The golden era of thrift stores was the early to mid 1990s. Back then, thrift stores were full of ironic t-shirts (Sexy Grandma, and so on), high-quality jackets for cheap, and pants that fit. For cheap. As my generation came of age, we started raiding thrift stores in earnest, and eventually the people who ran them figured out that we were loaded down with allowance money, and later with minimum wage money, and later with graduate fellowship money (or the equivalent.) You ended up with the Value Village phenomenon: a few decent things scattered across acres of utter crap, all at prices only marginally lower than at the mall.
Thus, it is with great pleasure that I note that the thrift stores of Santa Cruz are awesome. Suit jackets? Three bucks. Nice button shirts? Two bucks. For real. I can be dressed to the nines in no time. On Sunday we're going to an enormous flea market, at which we hope to find a ratty old road bike for me and whatever tickles Becky's fancy, for Becky.
The critical elements of thrift store success:
- Extant ironic t-shirts (a tradition, even if one is a little old for that shit.)
- Nice suits + suit jackets (for last-minute weddings and dissertation defenses.)
- Funny ugly home decorations.
- Likewise, coffee mugs.
- Nice button shirts.
- Most importantly: FOR CHEAP!
3 comments:
I thought you tickled Becky's fancy.
Have I mentioned how much I freaking love comments? Now you've got them whether you want them or not and I'm going to comment like an electrified commenting machine.
Every time I accompany my woman to her familial homestead of South Bend, Indiana, we hit the Goodwill there, which is a rich vein of cheap goodness. I don't think Notre Dame students ever discovered irony.
Sadly, thrift store pants never fit me (and quite frankly I'm shocked they fit you).
I'm pretty sure everyone that lady talks to is her little friend, but I'd like to pretend that it's just me.
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