I love thrift stores.
It’s the thrill of the hunt. The possibility of unearthing buried treasure. The striving to breathe new life into other people’s castoffs.
Consider my most recent find.
For the past couple of months, I’ve been searching for a pair of Donegal tweed trousers, as a nine-year old pair of brown tweed trousers had finally given up the ghost. I found a few made in Brooklyn options, but none were available in my size. Bills Khakis had an option in their M2, but my size had long been snapped up in Bills quasi-liquidation.
Last week, I was at a local Goodwill, perusing the trousers. My technique is to look down and scan the hems. If I find an unfinished hem, I know two things: (1) I have found a pair of as yet unworn trousers and (2) I have found what is much more likely to be a higher end pair of pants.
Looking down, I noticed both an unfinished hem and the distinctive Donegal tweed mottling. I pulled the pants off the rack and, to my surprise, discovered that I had lucked into a brand new pair of the very Bills Khakis I coveted–all for the princely sum of eight dollars. They’re a size smaller than the Bills I normally wear, but a quick trip to the tailors to have the waist and seat let out will render things just as I like them.