Until last week I hadn't been to any thrift stores in quite a while. Yard saleing takes up most of my treasure hunting time in the summer, and I did find some pretty amazing pieces this year. It is well worth sacraficing a good Friday night out in order to get up early in the morning to plan your route. I don't think that people quite understand my addiction to all this. It's physical as well as emotional. I crave digging through boxes and racks of old stuff, and my heart literally starts beating fast and I get all hot when I find something amazing. Like when I started getting all panicky and I had to sit down when I found a bag of vintage designer scarves (YSL, DVF, Lanvin, Cardin, and Givency anyone?) at a yard sale for $.25. (there's no cents sign on computer keyboards?) I started saying "Oh my God" quietly to myself and sweating when the woman said they were a quarter a piece. I'm still not quite over it.
On Wednesday I spent over 2.5 hours and $170 at my favorite thrift store that I hadn't been to in months. I bought tons of earrings, blazers, skirts, dresses, fabric, and belts. I know that seems like a lot of money in thrift store terms but in real world terms that's what, a nice dinner with a few drinks?, maybe two pairs of pants and blouse on sale a Banana Republic?, not even a full month's student loan payment? My mom thinks it's gross that I wear clothes that other people wore, but I think it's grosser to wear clothing that was made in god know what conditions in China. It's also just good old fashioned recycling, which happens to be one of my favorite things to do.
Last night someone told me that I reminded him of Indiana Jones. I'm going to forget the part about how it was only because of the scar on my chin.