Mothball Chic: The future's the past with vintage gear

An unusual item of clothing recently appeared in my house - a schlumpy brown leather-elbowed old cardigan that looks as if it had been peeled from an impecunious Latin professor as he uttered his last rattling breath.

This is odd because it belongs to my fashion-friendly teenage daughter, and most of the teenagers I see around are wearing shorts so tiny they might be mistaken for knickers, topped with branded T-shirts.

So, what's with the cardy? Turns out that the teenagers who cohabit my home and bank account have discovered the joys of second-hand clothing.

If you've ever been to Sandton City on a Saturday morning with your dependants, you'll understand the delight with which I welcomed this news. No longer do I have to join throngs of exhausted parents outside the fitting rooms where their daughters are trying on ridiculously priced shreds of viscose. I can just give my kids R100 each and drop them at the charity shop down the road to work on their winter wardrobes.

Not so fast, people. You see, we live in the age of vintage.

People used to want to buy stuff brand new and shiny out the box. Apart from money, wine and cheese, the general rule has been "the newer the better".

Now we want jackets that have been lived in (and, for all we know, died in), vinyl records at our parties, Balsamic vinegar from Michelangelo's day and shoes that trod the Champs Élysée in the 1920s.

Vintage should not be confused with old. Old isn't vintage. Old is just old. Old might be out, but vintage is most definitely in. Vintage shares some common ground with second-hand, but should not be mistaken for it. If you are in any doubt as to whether an item is old, second-hand or vintage, checking the price tag is a fairly reliable way to know.

Admittedly, the definition tends to be a bit loose. It is generally agreed that, to be vintage, the item should have been made at least a fortnight ago. Beyond that, things are not entirely clear. Vintage occupies an ill-defined, mysterious space somewhere between simply old-fashioned and actually antique.

Which brings us back to the teenagers. A pair of jeans that I swear is identical to a pair I had when I was 13 had been wrenched from a dusty cupboard, tossed into the washing machine, and given a stylish hand-written label - ''High-waisted washed denim jeans with pleat detail. Circa 1985. R300". The jeans were then put on display in a trendy shop or hipster market in Cape Town, there to lure gullible youths into parting with their money. My gullible youth, to be precise. She is delighted with them.

A number of interesting observations can be made. Firstly, this same pair of ugly 1980s jeans, if found in a charity shop, would have cost R30, max. Granted, they wouldn't have a stylishly hand-written label with the word ''Circa" on it, and they wouldn't have been sold to you by a chap with such interesting facial hair, but still, R30 would have gone to a good cause.

Secondly, if I were able to unearth, by some miracle, all the pairs of jeans I owned in my life - - and offered them to teenage girls - they would spurn them in horror. Mom jeans.

Likewise, presented with the Latin prof's moth-eaten brown cardigan, any right-thinking suburban child would shudder in disgust, wash her hands with Dettol, and head to Sandton City.

But vintage? That's a whole different story.