When you walk into a thrift store, the scent is usually the first thing you note. It's the musk of thousands of people, combining in a sort of collective aroma. Discarded memories, traces of hikes and job interviews and cigarettes and movie marathons and running marathons. It's the smell of human experience. Each article of clothing in a thrift store has a unique story; that heavily-padded blazer was donated because it adorned a man who lost his truelove, the XXL t-shirt a past skin shed by the man who finally took control of his life.
Sure, some articles might smell like musty storage, but anything with a torrid scent is either discarded or cleaned. The abhorrent stench is neutralized, sanitized, and it becomes but a faded memory woven into fabric.
I really enjoy this piece I think it's interesting to pick the smell of a place that holds worn clothes, it seems as though there would be so many stories just hitting you in the face. I like the storied you gave to specific pieces of clothing, I find that very effective.
ReplyDeleteI meant stories* i'm all about not typing correctly lately, I'm sorry!
DeleteYour last paragraph is poignant. You speak about a scent we are all familiar with, so it makes the reader able to connect easier. You don't have to describe the smell to us, and I enjoyed your digressions on the stories behind the clothing that you wrote instead.
ReplyDeleteI thought this was incredible! The scent of a thrift shop is exactly as you describe it, and I love how you ponder the background of each article of clothing. The essay feels personal, and I love the line, "it becomes but a faded memory woven into fabric." It does a great job of noting how smells have the ability to trigger memories, and when the smell is lost, the memory fades away.
ReplyDeleteI also like this, but mostly as a beginning. The best moments are when you imagine lives for the clothing. Why not try this with some other items, and perhaps with a bit more depth. For instance, could one of the figurines belong to a recently deceased grandmother? Could the discarded postcards tell stories of dreams deferred?
ReplyDeleteThis is the inventiveness of nonfiction. You can invent as long as the invention seems backed-up by carefully earned observation and sensitive conjecture.
Also, why do you give a darn about this. The essay is too good a beginning for this to be missing. What are you searching for? What part of the story are you?
DW