Today I hopped in my trusty Honda, aka Pheebs/Regina Phalange, with a plan and determination to find fabulous things at thrift stores and come home with a handful of great deals. I set a budget and, after grabbing a good CD to listen to for the ride, headed to an area south of town with a list of thrift and antique stores to hit.
Now, I by no means consider where I live to be The Big City. It's certainly better than some, but holds no comparison to places such as Chicago or NYC. Even so, I consider my area to have a lot of really great draws; wonderful, unique restaurants, interesting bakeries, quirky boutiques, good antique stores, a wide variety of art galleries. Though we are hardly on the map as a mecca of fashion glories, all it takes is a trip to the 'burbs or any number of other Ohio cities to know we are better off here than we would be elsewhere. The small victories count, at least to me.
It took about 20 minutes of driving before I said aloud to myself, "Toto, I don't think we're in the city anymore."
Suddenly great expanses of land had cropped up-- and yes, using the term "crop" here counts as a not-so-subtle pun. Still, I drove on, excited and certain there was some hidden jewel amongst the fields undoubtedly full of manure.
Upon arrival at my first destination, I had serious misgivings. First of all, it began pouring down rain as soon as I parked, which is annoying to walk in and out of stores in, but infinitely worse when those stores are thrift shops. Let me tell you, "wet dog" could be a perfume bottled and sold at thrift stores to escape the stench that surrounds you. That is certainly not true of all, but in the case of my first stop it absolutely was. Second, during the short walk from my car to the entrance, I saw three people wearing leather NASCAR jackets.
I moseyed in with a smile on my face and, despite my initial impression of disappointment, kept that smile glued on as I trekked over to the racks over which a sign saying "ladies" was hung.
"Classy," I thought naively in regards to their choice to refer to the area in such a polite manner.
I felt "silky tops" was a great place to start, so I circled the rack three times in search of the "XS" portion. My hunt was in vain. As I continued to discover as I inspected everything from jeans to blazers, the sizes 0 and 2 do not exist in some places. Even then, I tried to keep my spirits up and decided I would have alterations done if necessary.
It was right around the point when I was flipping through the rack of skirts and discovered one in the "better brands" section marked with a tag for Dress Barn that I started to lose faith.
I left and moved on to the next handful of stops. A couple were closed because of it being President's Day. The others yielded uncomfortably similar experiences to that which I had at the first store.
I was not raised with a silver spoon in my mouth. I do not live a life in the lap of luxury. I am, however, a woman who knows why I ought to appreciate legitimate silver over the metallic-gray frosted "fancy" plasticware used at some picnics, if you know what I mean. What I was finding today did not present opportunities to mix interesting pieces into my wardrobe. The merchandise I found was all bargain, no deal; it's not a great find if you'll never wear it!
Finally, slightly damp from the weather and feeling a bit worn down, I decided to throw in the towel. Perhaps $1 blouses and $3 pants were just not in the cards for me today. I went into my excursion with visions of peasant blouses and funky dresses dancing in my head. I left concerned about the nightmares I might have after spotting a pair of jeans from Weathervane that I'm 99% positive I owned in high school.
On my way home, I stopped at Northstar and devoted a decent chunk of my thrifting budget to lunch and a giant oatmeal raisin cookie. "Better luck next time," I thought. And that is my plan. I have every intention of continuing in my goal to become a thrift shopper and am already crafting a list of vintage and resale stores to hit. I am a woman on a mission.
Round two, here I come. Please do not involve more pairs of used Carhartt overalls than I can shake a stick at.
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