The other day I went with my dad to start cleaning out my grandparents house. The second home they owned when moving to Australia after moving from a small terrace in North Melbourne. The Wog dream, brick house with a massive backyard. A space for my nonno to tap back into his routes gardening, leaving school in grade 4 to work on the farm.
Of course the first thing I did was hit the wardrobe, a lot of suiting made locally by different Tailors. My dad would recall going down to the different stores with his father to get alterations or whole suits made.
There were a few things that surprised me going through my Nonnos wardrobe. Firstly the range. You would imagine an old Italians wardrobe to look a certain way and it did but I was interested by how much he shifted with the times. He would have been in his 40s during the 1970s yet there was still heaps of cord and most notably purple pants. I'm guessing his Italian roots gave an extension on how long he had before he gave up on fashion, seeing dads today frozen in time wearing what was cool when they were 25.
Secondly I noticed the use of different fibres and fabrics, I've always been under the illusion that we have slowly transitioned into more artificial fibres and fabrics yet there were a decent amount of polyester and even nylon shirts far detached from my nostalgia and illusions of what the past was.
More than anything this visit was a reminder of the marks we leave on the people and places we inhabit throughout our lives. Two people that took a boat to the other side of the world and made it up as they went. Expressing themselves through the clothes they wore, the ingredients they grew and then cooked, the plastic they covered their couches with. Creating a legacy and a visual language that speaks their story, yet they had no clue. They did a fucking good job. That whole generation is in my thoughts always but especially this morning.
Sending Love, Simon
