Thrift shopping is a gateway drug. One moment you are mildly interested in some old china or a record album and the next you are waking up at 4 a.m. to go to an estate sale. Moreover, you have zero concerns that you are following utter strangers into a dark basement lured by the promise of “really good stuff.”
GirlWonder, GorgeousFiance and I have definitely gone into stores and spaces with hand-lettered hostage-taking type signs that say “please come to the back door.” Obviously we survived. More importantly, we scored some great stuff.
Auctions, yard sales, garage sales, estate sales, free stuff on the curb, we are down for it. By this, I mean we will wildly overfill one of our vehicles and probably call on the menfolk to show up with trucks as backup.
Pro tip: if you attend the final day, most estate sales or garage sales are practically giving things away. In some cases, they actually ARE. Need an entire backyard full of patio furniture? It’s yours! Meanwhile, I steadfastly refuse to even go to retail stores like Sam’s Club on a Saturday because it is “too stressful.”
I am definitely NOT the friend you bring along for restraint at an auction, antique or thrift store. Together we are going to make a LOT of questionable financial decisions. I am deeply addicted to hunting but also to giving things away. It’s a circle of thrift life. Purchase, enjoy, declutter, donate, purchase something else. I go through phases. One day it might be baskets, the next books.
I know not everyone wants to sift through thousands of items of clothing of a variety of brands, 98% nothing you’re interested in. Some people will tell me, correctly, that they get better deals at retail stores.
Yes, I understand that WalMart and the mall are both certainly selling shirts and household goods. I can promise you, however, that you are not buying quality pieces at those locations. I am in it for that 2% treasure.
Thrifting with me is quick. I make a list of needed items, I check it twice, I shop with intention, and I TOUCH EVERYTHING. I shop more with my hands than I do with my eyes. Knowing good fabrics means you will find them quickly. I thrift most of my clothing with the exception of undergarments. I have a pretty luxe wardrobe if I do say so myself. I’m drawn to cashmere, cotton, linen, leather and wool. I pride myself on an aversion to synthetic fibers. “100% Acrylic” is 100% a “no” for me.
My house is full of what friends call “deceased ancestor’s furnishings,” and my wardrobe is pure old quality. I cannot sleep on new sheets that are made of microfiber plastic that maybe once thought about cotton during the manufacturing process. Do I want your nana’s discarded comforter and throw pillows? Yes, I most certainly do. You will pry my vintage percale estate sale sheets that probably belonged to dead people out of my own cold, dead hands.
Touching everything also goes for household goods and furnishings. I’m probably going to be taken down eventually by my lifelong exposure to fondling lead-paint-covered furnishings, but if that’s how I go, that’s how I go.
Another friend swears I’m out here buying “haunted homegoods.” “Sure that lamp looks great by the bedside now, but then you realize someone trapped an ancient soul inside.” Honestly, that’s fine. I live in a 120-plus-year-old house. I assume people have died here. The thing is, they also LIVED and I WANT THEIR STUFF.
My living room currently offers two leather seating pieces that I would NEVER have paid retail for. I will drag Mr. Wonderful out to someone’s pristine garage for a pickup at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning though. The two name brand recliners, each currently on the manufacturer’s website for $1,200 each, were procured for $49.99 each. I adore them. Again Mr. Wonderful was pressed into service to pick them up from a local store.
So addicted am I to saving that Mr. Wonderful gave me, as part of my Christmas gift this year, a gift card to a local vintage store. I love it. It was barely March when I had already spent the entire thing. He knows that when he said “buy yourself something nice” I had every intention of coming home with PILES of somethings that are nice. Don’t invite me to a barre or dance club. Invite me for coffee and antiquing and I am your new best friend.
If I have to be addicted to something, I think digging through old stuff at antique stores and auctions is fairly harmless. At the very least I wake up with trinkets instead of a hangover.
(Kymberly Foster Seabolt enjoys long walks through thrift stores. She welcomes tips in care of FosterSeabolt@gmail.com; P.O. Box 38, Salem, OH 44460; or KymberlyFosterSeabolt.com)
