When people find out that I love thrifting (which is something I actively yell into the internet void about at least twice a week), the immediate follow-up questions are always: WHERE DO YOU SHOP?!? and WHAT’S THE BEST THING YOU’VE EVER FOUND?!? The answers to these questions are perpetually changing. (If you ask me the former right now I will rattle off twenty-five favorite thrift stores in New York City alone.) But the second question has one clear answer. Look, I’ve been thrifting long before it became trendy (okay, fine—scratcher—from BrooklynBotanic.org via Flickr.) Actually, let me take that back.
I’ve been thrifting since it was…actively uncool. During the era where confessing that you shop at thrift stores would earn you the stink-eye normally reserved for people who bring tuna fish sandwiches onto subway cars during rush hour. I still remember rifling through the record bins of the Salvation Army on McGuinness Blvd at age 12 and complaining loudly about how “IT SMELLS IN HERE” while my mother expertly sifted through the racks around me, casually pulling-out silk blouses and cashmere sweaters like some sort of secondhand-store wizard.
“Harper, LOOK HOW THEY stitched this together,” she would say proudly, flipping a blazer inside out to point out constructed seams. I would give her a death stare and wander off toward the trench coats bedazzled with feathers (still love you, Mom).
Years later, as I rack up Shopping At Thrift Stores Since Before It Was Cool points left and right, I think back to my mother teaching me the art of the thrift shop and feel like she’s practically smiling down at me from thrifting enlightenment.
Now, fifteen years, two fashion degrees, and a moderately successful career later, I like to consider myself a thrifting authority. I’ve mastered the art of spotting real silk from 30 feet away at Goodwill and cutting a bitch in vintage racks (sorry, not sorry.) I know all of the “secret” rich girl neighborhoods that consistently donate the best unwanted gems to their local thrift shops. My entire Instagram stories “highlight” is dedicated to sweet vintage dresses I found while out thrifting that made me audibly gasp when I stumbled upon them.
There are no fewer than ten (twenty? Seventeen?) vintage silk scarves living in my NYC apartment right now, not including my overflowing vintage costume jewelry collection that would have Liz Taylor questioning her own wardrobe or denim. I own so much vintage denim that if I ever tried to coordinate a mass denim dressing-sense intervention for myself, I’d inadvertently clothe an entire Midwest farming community.
But even with my overflowing closet full of secondhand treasures comes one thrifted item that reigns supreme over all other things I own. It’s not the most expensive, it’s rarely the most designer, and it definitely isn’t the thing I spend the most money on when I see it haunting the racks of my favorite thrift store. It gets more compliments than any other item in my wardrobe and was, at one time, worth less than the fancy espresso drink I order each morning on my way to work.
Let me tell you how I found it. Three years ago, I was killing time between work meetings before dinner with a friend in a neighborhood I don’t often find myself in. I wandered into a tiny thrift store between a laundromat and a bodega—one of those funny New York shops you swear is actually a front for drug dealing because how else are they able to afford that sliver of rent on prime real estate selling usedPopoverContent setContentTitle=”Popover With Image:CONTENTS HEREPOPVER CLOSEDugg boots and chipped ashtrays??
The place was terribly organized. Dresses were hung next to baby onesies. There was an entire rack of men’s suit jackets that looked like they had been donated… by MEN’S SUIT JACKETS.
In a bin labeled “Kitchen,” I found mostly old VHS tapes and one lonely tennis racket. I was about to give up and leave when I spotted it, nestled in with what I’m assuming was a stack of tablecloths and old curtains: a vintage men’s silk bowling shirt. My mind pretty much exploded into dust as I carefully pulled it out of the mix and held it up to my chest, giving it the once-over.
Dating the shirt was impossible due to fading, but being a master thrifter, I’d learned to identify vintage fabrics just by feel and could tell this shirt was probably from the 1950s. The color was a blinding blue-green that would make Kelly Green jealous. On the back was embroidered, in bold stitching, “Mike’s Auto Parts” above an illustration of a wrench and gear.
The collar was impeccably worn in that authentic vintage way that fake vintage just can’t ever replicate. And even though this shirt was likely somewhere around eighty years old based on fabric and color, the silk was still in excellent condition save for one small cigarette burn near the bottom that just added to its authenticity. It was a large, which fits me strangely enough as extra loosey-goosey, and was priced at an unbelievable $6.75.
As I stood there staring at it, my mind racing at how easily this could be my new favorite thing but also full-body knowing that it totally would be, I couldn’t help but wonder how they settled on that price. SIX dollars and SEVEN QUARTERS. I could buy FOUR espresso drinks that cost $6.75.
“That’s a good one honey,” said the elderly woman manning the register as I approached her with my soon-to-be-new treasure tucked under my arm. “My husband brought that in with some old crap from his cousin’s garage sale last week. Must’ve forgotten about it in the pile.” She carefully wrapped it in tissue paper as if it were a Chanel sack instead of a discarded bowling shirt and I fell just a little bit in love with her.
I wore it to work the next day (high-waisted jeans, tucked in with rolled up sleeves and a handful of gold bangles to spruce it up), and I don’t know how many coworkers complimented me before I even made it to my desk. Our dreaded Creative Director—who holds her opinions about clothing and personal style especially close to the chest—stopped me halfway down the hallway to ask where I got it. “Vintage,” I replied cryptically, as is the habit of all true fashion folk who don’t want to admit that something only cost them $7.
“Suuuuuch,” she replied. “Wear it for next week’s shoot.” That shoot ended up being seen by millions of people all over the world as our fabulous social media manager boosted it to showcase our newly redesigned website. Months later, I would still get Instagram direct messages asking where they too could find “that amazing blue shirt” and scouring Etsy for similar replicas.
I started sharing photos of similar vintage shirts to my Instagram stories and even wrote an entire guide on how to shop for vintage bowling shirts that became our site’s most read feature that quarter. Fast forward to today and I’ve since worn it to Paris Fashion Week (paired with an old vintage Yohji skirt and my one “investment shoe” purchase, my favorite Prada boots). I’ve worn it out to industry parties and had people genuinely think it was new Gucci.
I’ve worn it for so many “week in Outfits” roundups on our website it probably comes up in your Google searches when you GOOGLE “Week in Outfits.” It’s become my uniform. Am I feeling insecure about going to an industry event where everyone will be wearing designer? Mike’s Auto Parts bowling shirt, obviously.
Having a day where I don’t love anything in my closet? Mike never lets me down. Want to look casually creative but not try-too-hard for a client meeting?
Mike’s got you. I’ve worn this shirt probably hundreds of different ways since I found it, (thinking about literally writing a list of all the ways I’ve worn it but then crying over how many fabulous outfits didn’t involve Mike… No, I’m just kidding I LOVE YOU M/S AP.) from tucking it into skirts with heels for a chic night out, to throwing it over a pair of vintage Levi’s with sneakers for weekend brunch, to belting it under a cashmere sweater with only the collar showing for chilly Fall days.
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I’ve even worn it as a sort of jacket over tank tops during hotter months and once threw it on over my swimsuit at the beach to unexpectedly WOW two different women who stopped me to ask where I got it. Ironic isn’t it? How in this industry that moves faster than anyone can keep up with chasing the new hot thing every season my most successful, most photographed, most complimented clothing item is a vintage bowling shirt from…..the 1950s?
Truly. That’s what I love about secondhand clothes. Yes, we all love scoring a badass vintage Levi’s jacket for less than you’d Spent Getting Schooled On Fashion Instagram posts about it or finding that Chanel scarf your favorite influencer mentioned in her Stories but are begrudgingly ok paying $200+ for online.
But being a seasoned thrifter has taught me that the best things in life (or at least clothing) are the ones with history, with character, that tell a story. Because here’s the thing about my shirt… It has a story.
Whoever Mike was that embroidered his name and those car parts on my favorite shirt now gets to take a secondhand adventure around the world with me. It’s been to Europe, Canada, four different states. It’s covered me during interviews, premieres, wedding and birthday parties.
I wore it first-date Mike with my college boyfriend in the very bed-sheet-skirt dress he bought me that same shopping trip and he still teases me about how bright it was. I wore it on that first day of my job at SCOOP Magazine when I had no idea how my life was about to change. Who knows how many lakes this shirt has seen or Christmas mornings orDates Gone Absolutely Terrifically Right/ Terribly Wrong.
Something about knowing that this shirt was worn by someone else way before it ever hit my crowded NYC closet fills me with so much joy. Who was Mike? What kind of bowler was he?
Did he beat everyone at bowling every weekend or was he a downright horrendous bowler who only wore this shirt to impress his girlfriend?!? I’ll never know, but boy do I love to imagine. Since finding Mike (yes I talk to my shirt and yes, I fully intend to name you all after you read this), I’ve expanded my thrifting horizons to specifically look for vintage treasures with stories to match.
I ownVintage gas station worker shirt that reads “Jerry” embroidered on the chest anyone?) vintage silk scarf from the 1964 World’s Fair and a hand painted denim shirt showcasing an impressively detailed desert landscape that I found shoved behind a rack of Halloween costumes at some church basement sale.) So for those of you itching to find your very own Mike, here are a few of my Thrifting Tips (unless you know where I can FIND that shirt.) Don’t believe something is only from the men’s section because it says “men’s.” Ladies! Vintage and thrifted men’s clothing is where it’s AT. High-waisted jeans and chinos are everyone’s thrift shopping best friend, but so are men’s suit jackets, blazers, button-ups, and yes, bowling shirts.
My closet is FULL of men’s vintage clothing I’ve appropriated as my own and I promise you can too. Vintage men’s shirts often fit us perfectly in the arms and have that big-box-shortstype waist that is insanely flattering when tucked into a high-waisted skirt or pair of pants. Some of my favorite oversized vintage blazers have come from the mens’ department.
Pay attention to fabric. Vintage silk will feel infinitely different than modern polyester. Check stitching, garment care labels (if they have them! ), and construction.
Feel inside of garments–good clothes are made to be worn inside out and vintage clothes will often look almost as good on the inside as they do the outside. Size Doesn’t Matter… Vintage sizing doesn’t reflect modern sizes, most clothes are meant to be worn oversized.
If you find something you love and you’re worried about the sizing,buy it. There are tons of tailors in NYC (and local seamstresses everywhere else!) that will be happy to take in a garment for you. Just wear something oversized for a few months and you’ll thank me later!
Shop in Rich neighborhoods. I know, I know. It’s trashy to say, but hear me out.
The best vintage comes from wealthy donations. My favorite neighborhoods to thrift in NYC are the charity shops that dot the Upper East Side and certain pockets of Brooklyn that are known to have wealthy empty-nesters endlessly Marie Kondo-ing their homes. Befriend the shop employees.
She liked me so much that now, when she finds unique vintage silk scarves or cool vintage clothing comes through her racks, she saves them for me knowing that “Harper would love this.” I stop by the store once every two weeks and about half the time she has something waiting in the back solely because “It’s very Harper.” Patience. Thrifting is a full-time job if you want it to be. Make frequent stops at your favorite shops — depending on the store stock can turn over quickly.
Some of my best finds were made when I stopped into a store for five minutes because I was between appointments. Seek Out The STORY. Why was this shirt at a thrift store?
Vintage garments with heavier wear or signs of loved ownership (“mistakes”) are often the most interesting and one of a kind.
I love clothes with something extra, a story I can dive into when someone asks about that random vest from behind your Thrift Shop Granny or that hilarious shirt your mom made you wear. (Hi Mom!) Most of all, HAVE FUN WITH IT. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it a million times: vintage is the best, most sustainable way to shop.
Not only are you giving that shirt or dress or pair of pants a second life, but you’re also doing your part to help reduce clothing waste and land fill. The shirt may have lived one life already, but who’s to say what secondhand clothes can and can’t do?!? My bowling shirt went to Miami Music Week with me, hanging all across Europe while in Paris and now has plans to pass along with me to closets and closets of bloggers who will repost photos of them wearing it on Instagram.
Who knows where Mike will end up? Hopefully with a whole lot of other ladies who know how to thrift. Mike and I recently celebrated our third anniversary together.
I’m probably going to have it framed when I can no longer wear it and treasure it as the wardrobe icon that it is until then. And at this point, it could last me another three years. Vintage silk doesn’t wear like today’s fast fashion, and my bowling shirt from Mike’s Auto Parts proves it.
