Note: This might just be an American thing, but I would imagine there are variations all over the world…
1. That antique malls even exist.
Where did these things even come from? Back in the day, when people got together and tried to sell used stuff, it was called a flea market. People set up little tables where they could pile a bunch of dusty things that you could walk by and touch even though you had no intention of really buying anything. Now we have these “malls” that are not actual malls like you would imagine (with food courts and teenage girls giggling in naive packs) but just abandoned stores that have been converted by desperate people who don’t have a business degree. You spend half your time walking around and going “hey, didn’t this used to be a K-Mart?”
2. The concept of “antique” is no longer what you think.
If you believe that an antique is something very old that perhaps Eleanor Roosevelt played with or kept her clothes in as a youngster, then you clearly haven’t been going to the right parties lately. The door has been thrown open and now, apparently, anything qualifies as an antique, from cassette-tape players to Bill Clinton bumper stickers to cracked Chia pets that nobody wanted in the first place. Oh, and those homemade candle-jar things that are in nearly every other booth? You know, the candles that are still warm because they apparently just poured them as you were pulling into the parking lot? I guess “antique” now means “slightly older than the last time you blinked”.
3. People will hoard and then try to sell the most amazing things.
It’s odd enough that you have the final season of “Full House” on old-school VHS. But the fact that you have somehow managed to acquire 36 copies of that mess? That takes it to a whole new level. Did they even make that many official copies in the entire world? I’m guessing several of these must be boot-legged, meaning somebody thought they could make an illicit buck or two by making cheap copies of a once-beloved TV series that had jumped the shark by introducing yet another set of twins. This is a really sad reflection on our society. (Side note: How is it that John Stamos still looks like he’s 27? Bastard.)
4. Some people have a different sense of social etiquette in these places.
You will inevitably run into a couple of people who have rarely left the barn wherein they were raised, and you will probably do so right after you make an ill-advised detour down a less-popular row in the hopes of avoiding the crowds in the prestigious sections. There will be at least two of them, probably more, because these folks run in slow-moving packs. They will be blocking the entire aisle and you cannot get past them, even if you clear your throat, bark “Excuse me!” in multiple languages, and fire a warning shot into the air.
Making matters worse, they will be admiring and discussing some piece of crap with little value, like those odd floppy hats that were all the rage at one time, made by bored people who crocheted pieces of beer cans together despite the clear lack of need for such a thing in anyone’s life. Why are they even needing to review this item? They obviously already own the whole set and possibly own the patent.
5. Questionable social etiquette, Part II.
Apparently, a shared fondness for faded but nostalgic collectibles is all it takes for some folks to transition from complete strangers to best of friends in an alarmingly short period of time. You can be innocently strolling down an overstuffed row of booths, minding your own business, and your eyes just happen to linger for two seconds on a bottle opener featuring the likeness of Velma from “Scooby Doo”. Next thing you know, some woman with very questionable shoes is by your side, her eyes aglow with rapture.
“Don’t you just love Velma? She’s my favorite!”
My response in my head: Um, Velma’s kind of cool, in that “obvious lesbian before lesbians were obvious” sort of way. Are you coming out to me? My actual aural response: “Well, I always appreciate smart cartoon women with a fondness for high-necked sweaters.” I say this hoping she will be offended in some way and leave me alone.
“I do too!” squeals Bad-Shoe Woman, crushing my dreams of escape. “Let’s go have some coffee and talk all about her!”
Me, eying the nearby fire alarm pull-thing on a wall, and wondering just exactly how much trouble you can get in for jacking around with that, even if justified: “You know, that sounds like a lot of fun, but I need to go have some elective surgery right about now. Have a nice day!”
6. The 1970s was a very messed-up decade.
Why were people so invested in plaid clothing, things involving black velvet, polyester, record album covers that didn’t make any sense, macramé plant hangers the size of Montana, and hairstyles apparently designed to keep crows out of the corn? I realize that everybody was on drugs at the time. But seriously, those ten years were just wrong from a design perspective. How this planet didn’t just fall out of the solar system is beyond comprehension.
(Side note: I was not yet a legal adult during this phantasmagorical stretch, so don’t point any fingers at me. I was just happy to watch cartoons and ride my bike. Granted, I was also furtively reading Sartre, helping my older activist friends make posters protesting nuclear power plants, and listening to Barry Manilow records. I was a tween-age anarchist at heart. But still, I couldn’t vote, and that’s where the real power is. Although you wouldn’t know it based on how many people don’t vote these days.)
7. There are no sales people anywhere to be found.
Granted, I’m normally not a fan of people who race up and ask me intrusive questions about how they can satisfy my merchandising needs. I’d rather they just stay away and let me peruse at my leisure. But these places are ghost towns. The little booths apparently have been designed and stocked by people that have since vanished from the planet. Perhaps there was a target-specific virus that only affected people who opened dusty boxes in their great-grandma’s basement.
8. The absence of booth owners means you must talk to women that don’t care.
So, if you have a question about some rusty object that appeals to you in some way, you have to approach the lone employee in the entire building: The Dominatrix in charge of the check-out counter. She is not interested in any type of vocal research you might want to conduct. She is only concerned about the little number-coded tag hanging off the dented candelabra that you relish, so she can credit the proper absent vendor, collect her minimum wage, and then go drink somewhere in a bar where people ask fewer questions.
9. Even if the amazingly-detailed, free-standing art deco wardrobe cabinet that you encounter is the most stunning thing that you have ever seen, if you can’t open the door easily, there’s an issue.
Seriously. You shouldn’t have to break a sweat getting into this thing. If it doesn’t open right, that’s probably why somebody doesn’t want it anymore. Just move on. Let the Velma lesbian that has been stalking you have it. She’s apparently used to closet doors that she can’t get open.
10. The mixed aroma of the 4,000 handmade candle jars will stay with you for eternity.
You can run. But you can’t hide. It’s a lingering, syrupy sweet nightmare that will have you screaming yourself awake at 2AM in the morning. Especially if you stupidly snatched up one of those bootleg VHS copies of the “Full House” final season, watched every grainy episode, and then drifted off to sleep wondering about your poor life choices and what might be in that shed behind Granny Mae’s house over to Arkansas. There’s gotta be some crap in there that some fool will pay good money to own just because it reminds them of good times that never really existed
Wait, I think I just figured out the last presidential election. Cheap candles, fake nostalgia, doors that don’t work, and an absence of people who will take ownership for the useless trinkets they put on display.
I think Sartre had something to say about this. Or maybe it was Barry Manilow. I’ll get back to you…
Cheers.
Previously published in “The Sound and the Fury” and “Bonnywood Manor”. Revised and updated with extra flair for this post. No actual antique malls were harmed in the production of this post, but there are quite a few that I will never visit again. Because, wrong. But I’m still in search of an exquisite art deco wardrobe that will send me into paroxysms of pleasure without any speedbumps in the opening ceremony, so I will most likely continue haunting the hallowed halls of nostalgic retail…
Categories: Humor
Bonnywood Manor 
Giggling out loud and annoying the kitty lol
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That’s just the reaction I had in mind… 😉
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An actual real cat, no metaphor 😶😬
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Uh huh. Sure, no metaphors… 😉
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The prospect of an antique mall just makes me think of a lot of things to collect dust. Things, things, so many things…
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I used to love having things. Now I’m dissatisfied with the fact that I have so many of them… 😉
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“The Boss” made me get rid of a lot of clutter when we moved house. I still miss a few things, but the house is still a bit cramped as it is.
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OMG!! Those crocheted beer can hats🤣😂🤣 I’m dyin!
Yeah, pictures of my childhood are made more frightening by my wardrobe. People were on drugs in the 80s too, but we had better clothes AND hair. Well, except the Flock Of Seagulls guy…
Flea Market, Swap Meet…now Antique Mall?? I have enough old, useless crap.
I don’t have the kind of money for the real gems from bygone days☹ Plus, I have a King Ben. He breaks things. My few ‘treasures’ are in boxes, hoping the breaking thing goes away🤞
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Speaking of childhood pictures, I have several of me surrounded by adults sporting those crocheted beer hats. And those adults are PROUD of their couture. I’m easily identified in said photos, as I’m the one looking miserable, my eyes darting around for the appearance of anyone who can save me from the wretchedness…
And I can’t afford any decent antiques, either. But at least I can look and touch and wonder about what could have been… 😉
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Yes, well I think your main problem there is that the USA isn’t even an antique country. 😉
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Good point. A mere few centuries ago, this land was populated by people who actually appreciated said land and didn’t sell everything off to the highest bidder, including their morality…
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But a lot of Europeans relocated there in the last few hundred years, taking what are now antiques with them.
At an antiques show at the Cass County Fairgrounds in Michigan in the late 90’s I found a pill box from a chemist shop in Bournemouth, my home town in England, somewhere most Americans haven’t even heard of.
I didn’t buy it though. It might have been something from home, but at the end of the day just more clutter.
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I can not do incense candles.
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They make me want to scratch people, and this is not a good thing in most social settings… 😉
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They leave you incensed ? 🤔
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they are a weird phenomenon. I recently saw a pretty bad movie, borrowed from my library, centered around the people at one of these malls.
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Really? I think I need to see this movie. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I am seeking penance for past misdeeds… 😉
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it’s called ‘antiquities’ and has its moments, but not a classic. you may need to see it to atone for those somethings
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Oh, I LOVE Antique Markets! I used to have booths in a bunch of different ones, but now I go just to take pictures of weird stuff, like skulls in jars. Ours are well-staffed though, with lots of people willing to take stuff out of your hands and bring it to the front. And not as many candles.
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Oh, I love them as well. The good ones, anyway. I can spend hours there. And I also take pictures. But doing so doesn’t always work in my favor. It’s amazing how many people do not take kindly to me documenting their inventory. Perhaps it’s the fact that they can hear me mumbling something along the lines of “holy cow, I’ve got to write a blog post about this”. It’s probably my maniacal laughter that turns them against me…
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I’ve been to my fair share of swap meets (huge throngs of people hosting their own garage sale together. It always smelled vaguely of despair at those things), garage sales or whatever that is called in other places than Utah, where, apparently, it’s a GARAGE sale, even if it’s on the sidewalk in front of someone’s house; and the like. I stopped doing it partially because I can’t stand up that long these days and because I have enough crap I need to offload to host my own garage sale. Um. The point? Just say no. Even if an art deco wardrobe is in your wheelhouse and your heart yearns with ardent devotion to obtaining one. Amazon or eBay probably has one on offer. And they’ll deliver the thing. For free.
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Still, I am constantly drawn back to these emporiums of archaic nostalgia, at least the good ones. One can learn a lot about society by simply reviewing what some folks consider treasures. One can learn even more by watching people salivate over a cracked vaseline-glass cake server that has been gestating in someone’s barn since 1907…
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I love those malls and shops. I’m one of those! I have things from my GGG Grandmother and display them still. My friends think “Grandma” lives here! Not sure if that is good or bad 😉
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I love them, too. This is just another post where I get a bit sarcastic about the goings on. Partner and I have spent years of our lives meticulously reviewing the contents of Nostalgia Nooks, laughing and coveting and remembering when…
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Wisdom and humor in a grand array.
You are a talented anthropologist.
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True Story: I once thought about becoming an anthropologist, during my college years when I took a class on such that greatly inspired me. Sadly, because it WAS college, there were so many tantalizing careers battling for my attention that I quickly moved on to… I don’t remember what my next limited obsession might have been, but I clearly didn’t pursue that one, either… 😉
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I think there’s a general principal that a decade can only get one or two things right. So the 70s did pretty well on music and movies, but sucked big time for design. And the 20s gave us Art Deco and Flappers and F. Scott Fitzgerald and woman’s suffrage and… Okay, some decades are better than others. 😉
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Agreed. I’m sure I’ve babbled about this before, but my soul tells me I would have loved coming of age in the 1920s, aside from the absolute lack of public support for same-sex anything. Especially if I could have done so with Gertrude Stein in Paris…
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And living through the Great Depression would have been really depressing.
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Hahaha. Great post. 🙂
I have never heard of “antique malls” before. We have flea markets and such, but not what you’re describing. It sounds sort of desperate.
I once found a beautiful antique brooch (a real antique) at the big Sunday flea market in Berlin when I lived there. It had some damage that needed repair, but that’s also what made it affordable for me. I loved that market – it was a terrific way to spend an afternoon just looking around (and I could have spent A LOT of money there). Somehow, the European markets aren’t so junky. Maybe it’s because of the culture of re-cycling – the junk becomes limited.
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Wait, you lived in Berlin? Do I know this? Probably so. My memory retention these days is more erratic than the stock market. Still, I’m right there with you when it comes to finding lovely, slightly-damaged treasures, which is why Partner and I continue to ransack little hideaways of yesteryear. You never know….
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Yes – I was married to a German. I got around. 😉
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We have these antique malls in the UK too, some are better than others, but a lot of the items you find in there aren’t really antiques, and many items aren’t even old. You can still find good deals, but they are a lot more expensive than the old flea markets used to be.
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It seems that antiquing, an endeavor that was once the domain of a small minority of the population, has now become uber trendy, and the good deals are no longer to be found. Which just goes to show that once everyone is doing it, the charm loses its appeal, and you end up with folks who shouldn’t be doing it in the first place… 😉
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I’ve always wondered where did all the velvet Elvis portraits go?
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Well, most of them lived in my mother’s house for a while before they moved on to the retirement malls…
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People WILL sell the most ridiculous things. Antique barbed wire! Who collects this stuff?
Funny that I should find this today as I just posted something on the subject:
https://riversworld.live/2020/03/20/day-15-small-bathrooms-food-and-antique-store-hell-where-river-reexamines-how-much-she-really-loves-her-husband/
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The antique malls can be quite sad. At the same time, they can be completely fascinating. I might whine about them, but I’ll keep going.
Thanks so much for stopping by. I’ve been poking around on your blog just a bit over the past few days, and you seem like a real hoot. Stick around, will ya? 😉
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I am most a definitely a hoot. Or so I’ve been told…
😉
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I like going to them to look for the strangest stuff, like weird lawn art. Sometimes you can find new stuff like home made stain glass or sun catchers. If all else fails they are good for a walk down memory lane for nostalgia purposes. Thanks again for the info.
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Oh, I will always keep going to antique malls and stores and roadside stands. I love messing with the mess and reflecting on things that once were. (And wondering why some of those things EVER were.) My house is filled with little finds from decades of finding.
And thank YOU for stopping by and taking the time to make a comment.
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