y dislike of normal shopping
led me to try thrift stores, which I found to be comfortably inexpensive
and low key. I also liked the clothes better.
Old clothes had character, earned over years of wear and tear.
Old clothes had history: they often came pre-stained.
And old clothes also had quality.
Older fabrics were thicker, and
Today's styles emote the same void as modern steel and glass suburban office towers.
fter a while, though,
I began to suspect that the many hours spent in thrift shops
were costing me more than money. I was investing too much
time in simply finding clothes that fit and were interesting, well-made and
in good repair. Sometimes I'd return home from the thrift store
And old clothes needed frequent replacement and repair.
Machine washing was pretty hard on the fragile old fabrics.
Pants pockets would perpetually tear ($7 per pocket to repair at the
local cheap tailor, not to mention all the lost coins and keys).
Knees would wear thin and break open.
he old me would've patched
them with dental floss or iron-on denim. If I looked like
so what? It reduced the chance of anybody
mistakenly trying to hire me for a job. But that was the old me.
he new me finally gave up. I knew
what I was going to have to do, and I braced myself.
