OTF - When I got Queer Eyed
My first love… Oh how fondly I remember. I was sixteen—ugly, broke, and rocking Nike running shoes… out of the house. I had nowhere to go but up. Fate would guide me to the one place that would transform into my most committed and beneficial relationship—even if we have to persevere through long distance.
I exit my little neighborhood community—passing a group of elderly walkers.. What my dad would call “heaven’s waiting room” (he grew up in a different time)—and continue straight up Adams Street. I fight the urge not to stop at Mcdonalds (I wasn’t kidding when I say I was broke) and turn right onto Washington. Boom, there it is. In all its glory. The place I had metaphysically visited oh so many times through late night binging sessions of Emma Chamberlain… GOODWILLLLLLL.. And oh was I in desperate need. Please Goodwill, you are my JVN, FIX ME!
I parked my mom’s Honda Acura—we all know I was straddling two spots—and delicately placed my neon Nike on the asphalt, mentally preparing myself for the bargain of my tween life. I am not ashamed to admit that at this point in my fashion development, I was but a sad kid with a shoe rotation of two Airwalks (payless’ Converse), my neon Nikes, and an open toed croc. I was particularly fond of Conan Gray’s insta, often fantasizing about one day being able to rock a tucked in polo shirt and some levi jeans; this was the image I conjured in my head as I approached the doors.. Or the door, because one of them was broken.
Immediately, it smelled like shit. “Oh well just ignore it Trey haha lets move to the men’s section.” I made my jolly good way over, expecting to see the clothes Emma Chamberlain had been showing me through my Ipad mini screen mere hours ago… Imagine my defeat (and surprise) when I was met with heaps of athleisure and a true abundance of clothes that looked like they were made for Santa cosplaying as an American father. I'm talking massive Hawaiian shirts, the most gray polyester I have ever seen (and ever wanted to see)... Stains… Every single laid off Wendy’s, Rubios, Five Guys employees’ entire company collection… I was not about to give Emma Chamberlain, I was about to give Drive Through specialist!!
Still, morale was high. It was a big Goodwill, there was bound to be one garment that would provide me with the Conan Gray fantasy (which I wish I could’ve avoided in retrospect). Sure enough, dispersed within every ten or fifteen thrown away school uniforms and old fast food wear, I ended up finding (and I remember these moments exactly) a VANS black long sleeve shirt, a gray, black and white striped Hurley long sleeve, and.. Duh duh duh duh…. A STRIPED POLO! I remember being shocked that I had found VANS at the Thrift Store—and feeling so superior to my peers who I knew were paying at least $25 for what I was about to get for $3.99. I was even more ecstatic now that I could conform to the tucked in polo fad—Conan Gray was not ready for this up and coming tucked DIVA!! Oh and I tucked that shirt in like my life depended on it.. As pictured below.
When I think back to this first trip to Goodwill, and to those three shirts I bought, I consider it the first time I made my very own personal creative decision. Prior, I had never cared about the way I looked, or what I was wearing—which is a perfectly chill(ish) way to live life—but right after striking gold with my gray hurley my world was rocked. I had so much fun, and felt so excited by the fact that someone’s trash had become my treasure. Seeing the awesome in something that someone has deemed “for the trash” or “no longer useful” is the coolest thing about fashion. I am making the piece awesome, it is my vision and intuition that has deemed this polo shirt worthy of my hard earned (I walked my dog 3x a week) allowance!
Even now, my ideal day is hitting three thrift stores and spending however long it takes in each to go through every item up for purchase. It truly gags me that all of the clothes had previous owners, a rich history with someone else, that will now be transformed into something completely different through me. Clothes—which subliminally say so much about who we are in our modern world i.e. dressing feminine, masculine—divert these bound associations in that any idea, aesthetic, person can manifest their own unique perspective through the way they choose to style their pieces. What once draped the neck of perhaps a very elderly Republican woman is the lacy number I cut up to make more slutty for Coachella! Countless times I have bought someone’s old work shirt and have turned it into tomorrow's half ugly half cute (no one could decide) outfit for school. The power that comes in buying something and declaring it as your own was a declaration of self that I had never had until that day in Goodwill.
Through thrifting I found that what made me feel so ostracized from everybody else was what allowed me to find the most awesome clothes, and build that separate identity through an honoring of creative passion. Through thrifting, the valley’s throw away piles, I found that I really loved something—clothes. And what is more liberating and fulfilling than love??
My best friend Faye, who is one of the most incredible artists and creatives, spoke some fire truth when I asked her how she conceptualizes her progress as an artist over these past two years. In that time, I have watched her art flourish in style, creativity, form, medium, and passion, culminating into some of the most wonderful manifestations of expression I have seen. She told me, “doing art was never about getting better.. It was what kept me going. It was all I could and wanted to do.” That is exactly what thrifting became for me. When there was nothing to do, and stepping outside felt like the sun was trying to bring you to a boil, thrifting gave me joy, and something to be excited about. Over COVID, just because there was such a lack of personal fulfillment, as soon as the thrift stores became open, each day I would take four of my own dollars, and four dollars in quarters from the jar my dad kept on the sink (thanks dad!) and drive to the chosen thrift store of that day. I would pull up, look at every piece, and be reminded of humanity; people had lived in these clothes. I would scour the entire store and leave with one item and an empty wallet. I did that for weeks. I just love the thrift store. I love the clothes. I love feeling like I have a space where I know I can mindlessly have fun. I love to talk to myself in the thrift stores. I love thrifting with friends. I absolutely LOVE thrifting with my sister. It just is something I know I love. It’s easy.
I was so proud of myself on that day, for finding those three long sleeves. Two of which I still keep in my closet. They represent the start of the Trey I now know and love, and continue to seek and honor—through this medium now. And although I wish I could’ve steered myself away from what would become a two year jailing sentence on my stomach (seriously you could NOT PAY ME to wear a shirt untucked until senior year) the thrift store has been the space where this beautiful butterfly has emerged. And if the thrift store could materialize.. I would give them a HUGE KISS.. with tongue.
And since then, I have not stepped FOOT in the mall.. Except for the ever so necessary and wonderful Wetzel Pretzel x Sbarro visit.
