A Peek Behind the Curtain

Real life as an NYC vintage dealer

“How was your weekend?”

A normal question on a typical Monday. 

A very loaded question on the Monday following one of the biggest vintage events in the city. In fact, probably one of the biggest in the country. Either way, where do I even start? This past weekend was the fall Manhattan Vintage Show, a three day vintage extravaganza that typically accounts for a decent chunk of my annual sales. I spent months preparing, carefully sourcing and prepping hundreds of pieces of inventory. This weekend, I had over 300 items in my booth - each piece was selected by hand, researched, mended, cleaned, priced, and more. So, what is vending at a major event like this really like? Consider this letter like your own personal catch-up chat with yours truly, friend to friend…

Friday: Day 1

My alarm goes off at 5:40 AM. I make coffee and run through my checklist: unplug and pack my Square reader, take down and pack my backdrop, don’t forget to bring lipstick! I carefully apply liquid eyeliner, hoping it stays sharp for the next 12 hours. My husband groggily announces from our room that he’s woken up next to a pair of scissors. I was up doing last-minute tagging and mending until 1 AM, and in my deliriousness my tiny sewing scissors spent the night in bed with us. Thankfully we all (including our dog) made it through the evening unscathed, but I felt like a huge asshole.

Now it’s time for one of the worst parts of vending in NYC: getting my inventory to the street. I love our building. I love the art deco architecture and serene courtyard. I love all of it slightly less on market days. Why is our apartment so far away from the curb? And, of course, our elevator stops working. I try not to panic as we carry as much as we can down the stairs. My husband goes up to every floor of the building, opening and closing the elevator doors to try and reset the sensor. By some miracle, he fixes it! Thank god.

The scene in my office the day before the show, half packed

Load-in, as always, is chaos. 19th Street is a non-stop barrage of honking as unsuspecting drivers get stuck behind a parade of U-Hauls. Dealers squeeze past each other on the singular ramp, racks swaying and bulging with the weight of fall inventory. Neighborhood residents walk their dogs on a street that I assume is much quieter on a typical Friday morning, and I wonder if they hate us.

Five minutes after we walk in, I get my period. Apparently I’m on a market cycle, because my last big event also coincided with day one. Nothing like braving first day cramps in a 1930’s silk gown! I spent the rest of the day smiling at everyone while simultaneously cursing my insides. 

Each time I walk through the space with another piece of my setup, I pass by another familiar face. Hello! Good morning! So nice to see you! I think about how many genuinely wonderful people I’ve met selling vintage. It feels so good to be surrounded by other obsessives. It’s a little early for me to be getting misty-eyed, and I need my eyeliner to last.

With the help of two real-life angels, aka my friends Tess and Bridgett, we put the finishing touches on my space with minutes to spare. We squeeze into the group dealer photo, a cheesy but cute show tradition, and then it’s showtime!

The doors are open, and the first customers of the weekend are eagerly rushing in. I look up and lock eyes with Law Roach. He smiles at me. I’m too stunned to say anything before he walks away, his waist-length hair flowing behind him. Later, someone pointed out to me that I was wearing the same shade of green that Zendaya wore during her Challengers press run this spring. I’m sure he noticed. Roach pulled Zendaya’s 1930’s set from Sweet Disorder Vintage, and the store’s owner revealed in an IG post that she had dyed the set herself. My look was also from the 30’s, also dyed chartreuse by Michael of Toots Vintage. Great minds!

The only time I'll be putting myself side-by-side with Zendaya

I have a gorgeous pair of Chloé wedges on the top of my shoe rack. Half of the people that walk into my booth pick them up. Nobody is a Size 5.5. I wonder how many pairs of hands can touch tan leather in the same spot before it leaves a mark.

A woman is crouched down over my shoe rack trying on a pair of 90’s boots when I walk over to say hi. She asks me if I’d be willing to come down on the price. I’m contemplating my answer when she looks up at me, and I realize I’m talking to Mischa Barton. I agree to a discount and she tells me that they’re actually a bit big, but she thinks she can make them work with thick socks. I tell her that I actually size up in boots so I have room for a nice supportive insole. She says she just needs to find her friend, and that she’ll be right back. She never comes back, so now I can tell people Marissa Cooper lied to me.

The dreamy Chloé wedges and Mischa's forgotten boots

As the last customers of the day make their way out, I count my empty hangers for restock tomorrow. We finally get the go-ahead to officially close up, and I immediately change into a t-shirt and sneakers, right in the middle of my booth. I walk to the M14 stop to get on the bus home, and the moon looks crazy. I take two really bad photos from the FDR before giving up.

Despite these pictures being laughably bad, you can actually still kind of tell how huge and orange the moon was

I arrive home to a sparkling clean apartment and a fantastic spread from my favorite sushi delivery spot. My sweet wonderful fantastic husband cues up the latest episode of Great British Bake Off to watch while we eat. What a dream. I barely make it through the episode before falling asleep.

Saturday: Day 2

I planned my entire outfit around wearing a new pair of glasses my husband bought for me in Italy, then forgot the glasses at home. The look was inspired by Carven RTW Spring 2024. I add my own little something by stacking a chunky 50’s rhinestone bracelet and a 90’s rhinestone watch over my shirt sleeve. The look felt a little flat without the glasses, but I’ll definitely be re-visiting the bracelet styling in the future.

Ideally I would have styled this with a more neutral shoe, something sleek in brown or nude, but I don't have anything like that so I went with a high-contrast blue mesh flat

A customer came by to tell me she bought a jacket from me at the winter Manhattan Vintage Show back in February! It was a fabulous Salvatore Ferragamo F/W 1990 RTW suede jacket, she said she’s worn it often and really loves it.

The jacket in question, on me earlier this year and on the 1990 F/W RTW runway

A young woman approaches me sweetly but somewhat timidly, introducing herself as a Columbia journalism student. She asks if I wouldn’t mind answering some questions for her student paper. I’m immediately endeared to her, remembering how scary it was to approach strangers as a journalism student (from a much less impressive alma mater). I chat with her about my business and the show, and she comes back a little later with a photographer. I realize later that this was the only press coverage I had this show, which was out of the norm. I wonder if it’s something to do with my booth, my placement in the venue, or if there’s simply less media here than at previous shows.

I have a sizing system for markets using plastic beads on hangers, like a cuter version of those little spacers they used to use at Kohl’s and K-Mart back in the day. Every time I do an event with my sizing chart, multiple shoppers make it a point to thank me. I know sizing can be one of the hardest parts of shopping vintage, especially for those who aren’t straight sized, so I’m always looking for ways to make it more accessible! I sold a lot of XL+ pieces this weekend.

I need to get better photos, but you can see my Size Chart in the top left corner. Each size has a corresponding colored bead strung on the top of each hanger.

I’m tidying up my booth during a brief lull when I spot something on my table. I get closer and realize it’s one of my stickers, partly crumpled around a piece of chewed gum. Someone apparently used my sticker as a tissue (???) and then LEFT IT ON MY TABLE. The sticky, exposed blob is within a one foot radius from a 1920’s Whiting & Davis purse, a 1940’s satin dressing gown, and an Issey Miyake RTW jacket. Appalling!

People are fucking sick in the head, y'all

Sunday: Day 3