- Joined
- Apr 26, 2007
- Messages
- 8,087
The first time I went to a swap meet, there were something like 40 women in an ever-rotating horde, most of them strangers to one another. There were endless bottles of wine, and many nibbly things: it was held in a design store where the walls were lined with bolts of fabric, and the furniture was piled high with a treasure trove of vivid, luxe goodness. I came home with a sari, a velvet cloak, a vintage blue silk japanese robe, a white linen poet's shirt, a crimson velvet jacket with medieval sleeves, and a veritable hoard of other goodies besides. It was great: I brought all the stuff I had that I realized was too boring or staid or whatever, and everybody else brought the stuff they thought was too gaudy for everyday life: apparently, a perfect trade!
The second time, it was thrown at my house two days after I returned from a long trip. Ten ladies were invited, I spent the day before cleaning my ass off (with jet-lag, which was fun), laid in a sufficient stock of edibles to provide for kir and fruit plates and cheese selections, and carefully weaned through my stuff for the best possible selection of things, and ... three women showed up. An hour late. Including, mind, my co-host, who'd organized it. Two of them had mostly brought stuff for one another. All of them brought stuff that was ratty. Oy.
Today? I went to a fun medium-size swap (ten or fifteen ladies whom I know sort of vaguely through friends-of-friends) in a massive, crowded apartment chock-full of peacock feathers and displayed mandolins and cats. I brought a Samsonite suitcase full of yet more stuff that I realized wasn't my style (thanks, dad, for introducing me to quality clothing, but the cross-dressing doesn't work as well on me now that I'm, um, physically mature ... so all those Dunhill sweaters you've bought me over the years? Not so useful ....) and came away with a boiled wool Balmain jacket in a lovely shade of green, a nifty Cole Haan tote in red leather with gold hardware, a gorgeous vintage lace blouse, an irridescent silk skirt that hovers between blue and violet, a fitted black Isaac Mizrahi dress, a sterling dagger charm from someplace called Fields (?), and assorted other goodies. Alas, no food was provided, so me and my low blood sugar had to cut out after a couple of hours.
My conclusions: for a good swap, you need:
- a nice blend of people, so as to get rid of the maximum amount of crap (nobody wants to be left lugging 19000 pounds to Housing Works the next day!) while still picking up a few consolatory pieces yourself
- a nice blend of sizes, as one woman's too-tight dress is another's fetching slouchy piece (and, frankly, most of the things people want to get rid of are the ones that no longer fit, for one reason or another)
- a space that basically echoes the ethos of the activity - variegated, unusual, aesthetically challenging, and all the likelier to encourage you to try things you normally wouldn't
- and, dear gods, people, food.
Am I the only one who likes stuff like this? I also love vintage shopping, so it seems like a natural progression. And, if I'm not ... what have your best and worst experiences been?
The second time, it was thrown at my house two days after I returned from a long trip. Ten ladies were invited, I spent the day before cleaning my ass off (with jet-lag, which was fun), laid in a sufficient stock of edibles to provide for kir and fruit plates and cheese selections, and carefully weaned through my stuff for the best possible selection of things, and ... three women showed up. An hour late. Including, mind, my co-host, who'd organized it. Two of them had mostly brought stuff for one another. All of them brought stuff that was ratty. Oy.
Today? I went to a fun medium-size swap (ten or fifteen ladies whom I know sort of vaguely through friends-of-friends) in a massive, crowded apartment chock-full of peacock feathers and displayed mandolins and cats. I brought a Samsonite suitcase full of yet more stuff that I realized wasn't my style (thanks, dad, for introducing me to quality clothing, but the cross-dressing doesn't work as well on me now that I'm, um, physically mature ... so all those Dunhill sweaters you've bought me over the years? Not so useful ....) and came away with a boiled wool Balmain jacket in a lovely shade of green, a nifty Cole Haan tote in red leather with gold hardware, a gorgeous vintage lace blouse, an irridescent silk skirt that hovers between blue and violet, a fitted black Isaac Mizrahi dress, a sterling dagger charm from someplace called Fields (?), and assorted other goodies. Alas, no food was provided, so me and my low blood sugar had to cut out after a couple of hours.
My conclusions: for a good swap, you need:
- a nice blend of people, so as to get rid of the maximum amount of crap (nobody wants to be left lugging 19000 pounds to Housing Works the next day!) while still picking up a few consolatory pieces yourself
- a nice blend of sizes, as one woman's too-tight dress is another's fetching slouchy piece (and, frankly, most of the things people want to get rid of are the ones that no longer fit, for one reason or another)
- a space that basically echoes the ethos of the activity - variegated, unusual, aesthetically challenging, and all the likelier to encourage you to try things you normally wouldn't
- and, dear gods, people, food.
Am I the only one who likes stuff like this? I also love vintage shopping, so it seems like a natural progression. And, if I'm not ... what have your best and worst experiences been?
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