the thrift road trip

"Poughkeepsie Bridge 115997" by Jack E. Boucher

I moved a few months ago to a small town a few counties over but still in New York state. It feels so remote and rural, although, ironically, I am now closer to NYC than ever, only a 90-minute drive away. It's a place where an array of wildlife (deer, a wily groundhog) visits the apple trees in the neighbor's yard, and where the local thrift shop offers layaway. Before we moved, I figured that in order to enjoy the pleasures that this place had to offer, I would have to cultivate new interests and acclimate to the rhythm of a slower day, and I haven't been wrong in that.

So slowly I have been making forays into my new environs. And one way that I like to explore a new area is by plotting a day-long road trip where I stop at all the local thrift shops within a particular area. I use The Thrift Shopper directory, which helpfully has reviews from previous visitors, to find a list of shops within a certain radius and then map them out on Mapquest. Even with two kids in tow, it can be a pleasant daytrip.

Recently I went on a loop that encompassed some towns along the Hudson River. With the haunting notes of Over the Rhine's "Poughkeepsie" song playing in my head, I stopped at little church shops and big chains like Goodwill and the Salvation Army. The church shops were filled with tiny treasures and smiling older women who God blessed me and exclaimed over the kids. The Salvation Army was located next to their homeless shelter, so it was pretty sketchy and smelled of roach spray. You never know what you will find at a thrift store, and that's never more true than when you go to one in a new area. But still, it was so pleasant to be driving on the bridge over the river, kids sleeping in the back, a new road at my feet.

Minimalism, infomercials, and my first purchase of 2012

Inspired by No Signposts in the Sea's post about her 2011 clothing expenditures, I've decided that I'll document every piece of personal clothing I buy this year, not including what I purchase for others. I'm a bit uncertain about how I'll like this, actually, since like any addict I skulk around hiding certain purchases that don't really fit into the way I'd like to think that I spend or acquire clothes.

She goes on to write about consumerism, as many others have as well. I've been thinking about that when I've been thinking about the blogosphere, but especially about what Jenny of Fashion for Writers wrote in her post about authenticity and this focus on the exterior that blogs encourage (coincidentally, I just sold her the Lover blouse I bought last year on LOGE).

It's so easy to get caught up in superficiality, images, and obsessions with fashion, especially when your life isn't going the way you want. At least, I find that I begin to fixate on things when I feel unhappy and out of control with my life.

For the same reason I used to watch informercials during bouts of insomnia in my teenage years, I am drawn to the idea that an easily consumable product could remedy some hurt or ailment, some deficiency that you didn't even know you had. I know that makes me a perfect consumer of marketing messages, but I never said it was all rational.

I still get such a kick out of appliances dedicated to doing one thing perfectly, like my Zojirushi rice cooker with its "fuzzy logic programming" and dimpled rice paddle that has for years turned out perfectly cooked pots of rice.

Perhaps that's why I like the minimalist ethic, though it seems so opposed to single-use living. It has a similar idea of there being some square hole for which you have the perfectly shaped square block, and once filled, tada. It's done. Minimalism organizes the clutter of the world by manipulating the environment of one's imagination.

But to conclude with the original intention of this post: A few weeks ago, I purchased a pleated Orla Kiely skirt in dark pink. $1.50 at the thrift store. Probably not an investment purchase, but it allows me to try out a brand I've been curious about for very cheap. Even though I've been limiting my thrift acquisitions, you have to be willing to pull the trigger when it comes to thrift shopping.

A return to thrift

Except for the end-of-season A.P.C. sale scoop, I've mostly returned to thrifting as my primary mode of acquisition. 


I've tried the French Method, to some success. It definitely has helped me develop a more discerning eye. However, I feel that my love of thrift shopping and vintage clothes limits me from really implementing the French method. It's true that even with thrifting, I can select items more carefully and with an eye towards wardrobe building. But otherwise, shopping from a list just doesn't work all that well when thrift shopping means everything is a jumble. You never know what exactly you'll come up with when you survey secondhand goods. While patience and moderation are virtues of the French Method that can carry over to thrifting, it's difficult to adhere to a minimalistic point of view if you like vintage. At least, it is in my experience.


Somewhat relatedly, I also don't get the same satisfaction from buying new as I do from uncovering vintage goods. I've never blogged about the things I purchased new that would be considered more covetable. I never wrote about the Rachel Comey Mars boot that I purchased last November for my birthday, or the Marc Jacobs Teri handbag that I recently pulled out from oblivion from the back of my closet, or the Miu Miu and Mulberry Bayswater that were my first forays into expensive handbags, among other things. I just never felt good about broadcasting items like that, though I do appreciate seeing them on other blogs.


My aesthetic doesn't really require any high-end items. I'm not really minimal and clean in my outfits, where texture and cut matter a lot. Rather, I like earthy, slightly outdoorsy, and for want of a better word, quirky, looks. I love vintage prints, uncomplicated tailoring, and that crisp cotton blend that you can only find in older fabrics. My heart beats faster when I chance upon a beautiful vintage piece among all the detritus of a secondhand shop.


I still plan to shop outside of thrift for the easy basics and sharp tailoring that might toughen up my wardrobe a bit. But I think there's something in the air, and spending on luxury items just doesn't seem necessary right now, not just for personal reasons, but also for financial, environmental, and ethical ones.

A theory of thrift

While many of my favorite items of clothing are vintage of homemade or no-name origin, my favorite designer thrift find has got to be my Barbour Beaufort jacket. I acquired it in a sleepy small-town Salvation Army down the street from my mother-in-law's house during a stopover on our big cross-country move. I've only recently had a chance to wear it, but it's been perfect for this rainy spring weather. I like the sturdy feel of the construction and the waterproof waxed cotton. So much nicer in a downpour than the Patagonia rain jacket I lived in, when I lived in Seattle.

Another recent find was a Dries Van Noten button-down, which I passed along to T. It's just a simple black button-down, but it has a beautiful drape and a wonderfully aged patina that make it special. And then a few years ago, I found the perfect white button-down made by Thomas Pink in a local Goodwill.

Since these favorite pieces are examples of menswear, my new theory of thrift is that the best designer vintage to be found in lowly secondhand shops is in the men's aisle. Men's clothing eschews trends for the most part and is made to last and be functional, which I think contributes to their lasting appeal 10 or 20 years later when they turn up in these thrift shops. Of course, it must help that they're not as nearly picked over as the women's aisles, either. And maybe men are less likely to go to the trouble of selling their discarded clothes than women.

Though I've found many designer clothes for women, none really appealed to my style. Maybe that's because women's clothing in general is less about functionality and more about decoration and trends. It's not that the vintage looks dated or bad, but that their range of appeal is so much narrower. Thus the Diane Von Furstenberg silk leopard-print skirt, the Comme des Garcons perma-crinkled shirt, and the Versace tee I discovered in my thrifting forays were all bypassed or eventually given away or sold. 

Anyway, I can't really discuss designer vintage finds without mentioning the Hermes loafers I found in a Goodwill on the Microsoft side of Seattle. It was just a bit too big even with socks, and I must have gotten rid of them during a ruthless cull pre-move. Sob. That was an example of classic women's design, but alas, it wasn't meant to be.

History professor Michael Prokopov offers his own theory of thrift in an NYT article about flea markets. He says, “Flea markets proliferate a volume of goods needing to be sold and people who are hungry — emotionally and aesthetically — to sort out the meaning of life. . . . For most people who go on these ritualized scavenger hunts looking for something that they may not know exists, it is a kind of pilgrims’ process through the detritus of the past.” Even the journalist quoting him had to raise an eyebrow at that academic heavy lifting, but it's an interesting thought nonetheless.

Favorites

I pulled out my Moleskin last night and made a list. One is of what I would like to get, which is for the most part on hold until the transformation of my body works itself out. I think this enforced holding pattern is good, though, because it forces me to really consider my purchases.

The other list I wrote is of my current favorite items of clothing.

From left:
1. Rose-print sundress. Free People. I bought it years ago because I adored the print, even though the only one left was two sizes larger than my usual. Surprisingly, I prefer it for its looseness.

2. Wayfarer dress. Rachel Comey. My first tiny splurge on what would become my favorite designer. It doesn't look like much, but the little details make it special.

3. Striped t-shirt dress. APC. Again, a few sizes too big, but affording the perfect slouch. I feel completely at ease in this dress. The drape of the cotton keeps it from being too boxy.

4. Navy woven shirtdress with maroon buttons. Vintage. It's completely demure, but for that reason it works. A classic.

5. Knit cardigan. Vintage ("Handknit by Sis Lee"). The shoulders create a subtle cocooning. I didn't think I would like this as much as I do, but the color goes with a lot of my things.

6. Patterned brown button-down. Vintage. The ruffles and the shimmer of the pattern are unobtrusively feminine. I wear this with the sleeves rolled up whenever I want to be a little formal but still comfortable.

7.  Flowery blue button-down. Vintage, handmade. It's slightly sheer, cool, and crisp.

8. Plaid button-down. Vintage, handmade. This seems to me like the perfect vintage plaid.

9. Striped boatneck top. Rachel Comey. Another unexpected favorite. I had added it to my order just to get free shipping. One of the few fitted things I like.

10. Chambray skirt. Vintage. I love white tees and chambray skirts in the summer.

11. Accessories. Heart tote, Anthropologie. Denim bag, Paul & Joe Sister. Polka-dot scarf, J. Crew.

Generally, I haven't posted my actual clothes before because they just don't have the snap and cool-factor that I see in so many other blogs. In fact, looking at this collection of my favorites, I can see why a student once told me that my style was "granola chic." Sigh. I'd still rather approximate the clean and sharp look that I see elsewhere, but this is my skin, I suppose, and I feel most comfortable in this style. They reflect the layers of my history. There's the thread of hippie-ness from my years in Austin, the grunge of the 90s, my love of vintage and thrift, the warm climes I'm used to, and the oversized clothes I got used to wearing when even the smallest sizes hung off me (definitely not the case anymore!).

The other thing the list made me realize was that I collect an excess of clothes when I can't get just the right thing. Shoes, skirts, and jeans make up the bulk of my wardrobe, but few of those things show up on a list of favorites. So now I can see why it's important to find the exactly perfect item. It saves you from going through endless versions in search of it.