When twenty-something Mihaela Noroc set out from her hometown of Budapest, to capture beauty with her camera, the methods were modest while her aim was ambitious. She wanted to map out the diverse expressions of beauty in the world, and she chose to do so by capturing the natural beauty of women in their element. That meant scouring the busy streets of Tokyo, the obscure country roads of Peru, and nearly everywhere in between.

Last December, Noroc returned home after setting out for 16 months, traveling the world over, armed with just her camera and the items in her backpack, and photographing the women she met in the various locales, that represented to her, a natural and diverse face of beauty. For Noroc, "beauty means to keep alive your origins and your culture. To be natural,  sincere, authentic, particular, not necessarily fashionable or skinny."

Feeling it: vintage clothing in all its glory (image source)

LOVE YOUR VINTAGE!!

We're probably singing to the choir here, but in honor of Valentine's, we thought we recount the ways on why we love shopping for, and wearing vintage clothing.



Reason #1: THEY DON'T MAKE 'EM LIKE THEY USED TO.

Are we sounding like an old grandma here? One of the best things about buying and wearing a vintage garment is that they are, most of the time, made of better quality than something you're going to buy at a your nearby department store. The fabric is often times very fine, as well as the tailoring. 

If you want to see for yourself the difference between modern and vintage clothing construction, just lift up a hem and compare. A vintage hem is often larger, offering up up to 4 inches of hemline (great for taking up or down to better fit your height, or current trends) and can be beautifully hand-stitched. A modern hem is likely stingy, no more than a quarter inch of give, and likely clumsily machine sewn. 

What does a hand embellished vintage 1970s Dooney & Bourke leather handbag (made in the USA) and a beautiful belle living in Sacramento, California have in common? 

Simply put: LOVE, baby.

Antonia has been in my life for over twenty years; we met over a mutual ex-beau, and stayed for the smart conversations, shared love of thrift shopping and local bands. Our acquaintance has evolved into a deep and sound friendship, surfing the ebbs and flows of distance and changes that are par for the course in the deluge spanning two decades. 

1990-something: she was a sweet young thing,  a curvy bombshell, outfitted with a dry wit and sharply smart, a fresh faced creature of 17ish, intent on taking Midtown by storm. I was older, taller,  my scrawny figure more akin to the minutes of choirboy than hourglass.  My grunge era look was locked into a red lipsticked, goofy grin, and big blinky bug eyes tucked inside a pair of Malcolm X horned rims. And I was a whole 9 years wiser. She has since surpassed me on the wise part, using her powers for good, now a proud mama to 3 boys, a devoted wife and high school principal. 

In spite of our very different body shapes, and age gap, we bore a strong resemblance to the other, frustrating us both when folks would approach each, confusing one

Seattle Stele: local lawn monument to Art. Photo: Bella Q

The past is never dead, it is not even past.

I decline to accept the end of man. It is easy enough to say that man is immortal simply because he will endure: that when the last ding-dong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still be one more sound: that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking.    - William Faulkner