When My Vintage Obsession Led Me Down the China Rabbit Hole Okay, confession time. My name is Elara, I live in a perpetually-grey-but-charming apartment in Edinburgh, and I have a problem. It’s not a secret addiction or anything dramatic. It’s vintage teacups. Specifically, the impossibly delicate, hand-painted, ‘probably-owned-by-a-duchess’ kind. My day job as a freelance archivist doesn’t exactly fund a Sotheby’s habit, so for years, I’d sigh longingly at auction house catalogs and antique shop windows, my middle-class budget laughing in my face. The conflict? I’m a purist who craves authenticity but also really, really hates overpaying. My friends call my speaking rhythm ‘measured, then suddenly excited’—usually when I’ve found…