|La (Found)erie's foxy mannequins|
In the windows of La (Found)erie, well-dressed as any hip boutique, I see the ruffled blouses, bomber jackets and power suits of former eras, displayed with verve.
I admire the thrifted ensemble more than the strenuously-styled designer outfit: twentysomething women in adjustée housedresses, heels and anklets; my French class colleague in a sweeping purple velvet coat with deep cuffs, and young bucks in flying scarves and Sansabelt trousers.
Both sons wear thrift assiduously picked by Etienne's sweetie, Tash.
|A Taylor Swift look from La (Found)erie|
Thinking that finding these was a price-point matter, I checked the upscale consignment in a posh neighbourhood and was surprised how dated the jackets and dresses looked. You could not have given me anything.
Nowadays I don't so much shop vintage as drop by for the memories.
When you have more wrinkles than a '60s crinoline, the retro look holds less charm than it once did. In the '50s dresses I once trolled for, I'd now look as if I'd never bought anything, just kept my old clothes for a half-century, a hipper Miss Havisham.
Accessories can still deliver great value; belts are often single-digit bargains.
When a cat lolls in the window's sunspot, and Passion Pit are playing, I stop in, letting the nostalgia flow, carried back by spectator pumps. A girl who can twirl an '80s dirndl with aplomb (cat's-eye liner helps) gets admiring looks.
|Lamp and necklace, Arterie|
Macklemore and Ryan Lewis's "Thrift Shop" is my current Favourite Nutty Song.
In a St. Laurent friperie, when someone started humming "I'm gonna pop some tags", three other browsers picked up the chorus.
I wear your granddad's clothes
I look incredible
I'm in this big ass coat
From that thrift shop down the road...