Just got back to my flat from visiting the Dublin Flea Market. The scene in the market proves that the co-op is an excuse to bring all brands of hipster together on a monthly basis, although a quite great excuse if you ask me. There were about thirty or forty stalls crammed into the Hall that usually holds the Dublin Food Co-op, which offers falafel, waffles and mulled wine for about the same price as a vintage skirt at the Flea. The Flea is one of those experiences that is exactly what you expect - knickknacks and cheap riffraff galore, in all a manner of colors and mostly too-small sizes (those fifties girls were masochistic most definitely). I don’t usually fare so well at these types of shopping venues because I tend to come home with tons of cheap, well, crap. But this time proved different - when I say the Flea is cheap, I mean dirt cheap. I bought a fifties vintage skirt, a necklace, a poster and a sweater-shirt, none of which cost me upwards of five dollars. Like all vintage shopping experiences, quality suffered a bit, but that’s the fun of it. You’ve got to have your vintage shopping wits about you, or you’ll come home and realize you have bought a skirt that doesn’t have a zipper where one is supposed to be (oops).
The rest of the Flea was your typical cluster**** of hipster goodness. Read: Organic, sustainable, veggie-heavy food, ridiculous clothing choices and a steady stream of skinny, dirty boys playing their guitars on a makeshift stage.
Although I recognize the shear self-indulgence of such a gathering, I can’t help but love it. I like the veggie-heavy fare, I bought just enough useless items of clothing and goddamnit those boys are a-dorable.
And there if just something ridiculously victorious about being able to say, “Yes, those are Mayan dolls on my skirt, and it was only three Euros”.
No comments:
Post a Comment