Hello tiger,
Do you remember the first time you went thrifting? The first time you felt the joy of finding the perfect vintage jeans in a vast, messy pile of clothes? Or the first time you saw the blouse you now wear for every summer dinner with friends in a tiny store among the cliffs of a seaside village?
I've been wondering recently why giving an answer is difficult, but one thing came to mind. The first time I appreciated the curious beauty of vintage was in my grandmother's closet. I am twelve years old; I am at my grandparents' country house. I am much smaller than the vast dark wooden wardrobe before me. With my two sisters, we open it with difficulty and, between the creaks of the rusty doors, let out an excited sigh. Opening the doors of curiosity, we start to try everything. Lace dresses too long, silk scarves perfect for pirate bandanas, loose velvet pants like those of horse riders, heavy skirts to make wide turns, necklaces from distant countries, and heels to reach shelves and drawers taller than us.
Therefore, the first time was an infinite surprise of objects carrying a thousand stories and distant places. Today, I look among the piles of clothes in the stalls with the same curiosity and desire to fall in love with a garment from distant origins, secret and all to imagine.
Thrifting is the beauty of finding objects that, instead of being just out of the factory, without personality, bring with them the stamps of a thousand trips and adventures.
My favorite thrift store still has the wardrobes of my grandma, mum, and even dad. But if I have to choose one in Milan, it is "Mercato di viale Papiniano" on Tuesday and Saturday mornings. For Ciotti, it's "The Cloister" for its refinement, also in Milan. While Eugi is in love with Killwatch in Paris, for its infinite corridors waiting to be discovered.
Tiger continues to be as curious as a child in grandma’s closet, and goes thrifting!
Stay Responsible, Stay Rebellious!
XX
Cate