What I found down there was a veritable Victorian dungeon of delights, complete with dim lighting and a slightly musty smell. My eyes slowly grew accustomed to the gloom, revealing a mad mix of antique furniture, clothing and other random objects with no discernable use.
Metal rails hidden in bare brick nooks proffered patched-up french cavalry uniforms and Edwardian nightdresses. A faded british flag poked out from a plumage of ostrich feathers and Dickensian top hats. Three battered helmets sat atop an old radiator, and while I peered through one of the racks I was entirely surprised by the fact that behind the clothes there was yet another hidden room, almost entirely in darkness yet I could make out a torn chaise lounge covered in a victorian ball gown and an indeterminate number of muddy army boots.
A lamp constructed out of a Hells Angels prosthetic leg.
So often these concept stores come across too contrived, too insincere or too precious. A Child of the Jago was none of these things. The store had an amazing atmosphere but also had the goods to back it up (legitimate antiques rather than the junk which passes for vintage these days) which makes all the difference in terms of authenticity. I know some John Galliano disciples who would die to see this so if you're lucky enough to live in London, go visit it now, and if not do the next best thing and check out the website.
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