Secondhand Sartorialism: Can’t we all just get along?
The other day, I was supposed to meet a friend at an estate sale to which I’d received a "pre-sale" invitation to attend. She, like me, is an avid collector and seller of vintage clothing, and she drove over an hour to see the tons of quality vintage clothes that were promised. I hit a bit of a snafu on my way out the door and was running late to meet her -- meaning that I would not be able to join her half an hour early, as we’d planned. Then, about ten minutes before I was supposed to meet her, she called to tell me not to bother: "There’s a list outside the door and I’m number 38. There are tons of people milling around and none of them look friendly." I told her that I was still curious and was going to head on over. But less than five minutes later, she called me again. "I’m sorry, T, but I’m leaving," she said. "These people have fangs. I just asked a couple of guys a question and they looked at me with total disdain. I just don’t have the energy for this." And with that, she hopped back on the highway and drove for an hour back the way she’d come, utterly lacking the stamina needed to deal with the rude glances and jostling movements of milling strangers.











Post a Comment




