The HM Express: Vintage Hair Accessories That Arrive Unannounced

When the HM Express pulls into the station—whether it is a dusty antiques centre in the Cotswolds or a Saturday morning flea market in Bermondsey—I always give myself a quiet rule: let the first three things I see be the ones I take home. It keeps the mind from racing and the purse from weeping. Last month, that rule led me to a tortoiseshell side-comb with a single brass rivet, a velvet bow still attached to its original card, and a heavy silver-plated hair slide engraved with a monogram that might have belonged to a Miss E. P. Thornton, circa 1924. None of them cost more than a cup of tea at Fortnum’s. None of them were what I had set out to find. That, I think, is the real magic of chasing vintage hair accessories: the best pieces arrive unannounced.

This column is my personal log of those arrivals—the finds that come straight off the HM Express and into my collection, hot to the touch with possibility. I share them not as a shopping list, but as a quiet invitation to look again at what you might pass over on a crowded stall. Because the difference between a pretty trinket and a piece of wearable history is often just a little knowledge, a gentle hand, and the willingness to say yes to the third thing you see.

Three Finds That Made Me Stop and Look Twice

Let me walk you through the three pieces that have been living on my dressing table this fortnight, each one a lesson in material, craft, or era.

1. A Late-Victorian Hair Pin with a Painted Porcelain Head

I found this one buried under a pile of plastic combs at a stall in St Albans. The porcelain head is no bigger than a fingernail, hand-painted with a cluster of forget-me-nots so fine you need a loupe to see the brushstrokes. The pin itself is steel, darkened with age but still straight. What makes it special is the tiny chip on the back—not a flaw, but a signature. Most Victorian hair pins were used once and discarded, but this one was kept, repaired, reused. The chip tells me someone loved it enough to keep it close, perhaps pinning it into a Sunday hat or a bun worn for a photograph. When I wear it now, I feel that history pressing gently against my scalp.

2. A 1930s Celluloid Comb with a Geometric Pattern

Celluloid gets a bad reputation—it is flammable, yes, and it can degrade if stored poorly. But in the 1930s, it was a marvel of modern material science, imitating tortoiseshell and ivory at a fraction of the cost. This comb is a deep amber colour, almost honey, with a repeating diamond motif pressed into the spine. It flexes slightly when you hold it, a sign that the plastic has not become brittle. I use it to sweep my hair back after washing, when the strands are damp and obedient. It is light, comfortable, and completely unsentimental—a working comb that happens to be beautiful. That is the 1930s in a nutshell: elegance made practical.

3. A Mid-Century Velvet Bow Clip, Still on Its Original Card

The card is yellowed and the velvet has faded from cherry red to a soft brick, but the clip mechanism snaps shut with a satisfying click. These mass-produced bow clips were sold in department stores across Britain in the 1950s, often as a cheap gift for a niece or a daughter. What makes this one special is the card itself—it reads “Wash in cool water, press on reverse side.” Someone followed those instructions. The velvet is worn in a gentle curve where it rested against a head, and the metal clip has a patina that no reproduction could imitate. I wear it clipped to the strap of my canvas tote, not in my hair, because it feels more like a talisman than an accessory.

Materials That Tell the Truth

Every vintage hair accessory is a document of its material history. Learning to read that document is the difference between buying a pretty object and understanding a piece of the past. Here is a short guide to the materials you will most often encounter on the HM Express, and what they reveal.

• Tortoiseshell (real and simulated) – Real tortoiseshell was harvested from hawksbill turtles until the trade was banned in the 1970s. It has a deep, translucent amber with dark mottling, and it polishes to a warm glow. Simulated versions include celluloid (from the 1860s onward) and later casein plastics. You can tell the difference by smell: real shell smells slightly of burnt hair when heated; celluloid smells of camphor. Always handle real tortoiseshell gently—it can delaminate if exposed to dry heat.
• Silver and silver plate – Silver hair slides and combs were popular from the 1880s through the 1920s, often engraved with initials or floral motifs. Sterling silver will be hallmarked; silver plate will show base metal at the edges after years of wear. A gentle polish with a silver cloth will restore the shine, but do not rub too hard on engraved areas—you can wear away the detail.
• Velvet and silk – These soft materials were used for bows, covered bands, and padded slides from the Edwardian period through the 1950s. Velvet is particularly vulnerable to crushing and fading. Store velvet pieces flat, away from direct sunlight, and never fold them. A light steam (from a distance) can revive the nap, but test on an inconspicuous area first.
• Horn and bone – Before plastics, horn and bone were common materials for combs and hair pins. Horn is slightly translucent when held up to light; bone is opaque with tiny pores. Both can become brittle with age. A thin coat of beeswax, buffed gently, can help preserve them without making them greasy.

If you are just beginning to build a collection, I recommend starting with a single material—say, silver or celluloid—and learning its quirks intimately. That focus will train your eye faster than any book. A good place to revisit the fundamentals is our archive from March 2017, which offers a fresh look at how these materials were used in everyday accessories during the interwar years. You can find it under Revisiting Vintage Hair Accessories with Fresh Eyes.

How to Wear a Vintage Piece Without Looking Like a Costume

The greatest challenge of vintage accessories is not finding them—it is integrating them into a modern wardrobe without the result feeling like fancy dress. I have three rules that have never let me down.

1. Let the accessory be the only vintage element. If you wear a 1920s silver slide, pair it with a simple white shirt and tailored trousers. Do not add a flapper dress, a cloche hat, and T-strap heels. The contrast between the old and the new is what makes the piece sing.
2. Wear it where it feels natural, not where it is supposed to go. That Victorian hair pin? Slide it into a low ponytail at the nape of your neck, not into a complicated updo. The velvet bow? Clip it to the collar of a blazer or the loop of a handbag. The most striking vintage looks are the ones that look almost accidental.
3. Commit to the weight. Vintage accessories are often heavier than modern equivalents—solid silver, thick celluloid, real horn. Do not try to pretend they are lightweight. Let them pull your hair down, let them shift slightly as you move. That physical presence is part of their charm.

I once wore a late-Edwardian silver comb to a dinner party, and a friend asked if it was uncomfortable. I told her it was not uncomfortable—it was present. That is the difference between a modern plastic clip and a vintage piece: the one you forget, the other you feel.

Caring for Your Finds: A Gentle Routine

Vintage hair accessories are not fragile, but they do need a different kind of attention than new ones. Here is the routine I follow for every piece that comes off the HM Express.

Material	Cleaning method	Storage tip
Celluloid / casein	Wipe with a barely damp cloth; dry immediately. Never soak.	Keep in a cool, dark drawer away from radiators. Celluloid can warp in heat.
Silver (hallmarked)	Polish with a silver cloth; rinse in warm water; dry thoroughly.	Store in a cloth pouch or a box lined with anti-tarnish paper.
Velvet / silk	Spot-clean with a soft brush; steam from a distance if crushed.	Lay flat in a shallow box; never hang or fold.
Horn / bone	Wipe with a dry cloth; apply a thin layer of beeswax once a year.	Store in a stable humidity environment—not too dry, not too damp.
Tortoiseshell (real)	Gently wipe with a microfiber cloth. Never use alcohol or acetone.	Keep away from direct sunlight and heat sources. Wrap in acid-free tissue.

One more thing: never, ever use modern metal polish on a vintage piece unless you are certain it is solid silver and uncoated. Many vintage combs and slides have a thin layer of lacquer that modern polish will strip away in seconds. When in doubt, start with a dry cloth and see what comes off. Less is always more.

The Quiet Joy of the Unexpected Find

There is a particular pleasure in walking away from a market stall with something you did not know you wanted. The HM Express does not always deliver the piece you were hunting for—but it almost always delivers something better. Last week, I found a small cardboard box labelled “Hair Ornaments—Mixed” at a charity shop in a village I had never visited. Inside were four bakelite hair slides in shades of marbled green, a tortoiseshell barrette with a broken clasp, and a note in spidery handwriting: “For Margaret, with love, from her mother, Christmas 1947.” I bought the box for £3. The barrette is now in my repair pile, waiting for a new spring. The note is tucked into the frame of my dressing table mirror. And the bakelite slides? They are living in my coat pocket, ready to be handed to a friend who needs a little lift on a grey day.

That is the real purpose of this column: not to tell you what to buy, but to remind you that the best vintage accessories are the ones that come with a story you did not write. The HM Express will keep running, and I will keep riding it. I hope you find your own Margaret’s note, your own forgotten comb, your own quiet treasure. When you do, you will know it—because it will feel less like shopping and more like coming home.