Vintage import

I like to shop. Actually, no – I take that back. I don’t like to shop. I like things. The process of shopping is something I actually detest. It’s a complete and utter waste of time. I hate the soullessness of a mall. Indoor, outdoor, outlet - I hate them all.

And I can’t stand labels. Nothing irks me more than a $500 purse with the word COACH written all over it.

Someone's unwitting compliance to be a walking advertisement doesn't offend me as much as their complete lack of imagination and effort. It's just too easy. Buying Coach requires no creativity or courage. And it says nothing about you. Except that you can afford Coach. And are - quite possibly - lazy. And unimaginative.

Unsolicited tip o' the day: if the only way you can tell a fake from an authentic Coach bag is to make sure the C's are lined up correctly, it doesn't matter whether it's fake or authentic.

You like Coach?

OK, let’s try again.

Burberry. What the hell is Burberry? And why? And who cares?

It’s the same damn pattern year after year after year. What is the point?!?!?

When I lived in Boston I worked across from Burberry on pricey, cushy Newbury Street. I would walk by the store everyday and peer in. I pondered this Burberry... but I just could not get my head around it.

First of all, it’s plaid.

Second of all, it’s plaid.

Third of all, OK, OK. I’ll stop.

It’s PLAID. What is so special about plaid? Can someone explain this to me?

Same deal with designer sunglasses. The giant logos on the side = irksome.

Dolce & Gabbana is the biggest offender.

Until moving to Australia I never allowed myself to buy expensive sunglasses. Sunglasses are like umbrellas. The more expensive they are, the more likely you will leave them behind. Or run them over with your car. Which is what I did to my last pair of nice sunglasses.

But in my head, moving to Australia gave me a legit excuse to invest in another nice pair (you know, because it's sunny in Australia - not at all like it's sunny in California???).

So I bought a pair that I love. They fit my face perfectly. And they have a tiny (tiny, promise) little Chanel on the side. So I'm not immune to this little phenomenon I'm bitching about.

But I will say in my defense - I hate that tiny little Chanel. I bought them in SPITE of the logo - and I get a nagging urge to utter a disclaimer every time I put them on.

Does that help with the hypocrisy?

No? OK, fine. I'll stop my bitching.

This is all timely discourse for me because I just visited Singapore, Singapore - “Where the World Shops.” And by "the World" they mean the top .01% of the World. Designer brands. Big ol’ logos. Labels for the sake of labels. God, it’s awful.

I mean, it’s definitely an experience. The malls are insane. The stores in the malls are insane. They might as well be plated in gold. Actually, they *might* be plated in gold. Orchard Road is where most of this mess is kept. It’s one blingy store after another. Pucci. Hermes. Ferragamo. Jimmy Chu. Lacoste (Izod, people, can we just call it Izod?).

On Orchard Road, there's a mall called Takashimaya. Let's just say - this ain’t your mama’s mall. I felt like I was wandering through the advertising pages of Anna Wintour's Vogue. There is no Benetton in this mall (Chloe is in this mall). There is no Victoria’s Secret in this mall (La Perla is in this mall). There is no Tiffany's in this mall (Cartier is in this mall). Now, I don’t have a lot of use for these stores. I admit - I absolutely adore Chloe. Their clothes are amazing. But a shirt is $1,000. And I’m not stupid. At least not on most days.

So I walked back to the main strip. And I tried to find something photo-worthy. Something different. Obsure. Or even familiar but with a local twist. Anything but the bling. And guess what I found? I found a Swenson’s.

A moment please.

For anyone who doesn’t know, Swenson’s is this “ice cream restaurant”. Wouldn't you call it a restaurant? You sit. There’s a menu. They take your order.

We had one in my hometown of Wilmington, North Carolina. And I went almost every weekend. My mother would drop me and my boyfriend off at Cinema 6 and after the movie we'd walk across the parking lot to Swenson’s. Everyone did this, in fact. Sometimes a bunch of us would walk over together and get a GIANT sundae and we’d all eat it together. It was called a volcano (?) or an earthquake (?) or some other natural disaster. It was huge - so shareable and fun.

Well, that Swenson’s was sadly replaced by another restaurant (and another and another) long ago. But – as I found out – there's one in Singapore! They even had the wafers. I love the wafers.

I have no pictures of Orchard Road for this post. I wish I did. But the number of photos I take is directly proportional to how inspired I am by a place. So Orchard got none (the ice cream should have gotten a photo - but that was an oversight).

So what would have been photo-worthy? Something more down-to-earth perhaps. Something that brings you closer to the people. Connects you to the place.

A child's interpretation of a local church in pastel....

Croatia

Colorful patches made of beeswax molds and natural plant dyes and sewn into a quilt...

Laos

Rugs made out of clothing remnants...

Thailand

See, connection! There's no connection in buying Coach.

I find connection in art, handmade things or old things that have been loved and passed down. Plundering through a flea market, a second-hand store or your grandma's attic - a process of discovery. Making something old new again - a form of rescue.

And when these things come from another country - and they tell you something about the people, the history, the culture - all the better.

Before I moved to Australia, I went to the Rose Bowl Flea Market in LA with my friend, Jessica and I had this epiphany. Holy shit. I’ll import vintage from all over the world. And bring it to LA. I’ll call it “Snow Angel Vintage” (because making snow angels = childlike bliss = vintage found abroad). I can travel for half the year – sourcing things from far-flung places – and sell them at my store for the other half of the year. OMG OMG OMG.

I could just picture it – me – traveling all over the world plundering closets. Attics. Garden sheds. I was married to this idea for about a week before determining that opening Snow Angel Vintage would require me to leave Google. My job. My salary. And the ability to afford traveling to far-flung places.

And that made me sad. For a minute.

And then I remembered the woman I met in Cambria. She had my all-time favorite occupation. Not only did this woman live near Paso Robles, San Luis Obispo, The Sanitarium, full-bodied red wine*, the Black Cat Bistro and Hearst Castle (all things I love), she had a bed & breakfast.

Now, I love a bed & breakfast. They’re often in old houses which require fixing up and then decorating.

Awesome.

The only catch with a bed & breakfast is sometimes you have to put up with entitled people. And generally, I don’t like entitled people. Oh, well. Small matter.

This lady – the one with my all-time favorite occupation – also had a tiny little shop in her B&B. I expected her to be selling preserves. But – instead – she was selling all this quirky stuff from all over the world. It was so unexpected.

I mean, it wasn’t like there was a lot of foot traffic in this B&B. In fact, there wasn’t even an attendant in the store. To ring you up. To offer help. To make sure you didn’t pocket a wooden elephant. It just – was.

“Um, I’m curious about your little shop,” I said.

“Oh, that’s just to fund my travels.”

“To fund your travels?”

“Yeah, you know. I travel. I pick stuff up. I sell it in my shop. And then I get to write-off my vacation in Bali as a business expense.”

Whoa.

Whoa, lady. You just BLEW. MY. MIND.

I sat at her feet. And I listened. I may have even taken notes.

And I vowed – I’m so going to do that one day. I’m so doing that. But – instead of brick-a-brac – I’ll source vintage things from all over the world – and I’ll sell it in a little shop called Little Old Lady Things Or Snow Angel Vintage Or Ugly & Heartfelt.

I recently found this book. Which led me to this one. And I hate Sandy and Emily and Edith and Sandrine for writing these books before I could. But now I DESPERATELY want to take a little French vacation where I can wander around Paris buying French vintage things. And eating Nutella banana crepes.

Back when I first visited France, I stayed in an establishment called “The Young & Happy Hostel”. Let’s just say I wasn’t sourcing vintage at this time in my life. I was sitting by the Seine drinking wine directly from the bottle**.

I was pretty lucky to be sitting by the Seine, having a low-budget cultural experience because the minute we'd gotten off the plane at Charles de Gaulle, I'd gotten us lost. I'd told Ginger I could easily get us to our hostel using my French. Which is hysterical considering that I didn’t really speak French. I took French for YEARS, mind you, but in North Carolina when you take French, they don’t actually make you SPEAK it.

But I know my tenses. You bet I do. French grammar is my specialty.

Long story short, we ended up in the middle of France somewhere just in time for the trains to stop running. The only person who spoke English saying, “It’s not safe for women here.”

Awesome.

He also told us, “Cabs do not stop for women.”

“I’m sorry – they don’t stop for women?”

“No.”

WHERE AM I? ISN’T THIS FRANCE?!?!?

We made it to the "Young & Happy", but I never saw any vintage in France. But I will. Don't you worry.

Until that blessed day, I'll share some vintage markets I've come across in Italy, Slovenia, India and Japan. All surprises to me. Unplanned. Like little gifts from the universe.

Italy:

Let's start with Italy. I was in Venice. This was the second time I'd been. The first time was with a backpack strapped to my back and again, I was traveling with Ginger (she forgave me for France). We were poor. And adventurous. And we stayed in someone's attic. That's right. A little old lady had set up cots in her attic, separated by sheets. I remember looking over at Ginger as we were falling asleep and saying, "If this place were to light on fire, no one would have any idea we were in here." It was magical. An adventure.

But this time, I could afford to stay in a room with a locked door. Which was a vast improvement. I'm pretty sure that on this day (when I shot the photos below) I was lost. It's very easy to get lost in Venice because it's a maze of bridges and canals. You feel like you're constantly going in circles. And everything looks slightly the same.

But serendipitously, I ran into this little market.

Sometimes getting lost is the best part about traveling.

Slovenia:

I went to Slovenia for one reason. My boss' husband was from there. And he hated America. But he loved Slovenia. Svetozar could not stop talking about Ljubljana and so I decided to go. I did not expect to love it as much as I did. Ljubljana is the little tiny town. But it's beautiful. And untouched. And on Saturday's they have an artists' market. And on Sundays, a vintage one!

More photos of beautiful Slovenia here.

India:

I didn't expect to find vintage in India. Old stuff, sure. But vintage? I stayed in a little resort hotel - a gorgeous place called Spice Village. It's a very "less is more" type place. Simple. Understated. Elegant. They had these amazing wooden carvings all over the walls. They were colorful cows with funny little ears. I loved them. They were my idea of folk art heaven. They were old + hand carved + hand painted + gorgeous + local art + from the "middle of nowhere" in India.

I asked everyone, "Where did those carvings come from?" "Everyone asks," they said. But no one knew.

I like an adventure, so I took photos of them and contracted the help of some locals (Pradeep & Saji, of course) - and we headed out to ask around town.

Spice Village carvings

Cute little ears

Well lo & behold, we came across Red Frog. Red Frog had a giant cow carving in the window. I almost lept out of the moving car.

Red Frog is an art gallery. But it's in the middle of a dirt (mud) road in Thekkady. It's not exactly something you expect to see.

This could be your average art gallery.

But not quite.

I walked around the shop. I was in heaven. Someone had selected the items with care. It was beautifully curated.

But I didn't see any of the smaller carvings. And I really wanted one. "I am staying at Spice Village. They have some carvings similar to this - but smaller - older. Do you know where I can get some of those?"

"Oh, yes. Those are very old. And I have a few in my warehouse. Would you like to see?"

OF COURSE.

So we walked through the mud to his warehouse. When he opened the door, I had an ill-concealed conniption fit.

OMG.

How can I take all of these home?

I took six. Yes, six. And believe me, taking just six was not easy. I loved them all. They are gems. And under $125 USD all told.

Me & the owner, Manu.

Pradeep & devil Saji

See, I could SO do this for a living!

Japan:

While in Kyoto, I tired quickly of temples. I didn't want to be a tourist. I wanted to be an explorer. So I decided to try to get lost. That typically works.

And I came upon this little antique shop, blue Parrot II.

I should have bought those two lamps. I really should have. But I stopped myself. Had this little "come to Jesus" in the shop. Yes, yes, they're awesome. Yes, they're small and light. Yes, they're vibrant, awesome colors that you don't typically see. Yes, they're affordable.

But do you REALLY need those lamps? Do you really?

How downright rational of me.

I'm so pissed at myself right now.

I had another surprise while in Hiroshima. I was lost again - this time trying to find an ATM that wouldn't deny my withdrawals. I saw this little shop of wonders. Things you would never, ever find in a store in the States. Things that would be snatched up the minute they hit the sales floor.

It made me want to open a little bar just to decorate it.

I mean honestly, who would expect to see Spuds Mackenzie and Aunt Jemima (together no less) in a tiny little shop in Hiroshima? It was *quite* the discovery.

Well, that's it. I went. I saw. I discovered. And as for Singapore, you can't really blame it. The city is celebrating its 45th anniversary this year. It still has some growing old to do. And if - in the meantime - people are drawn to Singapore for the bling, the colossal casinos and medical tourism, then so be it.

As for me, I'll be seeing you in France.

* That one’s for you Cathy.

** Not by myself. Ginger was with me.