Alternately titled: in which visiting Chase.com scares me more than Saw movies, walking through a deserted alleyway with a known rapist at the other end, and looking at Nicole Kidman’s face combined.
I visited the most hole-in-the-wall vintage heaven today, which is a ridiculous joke considering i can barely direct a cab driver to my home, let alone know New York well enough to have secret places I visit. An offshoot of the L.A. warehouse location, Shareen Vintage covers the second floor of an unmarked building on W 17th street, and it’s like raiding your dream aunt’s closet. Racks and racks and racks of vintage dresses and clothing that cost $30 less than their Manhattan vintage counterparts would charge. Some stuff is straight up vintage, like one black button-adorned dress that one girl there said made me look like MTV’s Kennedy, but a lot of the stuff I tried on just reads as quirky, and possibly a leftover costume from a community theatre production of Brigadoon.
There’s no boys allowed, and you just change in a big living-ish room with fun chairs and a big mirror tilted generously in the “i look so thin in this!” direction. (We used to do this in my college apartment, and it looked like we had giraffe legs. It was fantastic. Not so fantastic for purchasing clothes, but still.) The girls working there befriend everyone that comes in, and like almost everything you try on, which is both helpful and super confusing, since i would have kicked myself if i walked out in the pantaloon jumpsuit they recommended i wear to work. But, palling around and chatting with the store’s cool chicas about their actual lives (i.e., interpreting what it meant that the guy one spent the night with brought by seltzer water) while trying on $40 vintage dresses and getting a much-needed “you can pull it off” confidence boost is fucking fun, and like a non-cheeze Sex And The City experience than even normals like me can have.
The goods: an enormous brown fur coat (goodbye, sleeping bag coat), a sparkly shirtdress, a floral dress that has practically convinced me to visit SXSW so I don’t have to wait for May to wear it, a red floofy number, and a double-wrap belt that makes every single thing I put on look unbelievable, like magic.
for more blabber: http://awkcity.com