The last and only time I had been to San Francisco was in 1968, a year after the so-called summer of love.

My then-husband John Kane had a friend living in Haight Ashbury which I recall as a hotbed of head-shops, tie-dye T-shirts, peace symbols and crunchy granola. I also recall buying my first item of vintage clothing in that lively neighborhood: a fur jacket that I wore until it fell apart and was the bellwether of a sartorial style that is my chosen one to this day.

On my recent visit to San Fran – a magical five-day stay in late March complete with sun and balmy temperatures – it looked as if not much had changed in what Hunter Thompson once dubbed Hashbury. The place has been cleaned up, corporatized in spots but there are still head-shops and funky stores specializing in Grateful Dead T-shirts and garments made from home-spun fabrics. Noted: Pipe Dreams, The Anarchist Collective Bookstore and a charming retro diner called The Pork Store that dates back several decades and where I had a tasty salad. Read more…