i have a problem
The silver tray was my consolation prize after having to leave the furniture behind. Candle holder is also thrifted.
Hi my name is Carlie and I have a problem. I'm addicted to the often surprising things you can find in thrift stores. I'm addicted to walking into a thrift store and wandering for hours through a seemingly timeless void. Three hours later I'm almost positive I just walked in twenty minutes ago. Between the $25 vintage credenza on clearance and the giant $35 three-drawer file cabinet, I must have lost the last hour imagining a life where I can fit both of these gems into my Chevy Cavalier and cart them home to my parent's house, where I live. I'll just start redecorating their 90's era living room into my own mid-century oasis, with a file cabinet tucked neatly in the corner because who can resist such a deal? In my dreams I clean it up (i.e. remove the stickers that suggest it most definitely came from a classroom) and use it to store blankets, sorted by overall fluffiness and warmth. A drawer for each season: cold, kind of cold, and 'oh my god the humidity is strangling me'. In my dreams my Cavalier is a truck that can fit two large pieces of furniture and I live on my own in a house that could easily fit a family of five. I have monthly estate sales where I sell all the extra pieces of furniture I've accumulated and keep only those I deem most special. In reality, each piece by itself is larger than the size of my car and I still live with my parents. In the end I leave with a woven blanket, a beautifully handmade silver tray, and general sense of sadness about leaving behind two pieces of furniture I'd already accepted into my imaginary life. Now I had one more blanket and no systematically organized blanket filing cabinet to store it in.
I could probably fit inside this file cabinet if I tried hard enough.
This is only one of my recent and most tame thrift store dilemmas. Every time I step into a thrift store I'm overwhelmed by voices in my head screaming, "I want that! Get that! Look at that! That'll definitely fit in your car!" It's endless, and I give in more times than I'm willing to admit. Other people's old sweaters become my old sweaters. Other people donate lonely mugs and I collect them to form my own mismatched set. I see a piece of thick fabric that catches my eye and it's only $2 so how can I leave it there?! I love the print! I have no use for it and I'm not particularly adept at upholstery, but I buy it nonetheless. I have a problem.
My consolation blanket. What will I do with this thrifted fabric though?
Instead of dealing with this problem head on, or you know going cold-turkey from thrift stores, my solution was to build a vintage clothing store on Etsy. Hopefully this will keep me from being buried alive by my thrift store finds, or at the very least keep me from being featured on the newest season of Hoarders. Lately it's just given me an excuse to fill a shopping cart at my favorite thrift mega-store. I try to sell things that I love, but aren't quite my style, or that I have no use for. It's taken quite a bit of self-convincing and late night panic attacks, but most days I think it was the right choice. Some nights I still lay awake thinking about long ago sold clothing pieces that would have fit perfectly into my wardrobe. I dream about wearing them and I miss them dearly. Even writing about them hurts because it's forcing me to think about how I let them go. I probably spent the money I made from them on coffee, like I really needed more caffeine in my already anxiety-prone nervous system. I tell myself they've found a better home with someone who doesn't mistreat them, but how can I really know the truth?
I very much regret selling this gorgeous red blazer.
I still think about this particular set of primary colored vinyl and chrome chairs I left behind. I can't even remember a clear picture of what they looked like, can't think of anything distinguishing about them that would let me find them through Google, and yet I still obsess over them. If only I'd bought those chairs the moment I spotted them! There were four of them (I think) and I'd convinced myself I didn't need four vinyl chairs with beautiful chrome detailing, all in a different bright color. Not to mention I had absolutely nowhere to house them. In my mind's eye they looked like they belonged in a mod 1960's hair salon. They may have been chairs from an actual old beauty salon. Did they have that foot rest at the bottom? Half of my brain is saying yes and the other half is screaming FALSE MEMORIES. Left Behind: Thrift-Induced Anxiety Apocalypse.
This little sheer number is: Regret No. 2
Sometimes I sell things I should have kept, and sometimes I keep things I should definitely sell. Sometimes I hoard things I'll never wear, and sometimes I'll buy a pair of spandex shorts on a whim and wear them almost exclusively while travelling around Croatia. More on that later.
Hopefully by writing about my problem I'll be forced to do that thing I mentioned earlier and face it head-on. More likely, though, it will just fuel me to visit thrift stores more often so I can write about all the cool things I find. I have a complicated relationship with sanity.
