Ready to put some money back in your bank account? You've come to the right place.This is a guest post by Chris Turner a friend and contributor to The Thrifty Life.
You remember a lot of important things: The first time you saw Star Wars on the big screen. The first time someone looked at you in that that way. The first time you realized that childhood was over. I remember all those things too, plus other bits of detritus floating around in my long-term memory file. Like the first time I ever heard the word “thrift.”
It’s a perfectly good bit of memory that could have been, should have been, reallocated to some other infinitely important thought, if only to add more details in the recall. I’ve learned that my brain just won’t work that way. It’s committed to a lifelong pursuit of remembering things that are random and sometimes odd, but it does make me a hit at parties where trivia games are involved. Sometimes, however, the strangest memory pays a surprising dividend.
The first time I ever heard the word “thrift” was during an episode of Starsky & Hutch. I was six and S&H could do no wrong. I was devoted to it every week, even though much of it went over my head. Heroin? Junkies? Prostitutes? These were words that held no meaning for me. All I cared about were the car chases and gun fights! But little did I know that during this one particular episode, a seed would be planted that would see fruition over the years that followed.
The villain of that episode (Season 2’s “Starsky and Hutch Are Guilty,” aired April 1977) was masterminding a scheme that involved using two guys who looked like Starsky and Hutch, with the intention of giving the real S&H a bad rep and getting them drummed out of the precinct. The mastermind, during her exposition monologue concerning the scheme, made a comment along the lines of “I had to raid every thrift store to find the right clothes.” It was intended as a pot shot about the main characters’ sense of fashion. At least, that’s how my six-year-old mind perceived it. And so, I attached a negative association with “thrift,” because it was used in a disparaging manner toward my beloved car-chasing, gun-shooting, lady-loving heroes. I tucked the word away in my mind, always inwardly frowning whenever it cropped up in life. Until 1988 or so. That’s when thrift rematerialized with a vengeance.
Freshman year in college. I discovered a store just a few blocks from campus, right down from the local comic book shop. It sold vintage clothing. Now, as a freshman in the late 80s, and a theater major at that time because acting was where the beautiful artsy girls were, redefining yourself was mandatory. Vintage clothing offered the opportunity to go old school cool for less than $10. That ten bucks would get you several sweet ensembles, including a leather jacket so worn out it imbued a depth of character that no amount of posturing, teen angst and youthful rebellion could ever hope to muster. Thrift was no longer a dirty word. It had become cool.
And now, twenty years later, thrift is a dear old friend of the family. We sit on the porch at night after dinner, Thrift and I, as I pluck the twangy guitar that I paid for with just two crisp twenties back in the late 90s and we reminisce of days when five bucks took you far. We end our evening chats with a sigh as thoughts turn to the economy and how thrift is much more important than ever. Way more important than Starsky & Hutch and vintage stores. Well, almost.
photo credit: pixeljones
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