3 a.m.: Under cover of darkness, you creep into the attic. Flashlight in hand, you spot the loot in the corner — Granny Astor’s prized collection of vintage Chanel suits, Elsa Schiaparelli skirts, Pierre Cardin minis. Jackpot.
Suddenly the floorboards creak. Who’s there? Heart racing, you tuck the bundle under your arm, climb out the window, and make a run for it.
6 a.m: In the harsh light of day, the goods leave something to be desired. One jacket droops off your shoulders. A mini carves into your thighs. The Schiaparelli bunches at the waist. Could this be your ill-fitting, untimely demise?
9 a.m.: You make like a bandit to Plymouth Tailors. Here, the racket is reshaping delicate, couture vintage items into modern-day beauts. The old man behind the counter sizes you up, then starts pinning these retro steals to your proportions.
One week later: Granny files a missing-clothing report. Turns out, she’s covered by insurance. Crosstown at the Ritz, you sip champagne, covered stylishly in custom-fit couture.
Of course, there is one loophole: You never really can go home again.
At least not in these outfits.
Plymouth Tailors, 59 Temple Place, at Washington Street, Suite 302 (617-426-7175).