Readers,
On a day trip from Hart, Germany to Salzburg, Austria yesterday Jack and I happened upon a button shop: Jos. Mayer, on Rathausplatz 1.
I daresay it’s the oldest button shop I will ever go into–it was founded in 1758!
Packing for our excursion, I tossed my swatches in my bag–just in case, even though I didn’t intend to make button-shopping my top priority.
I never know when I’ll find a button shop, much less one that celebrated its 250th birthday several years ago, so it’s best to be prepared.
In my very limited German vocabulary is the the word for “button,” “Knopf.” So when I saw “Knopf” written on the shop window I stopped dead in my tracks.
The next thrill was walking into the shop and and seeing the wall of buttons.
When I pulled out the swatch of blue-green tweed and explained the buttons were for a jacket, the saleslady began retrieving and opening boxes for me with brisk efficiency.
The bluish green translucent buttons grabbed my attention. I had been imagining buttons for my 1941 pattern from the 1940s or ’50s in muted shades of the period, in a marbled opaque, more overtly sportcoatish design.
But these buttons were modern, and that intrigued me. Chameleon-like, they adapted readily to the coloring in my fabric.
I thought it would be interesting to use a new button that would say, “This garment is made from a vintage pattern and probably vintage fabric, but it was made for today.”
Knowing I might still find intriguing choices in Berlin or London, I went ahead and bought these. They came in the perfect sizes for the jacket front and the vented sleeves.
I was almost sorry to make a button purchase so decisively and quickly this early in my trip but then thought I would keep looking for another interesting match. After all, looking is a great the best part of the fun of button-shopping, I think.
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