The thrift store yielded many snazzy finds, as though nobody with good taste had ever gone through there and sampled their wares. Granted, $60 for a t-shirt is a steep price for a place designed to save funds, but I’M WITH STUPID just says it all. What’s more, there are lovely distress marks, likely put there on purpose to play up to the youngsters’ tastes. I get it, I’m hip.
But I couldn’t stop there, I had to pore through every scrap of men’s clothing just in case I found a jewel in the rough (preferably a diamond, but a sapphire or emerald would do). Among my favorites, a one-sleeved Joe Montana jersey that was either game-worn or at least worn by somebody while they were being attacked by a bobcat. After that one, the interest factor dropped by a fair bit, and I couldn’t see myself dropping so much cash for plaid and paisley shirts, no matter how retro or attention-grabbing they may be.
Thrift stores sure have changed a lot since my day… I remember when I could walk in and get a sassy necktie for a dollar, throw in a pair of slacks and two Hawaiian shirts and still get change from my twenty. Kids these days with their misled sense of style that drives them to follow the herd that mainly concerns itself with preserving looks that went away for a reason. But hey, I can’t be too hard on these kiddos, or they’ll think I’m an old square and not the hep cat persona to which they’ve grown accustomed.
WHARVED 