made good reality TV and I wasn't about to give it to them. Not a real Audrey coat? Oh well!

The experience was a ludicrous waste of time. After shooting my segment with Elizabeth, she literally walked away without so much as a "thanks for stopping by." She completely ignored me when the cameras stopped rolling. I wasn't aspiring to be best friends, but after no one was making any offers and I'd done all of this for free, the very least she could do was acknowledge my participation for the last 2 hours.

The absolute WORST part was shooting my intro/exit interviews, where they wanted to talk about my experience and what I thought of Elizabeth. "She was very knowledgeable. It was informative."

"Okay, could you try to be more specific? What did you like? What did you not like?" the producer prodded.

"I'm happy my '60s Calvin Klein coat is worth $2,000."

"Okay, try that with a little more enthusiasm."

"My Calvin Klein coat is worth $2,000. So that's nice."

Back to Reality,

Sabrina London

The Model is Sick.

If you see this image in our store auctions, bear with us! For the first time in MONTHS, it rained in Los Angeles this week, which is the kiss of death when outdoor photography is 100% of your business.

To add Pop Rocks to napalm, I also got a flu vaccine, tetanus shot, and blood work all done on the same day. When I woke up this morning, my whole body felt like it was hit by a sledgehammer. Just lifting a slice of pizza to the microwave sent shock waves of hellfire through my arms. Mama's dizzy, nauseous, and sore like a motherfucker. So it's safe to say, I'm not looking forward to modeling 10 new dresses this afternoon.

If I survive today, expect pictures on our auctions by nightfall. I'm working hard for you, babies.

More Vicodin please,

Sabrina London