Thrifty the Kid

Lucky is the parent that gets to see something they love through the eyes of their own child.

My late mother grew up during the Depression. For her and for most of her generation, the idea of buying used clothing was anathema. I remember her reaction to my buying a “new” sharkskin jacket from Goodwill was little better than if I had pulled it off a dead man in an alley. I shrugged it off with classic teenage indifference. That jacket and other items I found in vintage stores in and around Northampton, Massachusetts in the early 80s became some of my most cherished and often complimented by my peers.

My daughter once echoed my mother’s attitude. Any suggestion that we browse the local thrift shop got the show-stopping atomic eye-roll and a declaration of disapproval to the idea in no uncertain terms: “Gross!” That eventually changed.

To my mother, wearing someone else’s clothes had the opposite of caché. It signified poverty or at least a lack of social status. No longer — particularly with younger, trend-spotting women. The thrift store find today raises one’s status in those circles. Today I come full circle with my kid, who fills her closets and dresser with a bevy of thrift scores. 

In the subculture of the back-roads enthusiast, the thrift store ranks high among places to seek out. It’s different for different people, but for me, old things bespeak of simpler, more optimistic times and better quality. Reverence for the aesthetic comes from an understanding of the era from which it originates. It might tell a story or maybe it just looks good on your frame. In any case, most would agree that one finds no better form of recycling than thrifting. Stores like Goodwill or the Salvation Army and others run by non-profits often use proceeds to fund assistance programs, while giving people a better place than a landfill to unload unwanted stuff. Win-win for us all.

With this in mind, I take a measure of pride in my daughter’s discovery of the world of thrifting. She does occasionally buy online, but she still prefers going to actual stores. We don’t agree about much these days — in fact we’re usually at loggerheads about most everything else — but we are simpatico on this. 

When I discovered the thrift store in the early 80s, I sought anything from the 1940s to the early 60s. The Ska and post-punk genres saw musicians decked out in their crisp, thin-lapeled suits with straight lines and narrow ties, representing the ultimate in swank for me then. With the revival of lounge and tiki culture, I hunted for bowling shirts and tiki anything. 

My kid naturally prefers a different aesthetic, though she has difficulty describing it. It’s more of a “know-it-when-I-see-it” impulse. On a trip to Nashville last spring, I found an epic vintage shop called Buffalo Exchange not far from the Vanderbilt campus. At a point in the day when Mom wanted to take a nap and with nothing else on our agenda, I asked the kid if she wanted to pay it a visit. Usually, I can’t predict a reaction to any suggestion I make, but this time she readily agreed. 

Before we walked in, I told her “No more than fifty dollars.” She walked out with almost $100 in merchandise. Such is a father’s lament. 

However, I had one of the more entertaining experiences with my daughter since she entered what I call “The Tunnel”, the period of a child’s life between the advent of adolescence and the emergence of a fully-formed adult ready and able to have a conversation that doesn’t end with a slamming door. 

I saw next to nothing there for myself. These stores no longer target Boomers. I satisfied myself observing my kid on the hunt, picking through the racks, casting almost instant judgement upon anything she pulled out, making rapid-fire comments about the colors, the textures, the style. I enjoyed the experience of thrifting through her eyes. I delicately offered unsolicited comments, usually citing possible origins of the style, or mild astonishment that someone would even pay money for an old T-shirt.

As I paid for her haul, Nashville would take a hit from her snap judgement about its fashion sense, at least in the thrifting world.

“You can’t find anything like this in Philadelphia,” she said. “It gets bought too fast. People obviously don’t know what to look for here.” 

“So you’re saying that Northeasterners are more sophisticated about all this?” 

I’m still somewhere in mid-sentence when she asserts, “Yes. I could take all this and make a lot of money back home.” 

She makes many assumptions, but I haven’t the time or fortitude to challenge her. With teenage girls, a father has to pick his battles with great care.

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Closer to home, the kid often bugs for a ride to the Bryn Athyn Thrift Store in Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania, otherwise known as BATS. We just call it “the barn”. In business since 1993, it operates out of a 130-year-old barn on the campus of Bryn Athyn College and helps to support the Bryn Athyn Church, a distinctly Pennsylvanian institution established here in 1890 based on the teachings of Emanuel Swedenborg. The focal point of it all is the massive cathedral reminiscent of Gloucester Cathedral in England and completed in 1919 without blueprints.

As thrift stores go, BATS is a visual feast. The maze-like, multi-level warren of spaces with examples of 19th century agricultural tools, some repurposed as folk art and stacked up to the twenty-foot rafters makes browsing feel more like a treasure hunt than mere shopping. Volunteers keep the merchandise well-organized in rooms designated for china, books, toys, tools and hardware, housewares, small appliances, clothes for men, women, children, and plenty more. The kid usually makes a beeline right to the women’s clothes, but not before she takes a quick side-trip into the men’s racks, where she previously found jeans and a windbreaker that I wish I saw first. 

Despite the wonder of it all, I’m sorry to report that our most recent visit this past Saturday may be our last — at least at the barn. A few months ago, BATS announced some sad news: the barn was coming down. The store’s manager for the past twenty years, Brenna, gave us further details about its future. Starting in May, workers will begin dismantling the structure to make way for a new elementary school and a church-associated community space. The company contracted for the demolition will salvage much of the building’s original rough-hewn and irreplaceable framework, however.

The news isn’t all bad, though. The store also announced plans to build a new barn-like structure just a few minutes away. According to Brenna, the new space will have a more efficient HVAC system and provide an entirely ground-level retail space. She promises a layout that evokes the charm of the existing shop. As if to emphasize the importance of this place to the local community, private donations will fund the entire project. When the new BATS reopens the following January, something tells me the kid will want to be one of the first through the door. I just have to make sure she brings her own money. 

Brenna and I spoke for about twenty minutes, but not without frequent friendly interruptions from long-time customers lamenting the loss of this landmark. I’d guess that BATS has deep roots in this community. Brenna told me that once they’ve emptied out the barn, they plan one final gathering just to say goodbye.

Rest assured, Brenna tells me, “We will have plenty of tissues on hand.”

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The Bryn Athyn Thrift Store is currently located at 510 Tomlinson Rd, Bryn Athyn. Its last day of operation will be April 1, 2023. For more information about the current and future store, go to brynathynthiftshop.org.

A sampling of the often eclectic finds at the Bryn Athyn Thrift Store