I’ve been thrifting since thrifting wasn’t trendy. Ok, fine, I’ve been thrifting since thrifting was anti-trendy ; back when anyone who admitted they bought their clothes from a thrift store was given the stank-eye typically reserved for folks who dare to enter crowded lifts with tuna fish sandwiches. My first thrift shopping experience was with my mum at the Salvation Army on McGuinness Boulevard when I was twelve.
I complained loudly the entire time about how funky-smelling and/or gross everything was, while she rifled through racks of discarded clothing like a surgeon looking for a heart to transplant, delicately extracting silk blouses and cashmere jumpers as she went. “Harper look how neat the stitching is on this!” she would exclaim, flipping a blazer inside out so I could see the construction. “This is how you know it’s quality-made.” Ha! Like I was going to listen to her or wear any of that “old lady” clothing she brought home. She wasn’t helping our suburban-Japanese-pinkeep-fusion wardrobe any with those finds!
Mum would let me sift through the vintage vinyl collection for weird records to embarrass her with or try on floral witches hats while she rummaged, and I secretly loved it. Of course, being very-middle-school try-hard-extra-extra-extraordinaire cool, I would act as grumpy and reluctant as possible, rolling my eyes at every dress she tried on, until we left with bags full of goodies.
She still tells people that story like it’s some sort of breakthrough; and now look at me, twenty-five years later writing an entire article on how I found my favourite thrift store treasure of all time.
Fast-forward fifteen years, two fashion degrees, and about one moderately-successful career later, and not only do I thrift religiously, I consider myself somewhat of a pro.
I’ve honed my Goodwill rack-scoping skills to an elite level; I can spot vintage silk from twenty feet away. I know the best upper-income neighbourhoods to thrift in to get high-end brand donations.
I have an entire highlight on my Instagram filled with “things I found thrifting that made me drop my entire basket.” Every nook and cranny of my small Brooklyn flat is filled to bursting with quirky vintage clothes I will probably die before I actually wear, including but not limited to: a minimum of seventeen vintage silk scarves; enough vintage costume jewellery from the 19sixties to make Sharon Tate blush; and vintage denim coats, jackets, trousers, shorts, and toiletries. (Ok, maybe not toiletries…but it feels like it.) But out of all my glorious secondhand score-ups, there is one item that tops them all. Not only is it my favourite thing I’ve ever owned, but it gets more compliments than any other article of clothing I own. It’s been featured in blogs, worn abroad, received more Likes on Instagram than anything else I’ve posted.
It wasn’t at an upscale vintage store; it was at Goodwill. It was handed down from no-one-in-particular and still costs less than my weekly Starbucks addiction. Let me tell you how I found the best thrift store treasure of all time.
It was three years ago. I was waiting around for a friend to meet me for dinner in a neighbourhood I don’t usually explore. I stumbled upon a small thrift shop wedged in between a laundromat and a bodega.
It was one of those places you think might be a front for a sex-trafficking ring because who are you selling used Bandana hair ties and chipped porcelain ashtrays to anyway, let alone make a living off of it in New York?! ? The clothing was arranged by some weird system I couldn’t quite decipher. Cocktail dresses were hanging next to toddler ski jackets.
Some bin labelled “Bed” was filled with only VHS tapes and a single Mr. Sandman wallet. As I turned to leave, disappointed and hungry, something blue and teal caught my eye in a bin of what I presumed to be tablecloths and shower curtains: It was a vintage mens silk bowling shirt from, upon further inspection, probably the 19fifties.
The shade of blue was so ridiculously vibrant I half expected it to blast the Bee Gees at me when I looked closely enough. Embroidered in white across the back was the name “Mike’s Auto Parts” above a strategically placed wrench and cogs emblem. It was softly faded with just the right amount of wear and tear to let you know it was vintage (which means “desirable” to us fashion folks,) but the silk was practically pristine, minus a little cigarette burn near the bottom edge.
The shirt was a men’s large, which translates to bohemian-chic oversized on my body. There was no price tag, just hand-written Sharpie that read $6.75. Not $7.
Not $6. $6.75. Was this some sort of thing where they add 25 cents to the closest dollar amount and that’s how they determine prices?! How do I know this costs less than I spend on brunch? ! “That’s a good one you got there,” said an elderly woman loudly as I held up the shirt like I’d just unearthed a murder weapon. “Found that in with some stuff my husband was clean-outin’ from his cousin’s garage sale.
Must’ve been in the back of a pickup truck or somethin’ because nobody else wanted any of it.” She wrapped my new treasure up with vintage sheet music like it was a Halston gown rather than a pre-gym gentlemen’s silk shirt and I fell in love with her. The next day I wore it to work, tucked into some high-waisted jeans with the sleeves rolled up and a pile of gold bangles on my wrist to elevate it. By the time I made it to my desk that morning, I had at least seven people stop me to ask where I got it.
Even our beloved, often-times-Hulk-smash-y creative director stopped me mid-conversation to inquire. “Vintage?” I said. The worst. “It’s beautiful!” she responded. “You should wear it for next week’s team photo.” Well….game over. That photo ended up being featured on Instagram stories and shared approximately eight million times because our social media manager decided to boost it in order to promote our newly redesigned website.
I got DMs for months afterwards asking where they could find “that awesome blue shirt” and how to style one like it. I started linking to vintage silk bowling shirts in my stories whenever I could, even wrote a blog post about thrifting for bowling shirts which became one of our top-read articles that quarter. I’ve since worn it to Paris Fashion Week where it garnered me a stop outside of Dries Van Noten by a street style photographer (shirt: vintage bowling shirt from McGuinness Blvd., trousers: vintage Yohji Yamamoto skirt also found on McGuinness Blvd., shoes: one lovely pair of Pradas I actually splurged on) to industry events where I’m accosted daily by people who assume it’s from Gucci’s latest collection.
It’s single-handedly (get it?) been the star of at least three “A Week in Outfits” compilations on our website, garnering hundreds of comments and emails asking where they can find similar vintage shirts to shame. The thing about Mike’s Auto Parts bowling shirt: it’s magical. Sometimes I wake up and feel like my clothes don’t suit me.
Like I should really just quit Instagram and never wear another article of clothing ever again because what is the point!? All my peers have closets full of Marios and Auratas and so I wear Mike’s Auto Parts bowling shirt and remember that good style has nothing to do with who designed your shirt and everything to do with how you wear it. If I’m having one of those “ugh do I even?” industry nights where I know I’ll be surrounded by people dripping in current designer costumes, Mike’s Auto Parts bowling shirt to the rescue.
Having one of those days where you put every article of clothing back on the hanger and walk around the house asking yourself “why did I think I could wear this?!”? Mike’s your-boyfriend. Going into a high stakes meeting and needing to project creative, but not try-too-hard vibes?
Mike’s got you. Trust. Since Mike ; yes, I name dressed possessed by an ex-bowler named Dave who isn’t ready to let this shirt go.) I’ve doubled down on the thrifting, seeking out vintage gems with as much personality and quirk as my little blue denim number.
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I currently have a gigantic 19sixties petrol station attendant jacket with “Jerry” embroidered across the chest waiting patiently for summer; a vintage souvenir silk scarf from the 19World’s Fair, and a hand painted denim jacket with an amazingly detailed Western landscape scene that I scored at a church basement sale from behind a rack of velvet costumes for….a crisp $45. If you’re itching to find your own bowling shirt here are my best thrifting tips: Search outside of the clothing racks. So many great shirts are mis-filed in the scarf/vintage sheet/bin-liner section of your local thrift shop.
And don’t even get me started on the jewellery section. Scarves! Vintage scarves are where it’s at, people.
My friend Em spends nearly every Sunday morning combing the thrift stores around NYC for vintage kimono jackets; she found her favourite in the “Curtains/Drapes” box. Don’t go in looking for anything specific. That’s the fun of thrifting.
If you want a vintage kimono jacket; you’ll leave empty handed. Trust me, I’ve been there. Keep your eyes peeled and keep shopping.
You never know what you’ll find! Cheque for provenance of silkiness. Real vintage silk will feel different than polyester stitched up to look like vintage silk.
Cheque seams, inspect any tags that might be hiding, flip pieces inside out and cheque for uniform stitching on the inside as well as out. Quality garments are made with quality stitching no matter where they’re sold. Size doesn’t matter.
Especially when it comes to thrifting. Vintage sizing is nothing like modern day sizing. If it’s beautiful, you can make it work.
I’ve found some of my favourite oversized vintage blazers trawling through the men’s section. Shop in wealthy neighbourhoods. Okay, hear me out.
I’m not saying steal from the rich, buy from the poor…but some of the coolest, most high-end vintage donations come from clearing out wealthy NYC closets. My favourite charity shops are on the Upper East Side and in certain pockets of Brooklyn where wealthy old people can’t seem to stop tossing perfectly good Saint Laurent blouses because, “they only wear basics anymore.” *eye-roll* Get to know the staff. My Mike-seller now keeps silk scarves and cool vintage shirts on hold for me whenever she sees them walk through the door.
I stop by every couple of weeks and about half the time she pulls something out from the rack and says, “I know you’ll love this. It’s very Harper.” Be patient. Thrifting is a labour of love.
No, seriously. You have to love doing it or you’ll find yourself irritated by the piles of sad polyester shirts and burnt orange muumuus. Make thrifting around your city part of your weekly rotation.
Drop into your favourite spots once a week if you can. You never know what new treasures they’ll have when you next stop by. Sometimes my best finds have been when I’m in a rush with five minutes to kill before my next appointment.
Look for backstory, not labels. One of my favourite parts about my bowling shirt is the story behind it. Sure, it’s fun to thrift an actual designer piece that you scored for less than retail, but where’s the fun in that?
Part of what makes my shirt so cool are the clues it gives away about its previous life ; the Mike’s Auto Parts embroidery, the slight cigarette burn, knowing it was once worn proudly by someone elbow-deep in bumper stickers and motor oil. Fun facts like that are what makes a vintage garment cool and Pinterestable. Something about buying pre-loved clothing feels special.
Like you’re not just buying a new shirt, you’re buying into its history too. Who knows how many nights my bowling shirt spent getting draped in googly eyes and socks at the local alley? How many winners and losers Mike’s Auto Parts had over the years?
Now, it has a whole second life traipsing around NYC probably doing things Mike himself never thought possible. Needless to say when I wore Mike out to SF a few weeks ago I stopped into one of my favourite local boutiques and bought him a sparkly shirt to match mine.
I wore Mike to a panel about sustainable fashion last month.
When it was over, I was approached by a fashion student eager to break into the industry.
We made small talk about my job and how to best prepare yourself when getting your foot in the door. Naturally, she asked about my shirt.
Some indie brand she wished she knew about? “No brand at all! It’s vintage!” I exclaimed. “I thrifted it years ago!” She stared at me, a polite-yet-empty smile plastered on her face when she first asked about it, now replaced with the dawning of understanding and maybe even intrigue? “That’s awesome,” she said, reaching down to admire the embroidery Mike and I rock so well. “Fashion can be really intimidating when you’re just starting. Seeing something like that makes me feel like it’s possible.” She’s absolutely right.
Fashion can be a scary place to step into; especially when everyone around you is talking about it in millions of dollars and who’ll be next on CFDA watchlists. But here I am, mid career, wearing a $6.75 thrift store find that hundreds if not thousands of people around the world know I own. Some would call it luck.
I call it havinggreatstyle. P.S. Finding your bowling shirt is only worth what you pay for it. (Note: a seemingly unattainable amount of street credit.)
