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One Woman's Trash is Another Woman's... Trash

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When I lived in San Francisco, I never went to a mall because the thrift stores are phenomenal. My entire wardrobe was second-hand and the employees at my favorite thrift stores knew my name.

Then we moved to Florida.

When you first walk into a Florida thrift shop, you are struck with the stench of stale cigarettes, urine (human?), and body odor. I think you may need a special set of immunization shots before going inside. But you plug your nose and stick it out, because you really want to sift through 85 stained t-shirts in hopes of finding that one gem. I should really just start photographing some of the stuff I find in the Florida Goodwills because it truly could be a blog of its own. Beadazzled fannypacks, floor –length mumus, handmade ceramic pottery in the shape of an alligator, Buns of Steel on VHS (OK I actually almost bought that) and red stilettos with hand-drawn puff paint. I often refuse to leave a thrift store without finding SOMETHING worthwhile, but in Florida there is a point where you just need to throw in the towel.

Needless to say, this skirt was thrifted in San Francisco. If you’re ever going to San Francisco, be sure to check out the thrift stores.

Oh, and wear some flowers in your hair.