Surprising NYC Trends: The Pink Pant

It's hard to believe that our NYC thrifting trip was almost two months ago! Since so much time has passed, I'm now beginning to reap the benefits of thrifting out of season—that is, my unseasonal finds at the time are now becoming seasonal.

Witness, if you will, the second of my surprising NYC thrifting trends: the pink pant.

When I stumbled upon these gems, it was so hot out that the idea of wearing anything more than an semi-attractive triangle halter top,* the kind Sookie Stackhouse would drool over,** was completely unfathomable. Now, by this last day of August, the nights are cooler and the past few days, being overcast and rainy, require long sleeves on either tops or bottoms. Thus, I am finally able to sport finds from my new pink pant collection!

Now, I've tended to shy away from the color since my obsession with it as a child. There was a time when I, unknowing of how gender norms are associated with colors, loved the color pink so much that when I was on road trips with the fam, I would ask to stop at pink houses so I could get their autographs.***

As it were, however, pink has come back into my life in a big way—with not one, but two pairs of pink pants!

First, the no brainer: bright pink Levis.

A bit baggy in the thighs, I first considered cutting them into cutoffs. Then I rolled up the cuffs. Forgettaboutit! The damage was done and the pants are staying pants.

Then for the real wild card—mauve/dusty rose polyester grandma pants!

I know! But I put them on, and wa-la! they transformed into hot grandma pants! Seriously, I have never felt more bitchin' wearing poly south of my waist. In fact, Mad Men or Kardashian***** trash style be damned, the real style trend for fall is hot grandma. Just you wait!

*Ha! Yeah, right.

**Detachable sleeves, anyone? Anyone?

***Uh yeah. I am fully aware that as a five-year-old, not only did I have zero concept of issues in gender studies, but I also apparently failed to grasp the fact that inanimate objects can't do things like sign autographs.****

****I assure you that despite this severe breach in understanding reality, I turned out to be a reasonably intelligent and capable adult.

*****I just want to tell you how pleased I am with myself that I had to google that for the correct spelling.

Confessions of a Thriftaholic

I have a few confessions to make.

The first is that I've been seriously bumming about how much I've been putting Operation Sparkle on the back burner lately—things have been so crazy trying to simultaneously prepare for the fair (it takes a lot of time to make enough glitter letters for our signs) and putting together the preview issue of C.L.A.P. (so it will be available at the fair) that I've been straddling a very thin line between being the most productive I have ever been and having a nervous break down. Things have been so busy that I actually had to turn down an opportunity to go thrifting with Molly yesterday.

Which not only breaks my heart (and spirit), but it also brings me to my next confession.

I have too many clothes.

Yesterday, Tara stood in my bedroom doorway, unable to get past the mounds of clothing blocking her entrance to the room, and again kept insisting that I was a hoarder. While I refuse to believe that (while Tara argues there are different kinds of hoarders, I maintain that a hoarder is a person who makes a habit of buying ten of whatever useless plastic item they can find in the clearance bin at their local Walmart), I admit that I have a slight...issue on my hands.

It appears as though having a blog devoted to thrifting + a job a resale shop + strange emotional attachments to clothing (like the stained, faded, once-electric yellow, American Apparel tank top I can't bear to part with because it was my favorite shirt for years and is connected to particularly found memories of a wild weekend at Fire Island with some of my favorite people (like Laurie))=too many clothes to count.



Here's a look at my attempt to organize a portion of my clothing. So far, I've removed about eight large bags for resale and donation and one for winter storage and I still can't walk to my bed.

So...what does one do in this sort of situation? A thrifting hiatus? I'd rather be dead. The only solution seems to be a re-evaluating of my fashion priorities. In other words, a good face-to-face with my style self, revisiting of my wishlist (add a long, embroidered coat to that, please) and figuring out what I want my current look to be. But I'm still not getting rid of that tank top.

Amidst all of this, there is hope. Yesterday, I found myself so exhausted from a day of running errands (nothing like waiting until the last possible moment to finish your taxes) that I decided to "treat" myself to fuchsia lipstick and black nail polish* from Target. As it turns out, they were the perfect complement to my, once again, strange gothy-spring outfit** that I was forced to wear when I couldn't locate the shirt and jeans I actually wanted to wear in the clothing mess that is currently my bedroom:



Brown and black print button-down cropped blouse (from the Halloween bootique. I love this top).



My new(ish) navy wool cardigan I got thrifting with Jake, which is fastly becoming my favorite sweater (at some point in the day, I took it off and shook it in Chris' face exclaiming that it was J. Crew and awesome)



My black crack-finger jeans



and my lace-up black booties.

This outfit, plus my new make-up, meant that when I got home last night after a viewing of the Wicker Man*** in celebration of the full moon, I still looked (and felt) good. And this, my friends, is why it is all worth it!

*/**I really don't know what is happening to me. Not even alt-rock loving teenage Holly would have willingly purchased black nail polish.
***The original film, of course. Don't be foolish.

Lindstrom: The new Swedish Mexico

Last weekend I had the pleasure of spending my Saturday thrifting with two of my favorite Marys, Mary W. and Mary D. (just like in grade school!), in the Lindstrom, MN area. Lindstrom, for those of you not familiar with the town, is a super adorable Swedish town with a bunch of antique stores, a tea pot for a water tower and one of the best (and cheapest) bakeries I have been too. I have been there several times before, but had only checked out their antique shops. So imagine my excitement when Mary W. suggested that we go check out some of the thrift stores she saw last time she was in the area. Then imagine my excitement when she told me there were four to check out. Then imagine my excitement when we found great things at all of them, had Mexican food and got to eat a donut with 50¢ coffee. BEST. DAY. EVER.



The Mary's, outside of my favorite little Lindstrom bakery. Notice the tea pot water tower in the background. Notice how badass and sexy the Marys look. It was a great day.



One of my favorite things about small towns are the crazy elderly people who inhabit them. Unlike most urban businesses, these sorts of people don't worry about wearing their heart (or politics) on their sleeves, even if it might reflect "poorly" on their businesses. Here is one such display of speaking the truth, found at the bakery. I love this sign because it totally reminds me of my grandma Vera, who signed my Christmas card two years ago with "Hope you are having fun with your playmates" and a drawing of a drunk looking smiley face. I LOVE my grandma—she's where my sense of humor and lack of a filter came from.



Small towns also come with outrageous displays of showmanship, presumably in the name of drumming up more business. Here is a picture of a naked hot dog on top of the meat market. No bun, no mustard or ketchup. Nothing. Bare bones dog, chillin' on the roof of the meat market. Totally Lindstrom.



As we are here to discuss thrifting in Lindstrom, not the sights, here is a picture of the sign for the first shop we stopped at. Handpainted signs that merely say "Thrift Store" = a very good sign indeed! Just the sort of thrift shop I want to blow my monies at!



Of course, with small town thrift stores, you also run an even higher likelihood of experiencing those with a Jesus-freaky feel to them. Sometimes this is a bit much, as it was in the third shop we stopped at, Recycled Wardrobes, which verged on a consignment/resale shop. They had bible verses printed on their tags. Still, we found a few quality pieces there, which means we won. And, as Rebecca Leeman from Drop Dead Gorgeous says, "Jesus loves winners."

Our trip had an unexpected twist, however, in that it wasn't all Swedish-influenced. In fact, despite the strong Lutheran sentiment and acknowledgement of Lindstrom's Swedish sister city (Tingsryd), there was a definite Mexican-influence shaping our trip. Chimichangas aside, there is another reason why I am arguing that Lindstrom is the new Swedish Mexico—because we found some of the most amazing Mexican bags* ever found thrifting!




First off, Mary W.'s leather tooled purse. These are a dime a dozen at resale shops, but this one was only $4.99, in perfect condition, with a beautiful clasp and even a mirror and spot to put your cards (drugs). This was also the only item we found at the second thrift store, which was a bummer. The store was expensive with a disappointing selection. Mary D. almost threw down $20 for a set of 6 espresso-sized cups with birds on them before deciding against it. We did not, however, let this keep us down, and from there, treated ourselves to some (Mexican) lunch.



I had thrifting freakout when I found this backpack at the first shop. All afternoon, I kept grabbing it out of the backseat so I could stare at it in wonder. I cannot wait until the spring thaw is over so I can sport it while biking around town.




Isn't this the most amazing tooled leather Mexican bag you have ever seen, ever?! It is so amazing that I paid $3.99 for it even though one entire side of it was ripped off. I brought it to work to have my boss' husband, Nate, (who does leather work) check it out (hence the lighting...the color of the bag is much more carmely orange...an amazing piece!). Keep your fingers crossed that he can fix it! Found this one at the super religious shop. I also got a pair of forest green knee high socks there for 50¢ (I am not above thrifting socks).

I also picked up a ton of pieces I cannot WAIT to wear as soon as it gets liveable outside again (like, 70 degrees).

Check out this most amazing pairing of totally 80's biker babe pieces (found at the first thrift shop, the one with painted sign):



An original 1989 Sturgis tank top. SHUT UP!




I wasn't sure about these jeans—like most high-waisted mom jeans, they are a bit paunchy in the front, which is pretty unsexy. They are, however, nicely fitted in the legs, which is rare, and are that perfect light, almost white, denim color that screams "biker babe." Plus, they are Levi's orange tag, which is rad. Mary D. wants me to wear them as soon as possible so she can "stop feeling nervous about them." They were only 50¢. FIFTY CENTS! I had to get them. So I did. It goes without saying that I can't wait to wear this outfit to the Joint for $1.50 rail drinks (on Mondays) and cheese curds come spring.

And then we have some sexy 90's L.A. beach wear (picked up at the last thrift shop we stopped at, Family Pathways (the new Family Pathways, which is technically in Forest Lake (see my special trip to Forest Lake and the old Family Pathways here)):





Too bad we already did our Swimsuit Thrift Off! This floral bikini swimsuit with shorts is pretty much one of the most tubular suits I have ever seen.



Cropped "Venus" tank. I can't even look at this without imagining I am hanging out with Pauly Shore in Santa Monica. Sigh.



Mesh shorts. Eat your heart out, American Apparel!

Then we have some serious vintage plaid finds:



A plaid vintage onesie that buttons up the side with pockets! (A last minute find at Family Pathways—always keep your eyes open!)





Since I am getting so pumped about warm weather wear, I was not as excited about this vintage thick wool skirt as I would have been had I found it in, say, September. Still, I had my Marys with me, and they convinced me to get it. I know they were right—another reason why it is always good to shop with a trusted friend (or friends).

And finally, some cheap earrings (also found at Family Pathways):



"Cicada" earrings that both the Mary's vetoed (despite the fact that it helps to have others around for the editing process, sometimes you have to listen to your heart!)



Gold earrings for 25¢, a true steal!

Like my trip to Forest Lake, I can't wait to return. And maybe this time, we can coordinate it with the "picket fence" antique sale that takes place occasionally in Lindstrom. I mean, why not?

*"Mexican bags" can be a rather loose term, but as both of the leather bags were actually made in Mexico, I am lumping in the woven backpack with these as well. Stylistically, they fit. And most likely, the backpack is at least a South American friend.

When the Thrifting Gods F U, or, The Bongo Jeans That Got Away

While Operation Sparkle certainly creates the illusion that Holly and I lead utterly charmed thrifting lives, we will both painfully admit that there are days, and sometimes weeks, when the fickle gods of thrifting are giving you the stink eye. We generally choose to simply not share such experiences with the internet, because they are not nearly as thrilling as showing off our sweet weird shit. But after an entire weekend of being crapped on by the thrifting gods, I decided that there is something to be learned from such experiences, that being mostly, don't give up, DON'T EVER GIVE UP.

I scheduled two trips for this weekend; a trip to Queens on Friday, and a trip to Coney Island on Saturday. Surely, treasures would abound.

Queens was almost a bust. It was one of those days where I pulled tons of stuff that seemed pretty cool, but nothing was quite right. But generally, if I find at least one great thing, several hours of thrifting can feel entirely worth it. In this case, I managed to eek out of Queens with this one very sweet vintage plaid linen skirt:


I love the dropped pockets, the elastic waist, and the mid calf length. The quality of the textile is also pretty incredible, check out all the different colors that are woven in to the plaid:


So that was that. Definitely not one of my best days but not a total disappointment. Coney Island however, would be a true test.

My boyfriend and I headed out to Little Russia by the Bay to sample some cuisine, see some fish at the New York aquarium, and of course, thrift. I had never been out there before to thrift, and had grandiose visions of the bejeweled, sequined, laméd, fox-furred castoffs of misguidedly glamorous Russian ladies. Such was not the case.

The store that I staked out looked pretty promising at first. Right off the bat I found a sweet pair of rust red 90's Bongo jeans, not very unlike the rust red shorts that Holly featured the other day. I pulled a few other things, but once again, nothing really popped. The jeans however, actually fit like a glove, were a great color, and were a very soft lovely denim. They were to be my one purchase, and a good one, as finding 90's pants that are cute and actually fit is a tough thing to do.

I got to the register, plopped them on the counter, ready to get out of the (unsettlingly stinky) store and go get a drink. But as soon as the jeans hit the counter--I noticed--the tag had fallen off. Now, you may or may not be aware that a lot of stores refuse to sell things that are without tags. This is to deter people from ripping off tags when they think the price is too high, in hopes of having it readjusted lower at the register. Mostly, however, I find that this is rarely enforced. They charge you $3 or $4, no big deal, everyone wins.

Not with these jerks. The guy checking out said he couldn't sell them to me. I was not pleased. I flagged the manager and implored her to please let me buy them (this is what I find befuddling; begging a charity to take your money, it makes NO sense) and she shoots me down as well. I said they had a tag but they fell off at some point. She asked me how much they were, I said I thought they were $4.99. She asked me what color the tag was. I said I didn't remember (I didn't). She said she couldn't sell them to me if I didn't remember the color because "they have sales". What the mother F that means is beyond me. She was obviously on her high horse and out to prove a point, so arguing was pointless. Instead, I power-pouted my way out of the store, sans Bongos.


(Imagine these shorts, but as pants)

Honestly, I am still not over the loss. I can still see these perfect jeans in my mind's eye, and it is torturing me. Seeing Holly's shorts that were so similar was another twist of the knife. The only thing that made me feel better was a shot of horseradish infused vodka, which we chased the thrift store with.

I do think that the thrifting gods did send me a message about my apparent inability to deal with thrifting loss, in the form of this T-shirt, which my boyfriend found at the self same store were I got shafted:


I'm trying! I am trying.