Doctor's Orders: More Shopping, Less Buying

A visit to the vintage doctor under a bridge in Chinatown

A common cold calls for fluids, bed rest, and a bottle of NyQuil. A case of sudden-onset ennui calls for a trip under the Manhattan bridge, where on the second floor of a Chinatown mall, racks of designer vintage promise a cure.

inside bloda’s choice, where i’ve scored a number of closet favorites over the years

Last week, with a spring cold and a blocked sinus cavity, came a block of a much more frightening variety: inspiration block (shiver). I first diagnosed myself with writer’s block, but it wasn’t so much that I couldn’t find the words, it was more that I couldn’t figure out where they were coming from. The words that landed on the page felt unrelated to each other; orphaned puzzle pieces strewn on my desk, no box in sight, no picture or packaging to indicate what final result I’m meant to be working toward.

My brain felt dull and lifeless, like the before photo in a shampoo commercial. Combing through my list of letter ideas and shower thoughts felt like a worthless pursuit. Neurons were not firing on all cylinders. I was suffering from an acute case of inspiration-itis, and the only known cure is intravenous vintage. To Chinatown I went.

Under hospital-grade fluorescent lighting is a maze of linoleum floor and glass panels, with every odd turn leading to a new room filled with wonder. Spring 2000 Prada bowler bags, Y2K silk dresses of dreams, that one Comme des Garçons runway look you’ve had on your mind for years, it’s all at your fingertips at 75 East Broadway. The sheer volume of gorgeous, mint condition pieces is enough to render a girl a little woozy. But with some patient and methodical digging, the overwhelm shape-shifts into fervor.

My prescription was written with a few crucial addendums below the dosage: no purchasing allowed¹, patient is to browse only. Because inspiration doesn’t come from buying, it comes from looking. From feeling. From trying on. From photographing. From imagining a thousand scenarios in which you might wear this piece out in the world and then saying farewell without a second thought. It’s often the shortest, most torrid affairs that fuel our daydreaming the longest — the same goes for clothing.

the brief affair i had with this sheer silk top was legendary

Patient is to keep a detailed record of symptoms. Just pressing fabric between my fingers was like a jolt of electricity. Patinated leathers, tissue-papery silks, finely crushed velvets — the fog was clearing before my eyes. I had to get out of my head and get into my hands. Instead of imagining where all the paths before me might lead, I had to pick one and start walking.

So I grasped onto something tangible (unlike the stubby threads floating around in the hollow space between my ears, just as I’d tug on one that seemed promising it would come up short). I tuned into my senses and turned off my rationale. Rather than allowing my eyes to float across the room unfocused in shallow thought, I used them to examine what was directly in front of me.

I chatted with shop owners and my customer peers. I asked about their days, chirped about the nice weather, and agreed that Yes! Those pants do give Hannah Montana realness!

There’s only so much poring over WebMD results you can do before you have to pick yourself up and consult a physician in the real world, and there’s only so much staring at a blank Google Doc can do before you have to leave your apartment and rejoin society in search of a spark.

james veloria has certainly always been the best decorated

Patient is to visually monitor treatment’s progression, i.e., take photos of what you love to come back to later. I snapped with abandon, pointing my phone in the direction of anything that caught my eye for longer than a split-second. Shopping divorced from buying (and photographing that shopping) is a worthwhile exercise in developing interests, tastes, and our eye for brilliance. It’s crucial to document those developments and return later with a fresh perspective.

Creativity doesn’t come in eureka moments as often as we’d like; creativity is a muscle that requires heavy lifting to grow stronger. A week sick in bed renders it useless and risks atrophy — a trip to the vintage mall is like an advances pilates class for a creative muscle.

When I’d finally exhausted my resources, flicked through the racks in every room and documented evidence of what spoke to me, it became clear my prognosis was promising. I swiped through the photos I’d taken over a late lunch and realized so much of what I’d captured was already in my wardrobe.

The silk organza button up that dazzled me with its shimmer? There’s a vintage one in a different color hanging in my closet. The Anna Sui sunglasses that called to me from across the room? Remarkably similar shape to the pair in my purse. The way I almost instinctively reached for that flouncy pink silk top? The vintage pink silk top I already own isn’t surprised. It only took a 20,000-step day of looking outside of my closet to see what’s inside it in a completely different light.

And so I returned to the puzzle. I swiped every piece off my desk — in that reckless and dramatic only-happens-in-the-movies kind of way, we’ll say — and rifled around for a new one. Where there had been empty drawers before, boxes now leapt out at me. I tossed my empty orange prescription bottle, its contents finished and having done their job, and got to work on something new. The threads stopped pulling up short and I could finally follow one to its origin. And then I wrote it all down, and I sent it to you.

Call it the vintage mall, call it the dozen doses of DayQuil I took before I was on the mend enough to even leave my living room, but my brain feels functional once more. And although inspiration-itis can’t stay away for too long, (as any creative knows far too well), luckily I know just the trick.

In case you missed it:

Chatting with the first person in line at Sandy Liang’s famed NYC sample sale.

What It Takes To Win a Sample Sale

A deep dive on the Prada bowler and its recent resurgence.

Prada's love affair with the dorkiest sport of all time

Some harsh words on the term “flattering” and my go-to spring outfit formula.

the spring uniform you already have in your closet

1. I must confess I broke the no purchasing advisement because I found a perfect, well priced (and needed) dress for two upcoming weddings. It’s like when you’re 22 and your doctor says don’t drink while taking your antibiotics — it’s a rule that sometimes must be broken.