Vintage

Nikki and I went to our favorite craft supply store on Wednesday. To our dismay, it had closed. But three doors down, we stumbled upon a vintage shop. Let me preface this by saying that I think it's a miracle of marketing that everything vintage is adorable. If you break it down to brass tacks, it's like this:

old crap = retro = vintage = priceless and adorable!!!!

I've noticed that antiques dealers curate their crap by using key product placements. To wit, people are more drawn to your display if you feature one or more of the following prominently:

1.) Luggage - I don't know why, but nothing says "priceless heirloom" like some beat up suitcases. They're even better if they're stacked on top of each other like a pyramid.

2.) Electric Fans - It is a mystery why an appliance from 90 years ago immediately communicates glamor and nostalgia, although possibly Gatsby was to blame. It's not true of other appliances, though. A mixer would not have the same effect at all.

3.) Old Sheet Music - Whoever figured this one out was a genius. Oh hey, I've been trying to sell this hideous glass bowl for months... I know! I'll stick some pages of old piano music in little bundles inside of it! Boom, Sold.

4.) Books (or their pages) - These have the same effect as the music. If you think I'm wrong, check out this picture of an end table I glued old pages all over.

I rest my case.

When I first began visiting flea markets and antique malls, I was indiscriminate in my purchasing. An ivory and gold telephone that still works!! Who cares if I don't have a landline? And multiple framed pictures of anonymous women in hats!! These would go perfectly....somewhere! Around the time I realized I had six vintage copies of books I'd never read, I learned to assess my finds with a more discriminate eye.

I had been doing quite well for a number of months when Nikki lured me into Parsimonia, the store near us. All I can say is that they must have had an electric fan blowing sheet music all over suitcases full of books because everything looked amazing. And they had mannequins, which led to a whole new problem...

I discovered vintage clothing!

It's like real clothing, only smellier. Also, it mostly doesn't fit quite right, so you find yourself saying, "I'll just buy this piece and have it altered when I have time [never]." I tried on almost everything in the store, but I limited myself to two purchases:

1.) a navy blue skirt with big strawberries on it ($28)

2.) a rainbow-colored button down shirt ($24)

Nikki assured me that these were ludicrous prices to pay for someone else's castoffs. I agreed with her wholeheartedly but secretly returned the next day to buy a dress, away from her critical eyes.

A central problem with me discovering overpriced vintage clothing is that I have "obsessive tendencies" (thanks, Dr. Wong) and now I have a new outlet for them. But really what was I supposed to do, wear my new-old clothes barefoot? That would obviously be ridiculous. So in the next week, I went to seven other antique stores searching for plastic jewelry, maryjane heels, and ridiculous Bakelite purses.

That is when it really came home to me that I need a hobby and also when I realized that I will never save enough money for a downpayment on a house. I guess it's for the best though. I'd just fill it up with other people's crap.