Other People’s Clothes

Welcome to The Crusty Closet, your trendy neighborhood thrift shop. Or is it a consignment store? Or flea market? Or vintage shop? Or Goodwill with less poor people? Our storefront display looks like a hoarder’s Pintrest board and we wrote our name in this weird font to give the impression we have a brand. Come on in!

Business is booming thanks to the revitalization of “thrifting,” in which urban, affluent whites purchase old and damaged clothes at extreme markups because: 

  • They just moved to Brooklyn and want to fit in.
  • They’re hanging out later with people who live in Brooklyn, and want to fit in. 
  • They’re going to a Halloween party and / or an ugly sweater party (probably in Brooklyn), and want to fit in. 
  • They’re a Gen Z who buys second-hand clothing to flaunt how environmentally-friendly they are / fit in.
  • All of the above.

We hope the fact that we color code our shirt rack and only hire liberal arts majors with nose piercings gives you the confidence you need to spend $50 on a jacket that was discovered at the scene of a double homicide in 1978. 

If you think $50 is a lot to charge for something that probably contains a victim’s DNA, you should know everything in here has someone else’s DNA on it, and we’re all victims to the ever-changing fashion standards determined by an amorphous cabal of hipster tastemakers.

You already knew that though, because you’re in here every month rummaging through piles of clothing acquired at various estate sales in search of the one item that’ll “complete” your new “look.”

And what is that look, exactly? Hard to say, but surely it involves that bowler cap and a pair of jeans that’ve already been ripped so many times, you’d get arrested for public indecency if you wore them out. You should definitely try them on. No matter how they fit, our clerk Anastasia will say you look “stunning” in the most disinterested way possible.  

Or perhaps you’re here to try and offload your old clothes onto us? We can always use more Zog Sports intramural t-shirts. If you would just wait in this interminably long line, eventually Anastasia will give each of your garments a cursory glance, say “you actually wore this?” in a tone that feels more like a judgement than a question, and offer you $2 store credit. 

That might feel like an unfair rate, especially because we’re going to re-sell most of your terrible clothes for 5x as much, but you’ll take the money because you really want those super ripped jeans. Somehow in a few hours you’ll leave The Crusty Closet having spent more money than if you had just bought a new outfit at the mall. To that we say, mission accomplished. Remember, all sales are final—but you can always try and offload your “vintage swag” onto even bigger suckers on Depop. 

Now go show your friends how cool you look in that bowler cap. 

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