VINTAGE WORK APRONS

   Among the many things that I pick up here and there are old work aprons, and the more used and abused the better. It's easy to look at them and picture some guy or gal busting their hump using this piece of cloth tied around their body to protect themselves from whatever it they endeavor to do. A handy pouch, pocket and strap to hold your pen and notebook, knife, nails and tools within easy reach is essential, as is a place to wipe your hands. An apron is an invaluable piece of work wear. Here are some great examples.

Handyman style. Nice paint spatters.

a little tar really hammers home the fact that it was worn by a roofer.

this one is great, looks as if it was longer and the upper was not needed and cut off.  The rust stains are cool.

Hard to tell by the photo but this one is small, very small. it looks like the shroud of Turin with all the water stain marks

never been used. i liked the "chateau" font and graphic.

super used

nicely faded with the addition of clasps to get around tying and untying.

another roofer. Bird roofs.

one of my favorites

I worked as an electrician in NYC for years and if i wore this i would be laughed off of a job site. Kind of neat though.

this is the apron i wear most of the time. It's a Japanese maekake. A shop apron, you see them a lot in bars or restaurants.

another maekake

common denim shop apron

denim H&A apron. I wear when I'm using ink

denim

JUNK STORES

 One of my earliest and fondest memories is going to a junk store with my mom. Love at first sight. The musty smell, the ancient dust, and all the junk. I fucking love a junk store. Now, a junk store is different than a thrift store in that it has no rhyme or reason in it's organization. A thrift store has it's home-ware section, it's clothing section, it's bric a brac section. But the glory of a junk store is that all these sections are one. You really have to hunt, and really have to want something bad enough to dig for it. Old clothes are buried under a pile of wooden crates in that corner, bottles from the 1800's are stacked on a 1920's shop table in that corner. Seaman trunks? right over there. Metal, finger-biting fans? stack of 'em upstairs. Got 30 pounds of lace? As a matter of fact son, I do. Upstairs, second room to the right. 5 bucks a pound. (true story) It's a chaotic jumble and balenced ballet all in one. I love a junk store more than just about anything. A good one is like winning a lottery that nobody gives a shit about. Most of these photos are from my fav-o-rite one in new england. Enjoy!