Thrifting in Williamsburg on a Saturday is a competitive sport and I am, humbly, quite good at it.
I took the L to Bedford before the weekend crowd fully descended, which is the only way to do it. By noon the racks look like a hurricane went through them. By 10am you can actually breathe.
I have a system. I go for texture first, color second, label never. The label is a trap. The best thing I own is a nameless linen shirt I found for four dollars and everyone always asks where it's from.
Here's what thrifting in Williamsburg taught me about sustainable fashion: the industry I work in produces so much, so fast, that the good stuff is already out there. You just have to dig. Every piece I pull off a rack was already made. No new water, no new dye, no new landfill.
Anyway. The find of the day. A silk scarf, real silk, hand-rolled edges, this deep marigold color that reminded me instantly of the dupattas in my mother's steel almirah back in Ahmedabad. Twelve dollars. I nearly gasped in the store, which is bad thrifting etiquette because it tells the person next to you that you found something.
I also grabbed a boxy vintage blazer, slightly oversized, the kind you push the sleeves up on. And a men's white cotton shirt that I'm going to tailor at the waist for a shoot I'm styling next month.
This is the part of fashion work nobody photographs. Me, cross-legged on a dusty floor on Bedford Avenue, elbow-deep in someone's donated closet, hunting for the one thing that will outlast the trend cycle.
Thrifting in Williamsburg costs me a Saturday morning and gives me a whole week of feeling clever. Not a bad trade.
I wore the marigold scarf home on the L. Someone complimented it. I said thank you and did not say twelve dollars, because a magician never reveals the trick.
Go dig. The good stuff is already made.
Love,