The Joys of Thrifting
… I thought maybe I could get away with typing “err’body” since I definitely can’t get away with saying it. Turns out I was wrong and can pull off neither. “Err’body” will instead be relegated to the pile of things I can’t pull off, like crop tops and lycra. But I make up for my failure in pulling things off by putting things on. And today, I put on yet another groovy find from the Salvation Army line of sweet tunic treats for under $11. I think I’m pulling it off?
While I could devote a couple hundred words to my pretty new tunic (and my handy new purse that was secured in the same haul with built-in card space), I thought I would instead share a little about the process in which these two new pieces came to be mine. I’ve given many’a post to the perks of thrift finds, so it’s high time to give some love to the thrift search. There are all sorts of little things about my thrift trips that make it consistently pleasant experience, even when I strike out. So, thrift store, why else do I love thee? Let me count the ways:
The employees | Question: Is there anything, anything, worse than some poor soul creeping outside your change room, desperately trying to make her commission by telling you “Naw girl, the buttons are supposed to look like they’re about to snap!”? Answer: Yes, there are a few things worse, like charley horses and getting water up your nose, but pushy sales people are pretty bad too. But at the thrift store, none of the sales peeps are on commission. In fact, at places like Bibles for Missions and Salvation Army, they are often volunteers. This means they are quite willing to let you go about your business. Plus, when they go out of their way to tell you something looks great, you know they’re not just saying it to make a sale.
The music | I remember shopping with my mom when I was a teenager, and since I was taller than, well, everyone, I had no choice but to buy designer jeans with a 36″ inseam from Jean Machine. Jean Machine is one of the most sensory-oppressive environments in the world. They cramp as much product into a teeny tiny space as possible, and try to confuse you into purchasing overpriced denim by blaring only the loudest, most obnoxious music ever. Even as a teenager, I felt too old for that store. Not so in the thrift store, pals. In the thrift store, they stick to a solid roster of oldies and easy rock. I don’t listen to a lot easy rock out of choice, but for some reason, its ideal shopping background music – way less oppressive, and occasionally awesome. I actually don’t think I can thrift properly unless I have Billy Joel or Hall & Oates as musical accompaniment. Or how about some sweet Eagle Eye Cherry and that song from the finale of Dawson’s Creek Season 1? And every so often, they surprise me and play something really fantastic, like Peter Gabriel, that ends up here.
Your fellow shoppers | Tweens, bless their hearts, would much rather pay $27 for a crappy cotton tee from Hollister than tough it out at the thrift store (I should know, I was a tween once, and have the Backstreet memorabilia to prove it). This means that instead of loud throngs of 13 year olds singing Selena Gomez, I’m shopping along side sweet ol’ ladies excited about a finely tailored pant suit. Sure, sometimes I’m shopping alongside a man with rather revealing holes in his track pants and a stench that can only be described as the beer that’s leaked into the bottom of a recycling bin and has since dried to a sticky substance. But, call me crazy, I like the diversity! And that guy couldn’t tell you the difference between a Directioner and a Belieber, so he’s OK in my books.
Other stuff! | While I thrift mostly for clothing, it’s always nice to take a gander at all the other random goodies they have in store. If I strike out in clothing department, I can comfort myself with a new lamp. Maybe I need a vintage serving platter, maybe I need a cat phone, maybe I need a broken keyboard or a knee board. Point is, you just never know what you’re coming home with, and that’s a great philosophy to adopt (at the thrift store—not the bar).
So there you have it: a few more stray observations on the joys of thrifting. I understand that many of you may read this list quite differently. Perhaps you’re scared by Billy Joel and holey track pants, and maybe you don’t love lamp. But if that’s the case, I’ll bring you back to the start: Sweet tunic treats are worth a little stale beer smell, wouldn’t you say?