“People come in here with a need but they leave with a want,”
smiles Marla Collins-Soana, buyer at Retro Clothing, Notting Hill. Sandwiched
in-between a garish tourist shop and an unassuming art shop, Retro Clothing is
not immediately eye catching as you wander past, involuntarily herded along by
throngs of people pushing their way along Portobello Road.
Step inside and you understand why people liken un-cave like
places to Aladdin’s Cave. Rows upon rows of previously loved clothing line the
walls. A glass cabinet runs along the length of the store, filled with
glittering pairs of shoes, their labels twinkling under the lights.
I couldn’t resist, and nor could most of the people, mainly
women, in there. I wanted what I couldn’t have, what other people were holding
and what I’d seen in magazines. As I clasped an exclusive sweatshirt in my
hand, glaring at anyone who dared come close, I eagerly showed my friends.
“That’s so nice,” they both mumbled. “But, it’s just a
jumper. Isn’t it?”
