When
I was around six years old, I was walking down the street with my mom, holding
her hand tight, and feigning ignorance of the intricate plot I’d hatched a mere
hour beforehand. She’d come home from work and announced that we’d be paying my
uncle a visit after dinner. My mind had immediately gone into overdrive
scheming.

Actual image of my mom and I arguing over the purchase of said ballet flats. I lost. 

You
see, there was a shoe vendor I’d had my eye on for months now. We always walked
past her boutique when we went to my uncle’s house. She was the only one in the
whole city who carried these beautiful white patent leather ballerina flats,
and I’d been lusting after them ever since I’d laid eyes on them. In a crushing
rejection that would follow me for years to come, my mother had seen right
through my sycophancy and refused to get them for me.

But
I was never one to give up on my dreams. So this particular lovely evening, I
decided to wear my most uncomfortable shoes. They pinched my toes and blistered
my heels, but I assured my mom that I’d be fine and that I just really really wanted to wear them. My plan was
right on track. A few blocks away from the store, I started complaining of shoe
pains…but not too much, I wanted her to think I was being a martyr and trying
to stick it out. Finally, as we rounded the corner where the boutique was
located, I collapsed, exasperated, wounded, and desolate on the concrete floor.
“I just can’t anymore…” I sighed. “I’m sorry, mom. You were right all along.
These shoes are too small on me. But I really just can’t take one more step in
these. I’ll simply die of pain if I have to.” If my plan worked, we’d go into
the store, conveniently located only feet away, and voila! I’d have my flats.

She
swooped down to take a look at my feet, and for a brief second, I thought I had
her. But my eyes betrayed me. I was looking longingly at the flats in the
window display, and she made me. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the day that my
career aspirations as a CIA agent a la Carrie in Homeland efficiently ended. This was also the day that I walked to
my Uncle’s house with blistered feet in shoes that were a size too small. As
she pulled me up and we passed the store, my mom pointed to a bus that was
passing us. “Do you see that bus?” she asked. “Well, I’d need to have that bus
full of money to fulfill your every whim. You can’t always get what you want.”

Fast-forward
almost two decades later and no money bus in sight, I’m still lusting after
shoes that are far too expensive. And don’t even look at me like your student
loan budget happily coincides with your penchant for red soles. I’m going to
let you in on a little secret: vintage shopping. “Vintage” nowadays is a nice
way of saying that someone has used it before you; however, what it technically
should mean is that these clothes date back a decade or two.

I’d
been on a shopping dry spell due mostly to my financial dry spell, and hadn’t
shopped in months. I decided that I was going to reward myself with a few cute
pieces, all under the guise of “research” for this article. So I hit up three
places right by my house: Junction on U St., and Current and Buffalo Exchange
on 14th St. Now, this particular area—the U st. corridor—is
chock-full of vintage stores, which is why this will be a two-part (or three,
or four-part) shopping trip.

Sexy. 

I
started with Junction. The first thing you notice upon entering this place is
the ungodly smell akin to when you go into the house of a really old person. It smells like a mix of cat food, moth balls,
and death. The lady behind the counter mentioned that there’s a discount if you
pay in cash. So I started looking around. Now when you think vintage, you
probably think Zoey Deschanel, cute, retro, whatever. When you think Junction,
you should think Mama’s Family. Not
only is the inventory just bad, but the prices are also really steep. Like, rip off, steep. Let me tell you exactly why. I
almost never wear color. Most of the clothes I own are black. Two or three
seasons ago, I had to go to some beach wedding, so I decided to make a small
investment in a gray, pink, and white polka dot dress at Forever 21. I never
wore it again, and passed it off to a friend, who then sold it to Junction. And
guess what I see hanging at Junction on that particular day—that’s right, my
dress. I bought it for $15, and it was hanging on the rack, accompanied with a
150% upcharge. ‘Nuf said.

Current
was a little different. First of all, it is huge. The front of their store is
just brand new clothes, and the back is the second-hand stuff. Whereas they
really blow Junction out of the water when it comes to inventory, they also
struggle with pricing. You’d have to be completely clueless to buy a pair of
used Qupid shoes for $25, when virtually their entire line of pumps at
Burlington Coat Factory ranges from $15-35. Most people go to these sorts of
stores either to find a great bargain or to find clothes that they simply don’t
make anymore. Before leaving, I asked the front desk girl what the policy is on
selling at Current—they are a true consignment store. They will only pay you
for your stuff once it’s been sold, and only a fraction of what it’s worth.

Buffalo Exchange on 14th St. 

Finally,
I moved on to Buffalo Exchange. This is the only place where I actually
purchased something. There were more people shopping here, even though the
store is significantly smaller than Current. Plus, the prices are a lot more
reasonable than the two aforementioned places. They’re not ideal, mind you, but
they’re better. For example, I
purchased a beautiful emerald green bodycon midi dress (no brand), for $19; I
got a houndstooth Forever 21 skirt for $4; a Milly shirt for $9, and a ASOS
peplum shirt for $15. Not bad, eh?

I’ll
keep you posted on future vintage store expeditions—but in the meantime, what
are your favorite DC vintage stores? Tweet us at @sindc!
 
– Helena B.
 
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