KITCHENER — From the concrete expanse of King Street, stepping through the doorway into White Tiger Vintage is like entering a portal to another dimension, a physical representation of the inner bowels of the internet, where time periods jumble together in an arresting stew of do-it-yourself nostalgia.
Sixties, ’70s, ’80s, ’90s, even the early 2000s are always in style at this indie thrift landmark that feels more like a museum of modern history, where tacky portraits of Elvis and a space helmet eight-track player jostle for attention with fringed leather jackets, ’80s snow suits, bell bottoms, popcorn shirts, Mary Tyler Moore berets and a decorative Starsky & Hutch wall mirror.
You know that nylon ski jacket with powder-pink oblong cubes your mom sent to Goodwill in 1986?
It’s here. And believe it or not, it’s cool.
“I really like ’60 and ’70s everything!” insists Zoe Clouthier, a Kitchener high school student scanning the store’s neatly organized racks for the unique, different, arrestingly original.
“They have so much of a story. Everything in here belonged to someone!”
It’s a badge of authenticity for many, a way to say, “Take your mass-produced utilitarian knock-off crap and stick it. I’m doing my own thing.”
“If you buy fast fashion, a lot of it ends up in landfill,” notes the 16-year-old aspiring filmmaker, who draws inspiration from ’70s set flicks like “Boogie Nights” and “Dazed and Confused.”
“It’s more fun if you can stand out from the crowd.”
Attired in a white shirt, black tie and Tweety Bird vest, this modern-day Annie Hall is a prime example of standing out, as is her 17-year-old classmate, Lochlan Moorlag, whose double-breasted business suit and punk rock hair answers the age-old question: what would happen if Sid Vicious got a job on Wall Street?
“Look at this bomber jacket!” enthuses Moorlag, a self-described “drama kid” from Kitchener-Waterloo Collegiate, examining a brown leather artifact from the postwar years.
“Definitely pretty cool.”
When he was 12, he liked the ’80s, he tells me, then the ’90s, and then back to the ’70s, “which just kind of stuck.”
This idea of young people mixing and matching hand-me-downs from previous generations isn’t new.
Molly Ringwald, after all, was a thrift shop poster girl in the ’80s teen flick “Pretty in Pink,” accompanied by her excitable best friend, Duckie.
But in a time of so-called “fast fashion” — cheap, generic garments destined for landfills — the demand for “sustainable” clothing that’s reused, recycled, repaired, and the authenticity that goes hand in hand, is higher than ever.
“It’s that one-of-a-kind aspect,” notes Quinn Downton, a 23-year-old indie musician/university student in a multicoloured pea coat, scrutinizing a pair of pleated, Hammer-style balloon pants.
“It feels more unique. I doubt I’ll see anybody for months and months with this exact coat.”
As opposed to, say, black puffer jackets.
“They’re homogenized,” he insists. “Every single kid has them and it’s hard to find anything else. Finding something authentic and unique and rare helps your confidence. If you feel good about yourself, you can rock anything.”
I hear this a lot: Self-image. Individuality. Marching to your own drummer.
“I don’t want to buy what’s being sold to me,” sums up White Tiger owner Miranda Campbell, who does 30 per cent of her business through her online Etsy shop.
“I want to choose my own fashion.”
When she opened her indie store in 2011, with its space-age floor lamp, tubular TV and vintage turntable, and mastered the art of predicting which styles, which decades, would resonate with discerning customers, it was the fulfilment of a childhood dream.
“Lots of movies I watched sparked an interest in retro fashion growing up,” notes the culturally attuned 36-year-old, whose store reflects her love of ’60s and ’70s pop culture.
“ ‘Grease,’ ‘Pretty in Pink’, ‘Almost Famous’, ‘Three’s Company,’ ‘The Mary Tyler Moore Show,’ ‘The Brady Bunch,’ ‘The Monkees.’ I just loved the way things looked: the simplicity, the fashion.
“I just love bell bottoms and that rock ’n’ roll look, old leather fringy stuff from the Woodstock era. Jimi Hendrix was a fashion god, in my opinion.”
Eleven years later, White Tiger — with vintage rivals like Lost Vessel and Luster & Oak — has distinguished itself as a beyond-the-region destination point, with a customer base that includes rock acts The Sheepdogs, Sadies, Monowhales, Bloodshot Bill and Kitchener’s own J.J. Wilde.
“Everything in here is at least 20 years old,” notes sales clerk Janelle Riley, directing a steady stream of customers one recent afternoon.
“And we get the coolest people you can imagine.”
Standing in the store, surrounded by hipsters — not one of whom is wearing cargo shorts — there is the feeling of being part of an exclusive club, people in the know.
As Jefferson Airplane belts its wiry, psychedelic hit “Somebody to Love” from overhead speakers, it’s clear the eclectic assortment of Millennials and Gen Zers rifling through clothes like miners panning for gold have higher aspirations than a pair of pants that makes their butt look good: finding that elusive item that — like Superman’s crest — will define them as individuals, excavating the recent past for a tiny piece of the childhood left behind.
“People seek out authentic vintage clothing — and are willing to spend money on it, whether it comes from a brick-and-mortar store or online — because it’s unique and seems to be one-of-a-kind,” explains University of Waterloo history prof Andrew Hunt, whose son runs the online vintage clothing store Nice Digs.
But that, he says, is only part of the appeal.
“There’s something inexplicable about that retro vibe — it just grabs people. It’s hard to put words to it.
“Maybe it comes from a yearning to bring back an old-school style of cool that often gets lost in the corporate-driven market economy.”
This, of course, collides head on with the belief subscribed to by every generation that the time just before its own was a golden age filled with fairies and butterflies.
“A common thread that runs through generations of people for the past 100 or more years is that times used to be simpler and happier, whereas the present is fraught with difficulties, dangers and all manner of terrible things,” agrees Hunt.
“It never ceases to amaze me how many people cling to some variation of this notion.
“Twenty or 25 years from now, there’ll be people who believe 2022 was the apex of happiness and simpler times. It’s a constant theme among human beings and has to do with a yearning for a world people feel they’ve lost, which goes hand in hand with aging and the complexities that come with it.
“If you go back and read commentary in old newspapers from any decade — the ’70s, ’90s, early 2000s — you can find people expressing that very sentiment.
“It’s always there. It never goes away. It’s as inevitable as death and taxes.”
What’s different now, he says, is how digital culture has reshaped this sense of bittersweet longing.
“It’s impossible to overstate what a game-changer the internet has been in terms of driving nostalgia, popular culture and vintage collectibles,” says Hunt, noting that, in a break from predigital times, older decades will never again go out of style.
“So many things that nostalgia trippers of 20 or 25 or 30 years ago couldn’t get their hands on are only a click away today. It’s truly off the scale.”
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