I'm an addict. Hopelessly, shamelessly, seamlessly in love with everything vintage, from the 60's danish media buffet that crowns my living room to my favorite crushed velvet tuxedo minidress circa 1972. And I'm always scouring for more. Recently, I've discovered flea markets. Although I, like most other New Yorkers, preferred browsing through kitschy "thrift" stores that were more upscale boutique ($300 for a used burberry trenchcoat, size 14? Huh???) but have since discarded with a need for "atmosphere" (and paying their high rents) and have opted to go even rougher. So this weekend I am planning to hit up the flea market in Hell's Kitchen, and perhaps one in Fort Greene as well (Brooklyn Flea) and I will tell all once I return, hopefully donning some fabulous finds and a new coffee table.
I don't know what it is with vintage. Its not the thrift aspect of it that I love. Perhaps it is the hunt- the challenge of searching and fighting for that one unique piece that nobody else will have. Or perhaps it is the sense of history and other-worldliness that emanates from an 80's dress, or 60's coat. Who wore it before me? What kind of life did they live? Questions that surely don't cross your mind as you pick something up from the Gap (which assembly line did this come from? I don't think so.) But before getting too Stuff White People Like, I think that vintage has become, gasp, something of a hobby for me. And I can honestly say that, well, they just don't make them like they used to. Amen.
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