No stock counters.
No countdown timers.
No claims about what it does to you.
We say when it's slow.
The owl, the skull, and six baubles. One box.
Everything in the menagerie that came out of water.
Everything in the menagerie that came out of the undergrowth.
All fourteen creatures, in the chest they fit in.
The moth on your chest, the cat on your shoulder.
Eighteen pieces with no size on them at all. We take no returns, so this is the half of Worn that carries none of that risk.
The brass menagerie. Fourteen creatures at sixteen dollars each, cast one at a time, and the thing we are known for.
A flannel throw and a lace mantel scarf. One size, no fit risk, and the only things here you can get under.
Order the overseas objects by 24 November and the printed things by 15 December. After that we say so rather than take the money.
Burners, holders, rests.
Wall-fixed, and heavy for it.
Heavy iron, dark glaze.
Lids, seals, half an hour.
Pocket-sized, and heavy for it.
Objects you put on.
Cut steel, cast resin, painted wood.
Flannel and lace, for the room.
Velvet, coats, small silver things.
Cards, a journal, stickers.
Black and gold. Closes 26 December.
The rejects are more interesting than the catalogue. A money toad. A resin snail the listing admitted off-gasses. Five cast iron hooks when one will do.
No discount codes, because we don't run them. Just when something new exists.
The thing that goes in the burner.
Black, covered in white bats, big enough for two.
Six baubles. No red, no green.
Bare branches, in a ring, and nothing else on it.
Two cats, sitting up, holding the candles out sideways.
Every scale is cast separately. All of them.
We are not going to pretend it is a beetle.
Claws up. Permanently.
Four wings, every vein cast in.
Two, sitting. Sold together.
Beak first, as they go in.
All tail, mostly.
Eight arms, cast flat, sits anywhere.
Hunched, and not impressed.
A platypus, cast solid, heavier than it looks.
One, swimming, with every scute cast in.
Carries its own house. We respect that.
Long legs, cast in one piece.
Mandibles included. Obviously.
A humpback, going down.
Thumb-sized. Heavier than that.
Heavy. That is the point.
A cat asleep, hanging off the edge of itself.
A coffin, with the shelves set inside it.
The smoke falls instead of rising.
A crow sitting in a ring of thorns.
A moth, or a skull. You pick.
A fish skeleton, and every rib is a hook.
Your glasses go on the nose. Everything else goes in the jaw.
A stem of skulls, a cup on top.
Four spirals and a dish. Nothing else.
The death's head moth, opened out flat.
A raven, half out of an oval frame.
A web, with a cup sized hole in the middle.
Black lace webs, cut with a scalloped edge.
Matte. No batteries.
Thirty minutes, and no way to pause it.
Three of them, at three sizes, going the same way.
Three mice carrying a tray that is much bigger than they are.
A brass rose, wax to melt, a spoon and a box.
Black and gold on the table. No pillar-box red, no green. The garments are a separate question: they come in black, heather grey, deep red and brown, because oxblood is a winter colour rather than a Christmas one. It runs once a year and then it goes away, which is the only kind of scarcity we are willing to put on a page.
Everything cast, glazed or hung comes from our supplier overseas and takes 10 to 18 business days. We stop selling those on 24 November so they can still land before the day.
Prints and garments are made in the US in two to five days. They keep selling for three weeks after the objects stop.
Someone has wrapped the snail. The snail has opinions.
Something is already living in the stocking.
Three mice, one candle, and no sense of pitch.
The moth is handling deliveries this year.
A skeleton untangling fairy lights, mildly exasperated, while the cat sleeps.
A pale moth against a crescent moon, and gold falling like snow.
Six baubles. No red, no green.
The owl, the skull, and six baubles. One box.
Both Gothmas prints, rolled in one tube.
The skeleton, the lights, and the cat who is not helping.
The same scene, on something warmer.
The skeleton, the lights, and the cat, carried about.
The moth and the crescent, big, on natural canvas.
Free to join. There are no discount codes, because we do not run them. What a member gets instead is time, a vote, and credit.
Every capsule opens to members two days before it opens to anyone else. Gothmas included. When a run is small we say exactly how small.
We show members what we are considering before we buy it, rejects and all. You pick what gets sourced next. The Cut is the public half of this.
Every order earns store credit. It does not expire, it is not a code, and it is not a countdown. It is just there next time.
One email address. Leave whenever you like.
Velvet, black coats and small silver things. These come from our supplier overseas, so they take 10 to 18 business days and they run small. Every card carries its measurements. Read them rather than the letter on the label.
Black velvet, white collar, and it knows exactly what it is doing.
Long sleeves, lace neckline, buttons all the way up.
Square neck, enormous sleeves, short everywhere else.
Gathered down the front, sheer from the shoulder.
Double breasted, cut long, cut big on purpose.
Belted, long, and it moves like a curtain.
The same moth as the hair pin, worn lower.
A web, with the spider still on it.
A skull from one angle, a butterfly from the other.
Short, sheer, and a ruffle at the wrist.
Fishnet, but the net is crosses.
One small silver rose on black lace.
Filigree arches, long enough to move.
Black pleats with a band of lace under the hem.
Velvet to the knee, then lace to the floor.
Zips, a stand collar, and nothing clever.
Black, laced, chunky sole, nothing on it.
Laced high, buckled across, on a wedge.
Ankle height, one buckle, flat sole.
Long, high shine, buttoned to the throat.
A long coat that could go to an office.
Sheer, cropped, and it fastens with toggles.
A small bat, a long black drop.
Two wings, no bat.
A lace heart, and then a beak.
It coils twice and it has a head at each end.
Webs up the leg, plain at the top.
A pair. Wings out, small skull in the middle.
Two wings, a strap, and somewhere to put your keys.
The moth again, this time around a finger.
A fish skeleton on a plain gold hoop.
A cat sitting still, inside an oval of scrollwork.
The sleeping cat, on natural canvas, at a size you can actually see.
The moth and the crescent, big, on natural canvas.
The skeleton, the lights, and the cat, carried about.
The window of moths, large, on natural canvas.
The moon, large. The invitation, small.
Three mice, one candle, and no sense of pitch.
The sleeping cat, printed as a pale panel.
Says it on the front. Asks on the back.
A ghost in a teapot, on a windowsill, on a shirt.
The moth and the crescent, printed large on the chest.
The moth is handling deliveries this year.
Something is already living in the stocking.
The skeleton, the lights, and the cat who is not helping.
Five moths on the inside of a window, worn on the chest.
Someone has wrapped the snail. The snail has opinions.
Three mice, one candle, and no sense of pitch.
The same cat, on something warmer.
The ghost, the teapot, and brushed fleece.
The moth and the crescent, on brushed fleece.
The moth is handling deliveries this year.
The moth on your chest, the cat on your shoulder.
Something is already living in the stocking.
The same scene, on something warmer.
The window of moths, across the chest, on brushed fleece.
Someone has wrapped the snail. The snail has opinions.
This page sells nothing. Curation is the only thing here that cannot be copied, and the only proof of it is what we turned down.
A wealth talisman. We do not sell objects that claim to do things to you.
Good idea. The listing admitted it off-gasses and marketed it as a children's toy.
Its scents did not match the 9oz. One candle beats a size option that lies.
If an object only makes sense in October, it is not a shop. It is a season.
Not ours to sell.
Five hooks is a hardware aisle. We kept the fish skeleton.
Fine object. Buying one of twelve implies a set we cannot finish.
Every object is made or picked up after you pay for it. Nothing sits in a garage. That is why some things take a fortnight, and why we say so on the page instead of at the checkout.
The prints are ours. The objects are not. We say which is which.
