Hello, Tumblr! It’s me, Mrs. Pidge Almina DePeche. Trying to figure out what exactly to put in my introduction post…
I guess I should start at the point that I started to get into vintage things. My first real exposure to a glamorous, idealized view of the past came with late-night Disney channel specials that dated to the 50s and 60s. That was my first real exposure to the mid-century aesthetic, hourglass strapless gowns and red lips. I grew up in the 90s, which had an aesthetic I would say was as far from that as you can get.
That was mostly just a passive appreciation as a single-digit child, though. It wasn’t until I turned 10 and discovered the Second World War that I *really* began to develop a vintage obsession.
For decades, now, I have admired the spirit of the Allies and the aesthetics of the wartime western world. Study and living history have given me an appreciation for the world my grandparents experienced and the battles their siblings fought to ensure freedom for the downtrodden. From sewing period dresses to cooking ration-friendly recipes, I try to remind myself as often as possible of the values and realities that shaped my parents’ parents’ world.
Even though I’m an American, I also have a particular affection for the British experience during the war, because they had it so very hard, and they kept up so admirably well, and they stood strong in the face of hellfire raining down on them and the threat of invasion for years before we stepped up to help them. They were the line in the sand between evil and the free world, and they held no matter the cost.
I’m a vintage lifestyle, not vintage values, person. I believe wanting to live in a way that highlights and honors the contributions of my grandparents and great-grandparents to the world during that time is antithetical to romanticizing the idea of the will-less, limpid, thoughtlessly submissive woman, and I have no patience for the fash. I’m in a lesbian relationship, I’m not only a woman though I was assigned that at birth, I am constantly working to unpack my biases and my privilege. I’m autistic, I’m studying to become Jewish. I am NOT your future tradwife. I am one of the ones tradwives think belong in walled ghettos, and I am getting my grubby little hands all over their floral prints and home-baked bread.
Aaaand…yes, I am a dirty-minded, kinky bitch. My appreciation for the WWII era is inextricably linked to certain salient experiences I had as a 10 year-old involving iconic imagery of the time that set my little prepubescent heart a-flutter. I cannot talk about the era and my love for it without talking about my fetish for many things about the time period, from visuals to fiction tropes and more.
There are some aspects of me that like the idea of being the Don Draper Daddy type, drinking scotch out of a gold-rimmed glass in a corner office. There are other aspects of me that love the idea of being the saddle-shoe wearing co-ed with a bow in her hair and a flirtatious smile on her lips. There are parts of me that want to be the darling pin-up singing at the USO show. A part of me that longs to be the Daddy’s girl waiting at home with open arms for the conflict to end. And a part of me that wants to tie on an apron and bake cookies for a petulant brat or two.
Throw all of that into a blender and pour it into a soda fountain milkshake glass, put a little cream and a cherry on top, and pop in a pastel paper straw, and I guess that’s me in a nutshell. At least, the pieces of me I am choosing to present here.
A vintage enthusiast whose interests span a large portion of the early and mid 20th century, but center firmly on the Second World War and the immediate postwar years.
A neurodivergent weirdo with a hyperfixation on the ever-receding past.
A queer person who performs femininity on my own terms rather than in the way I am expected to.
A horny degenerate who will spank and be spanked in turn, depending on my mood.
In other words…Pidge.












