I found a skirt from the '50s at the Habitat for Humanity thrift store, the only item of clothing in the place that was more than thirty years old. It had been hacked off at the waistband, the raw edge crudely whip-stitched over; the lady behind the counter said it must have been the bottom half of dress, once. It had a built-in crinoline and a glorious print, all gray and mint and goldenrod. I bought it for $3. It fits perfectly.
I folded over the cut edge and stitched it down. There was piping a half-inch below the edge, so I used that as the new waistband. I'm going to cover the raw edge with hem tape, I think, and install a hook and eye at the waist so the zipper stays up.
I wish I knew what the top half looked like, of the dress it used to be. I wish I knew why it was cut up, and how it ended up at the thrift store. It looks homemade; I wish I knew who sewed it. But one of the things you have to get used to, with vintage, is that the clothes keep their secrets.
