The Path to Salvation: The Salvation Army
February 25, 2009
Denver, CO
I am an avid thrifthunter. Apparently it was decided in the stars, as noted in Starsky and Cox’s Sextrology {Thee most spot-on description of the Libra woman I ever did read, including such accurate details as my shoe size}. I’ve traveled coast-to-coast collecting knick-knacks and thing-a-mabobs, often expeditioning solely for a thrift prospect. My wardrobe has embraced the forgotten blends of vibrant acetates, the pastel stretch of polyester, the woolly itch of orlon acrylic and the high-waisted/worn-kneed catastrophes of hige jeans.
It’s a ritual that dates back to my high school days. Leslie and I hiked the Long Island Rail Road eastbound to Lindenhurst, Copaique and Babylon for dirt cheap threads. We found our rebellion in worn workshirts with the wrong name and some obese man’s old Sport-abouts. Occasionally there were dresses that fit, butterfly collars that matched our Blind jeans. This was before the resale boom that scavenged thrifts of vintage wear- making me search further and further. Ultimately, the buy & resell culture did away with the 50-cent sweaters and $1 jeans of my youth and left picked-over remnants in all the wrong sizes. Ah, but I’ll never forget Secondhand Rose, a large thrift shop a few blocks from the Copaique train station. My first thrift-love.Being a vegan, thriftshopping was (and still is) a fruitful extension of my beliefs. Efficient “prosumers” account for the impacts of their purchases. Between veganism, the most environmentally-friendly of diets, and reusing (i.e., the outcome of thrifting), I embody my values wholeheartedly. I also, despite the cliche, opt not to spend my meager funds to support brandnames and contribute to a culture of materialism, thank you very much.