‘You’re a divil for punishment, Irene...’ Enable Ireland, George’s Street ‘Is that Chanel?’ Mrs Greens for Cheeverstown, Ranelagh
Everyone has one. The first, the greatest ever. The old and moldy contents of my local charity shop now grow older and moldier in memory, but back when I was too old to want the Mary-Kate and Ashley dolls, but young enough to want to dress like them, this place was my absolute favorite. Back when Ranelagh had charity shops and not just coffee shops along the main street. It was Mrs Greens which made me view charity shops as something more than dens full of framed Sacred Hearts and crispy old unwanted paperbacks. I read about Chloe Sevigny and her chic cropped hair and her 80s pirate boots, and realized that ‘vintage’ was something to aspire to. That was just as Mrs Green’s shop peaked. I would drop by after school, wearing my uniform, to rifle through the rails. And then it closed, hosting a week-long closing sale to end all others. I remember I emerged with a four euro flapper dress which I later wore to my debs. And in a basket stashed under the rails I found a square of silk with double Cs woven into a floral border. Two euro. Chanel. I think I peaked early, as I’ve never matched that since. The next day Mrs Green’s was gone, replaced by a launderette internet cafe.
I curse the day that charity shops discovered window sales. Irene is dragging a half-clad female mannequin from the window display, walled off by blinds and a scribbled ‘Do not touch sign’. Bags, of dubious ‘designer’ origins, are laid out on the counter. A week earlier they were in the window. I went up to inquire about the LV bucket tote (gloriously Eurotrashy and little too shiny to be real) and the reply was a boast. ‘Oh they’re not on sale for another week, we have the window sale and people turn up at seven in the morning and queue down the street.’ I didn’t ask about that. She continues, ‘and you’re not allowed to buy it until then. First come first serve.’ She folds her arms, proprietorial though I have no intention of queuing for a bag with peeling PVC handles. What is it with central charity shops? Camden Street and Aungier St still turn up the odd bargain, but move further North and the prices will skyrocket. Somebody told Oxfam and Enable about ‘vintage’, and ruined it for the rest of us. This particular lady is enjoying it. I wonder if she’s the one who does the pricing, who labels year-old Topshop with €10 tags, and demands up to €50 for ratty old satchels from the 70s. The window sale is the culmination of their pomp. Does anybody actually queue for this? I imagine her opening the doors to a frostbitten line of vintage-crazed art students. It’s depressing to think about. I feel guilty just saying it, but Oxfam, what happened to you? You used to be cool. And yet we keep coming back and paying the prices. Like Irene, we are divil’s for the punishment.
Tabitha, 55