Want to get a true sense of the local style — and some good deals, too? Go thrifting on your travels
Thrifting abroad also lets you pack light, pick up unique souvenirs, and in some cases, donate to charity with your purchase.
Here are some of my expert strategies for your next second-hand shopping trip:
Know your second-hand stores:
Not all thrift is created equal. The type of location — be it a dusty church in Venice or a Parisian flea market, a charity shop, 'real' vintage, luxury consignment or for-profit thrift — will affect its offerings and prices. The general rule is, the more work they do on their end, the more you'll pay on yours. And if the clerk is young and the logo is cool? Congratulations, you will be paying more!
Research a destination's local chains and lingo before you go. For example, in Japan, look for
risaikuru shoppu
and
furugiya,
as well as
Bookoff
and Tampopo shops. While in Paris, keep an eye out for
friperies
and
ressourceries
, as well as chains such as
BIS Boutique Solidaire
. London has one of the most extensive, developed second-hand ecosystems in the world, with chains of shops dedicated to different charities (Oxfam, FARA, Royal Trinity Hospice). These stores are each set up like a real boutique, often at prime locations on the high street.
Brush up on your history:
Head to a national museum and you'll find out a region's historic specialty, whether that's leather goods, knitwear or fine china. When I travel to Scotland or Iceland, I always pick up a handmade wool sweater, and Italy is great for deadstock workwear (vintage that's never been worn).
On a recent trip to Wales, I found many '90s-era Laura Ashley dresses because they were once produced there, in the designer's home country. And while in Copenhagen a few years ago, in a Blue Cross op shop, I snagged some sleek, mid-century-modern candlesticks, common enough in Denmark to be priced cheaply.
Learn your labels:
Having a good grasp of brand names is key for efficient thrifting. Before going abroad, familiarize yourself with the region's historic designers, department stores, cheap chains and indie labels, so you can ID them as you shop.
This could help you get an incredible deal on designer clothing (as I did when I spotted a Wallace Sewell scarf for five pounds at
Mind
, knowing it was selling in the Tate Modern gift shop for 75 pounds), or avoid paying too much for fast fashion. And don't forget about international sizing, especially if you don't want to hit the fitting room. Most thrift stores don't take returns, and even if they do, who wants to waste that precious travel time?
Make a day of it:
Thrifting is a great excuse to explore a new neighbourhood in a slow and mindful manner. Generally, the more chic the area, the better the selection. To plan your itinerary, look for clusters of second-hand shops, then see what else is around, and include parks, galleries and places to refuel with coffee or lunch. You can add more touristy stops, such as museums, but keep in mind you may be lugging bags full of treasures.
In London's Notting Hill, I like to have a miso bun and flat white at
Layla
, then wind my way up Portobello Road, where it seems every third shop is second-hand, including the
Oxfam bookstore
. In Montreal's Mile End, I start off with a breakfast sandwich at
Nita Tout Garni
before browsing
Citizen Vintage
,
Ruse
and
Empire Exchange
, then end my day with a cocktail at
Larrys
. If you're overwhelmed by choice, you can even find guided thrifting tours in some destinations, such as the
Shimokitazawa
neighbourhood in Tokyo.
Dress down and pack smart:
This is not the time for cute jewelry or fancy footwear. To avoid hassle, snagged fabric and dressing-room lineups, wear unfussy outfits, including seamless tank tops and slip-on shoes.
Keep your wallet and other valuables in a small bag close to your body, lest you lose sight of your shopping cart. Pack an expandable bag in your luggage to get your haul home, or hit a thrift store in a touristy area to find a cheap suitcase. Don't need it once you arrive home? Just donate it back into the second-hand ecosystem.
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I like bloomy rinds (like Brie de Meaux and the runnier, funkier specimens, and she obliged — while steering us towards the sublimely nutty Comtés the shop is known for carrying. We walked a few minutes to a space where we slowly tasted through our loot, with plenty of bread and appropriate wines. What an incredible afternoon, and believe me, it counts as a meal. France meets Japan: Japan has been a major influence on aspects of French dining for over 50 years, and chefs in Paris, more than ever it feels like, graft the two cultures and cuisines. One newer great: Maison by Sota Atsumi in the 11th, also known as Maison and Maison Sota. Atsumi earned fan as the chef at Clown Bar, and his own tasting-menu restaurant is warm and communal: Most diners sit either along the counter or at a comfortable, room-length table. The air smells of woodsmoke, a fascinating counterpoint (in a way that particular fragrance usually engenders casual and rustic) to the meticulous compositions in large ceramics that define the aesthetic. But all the foams and saucy dots and tiny flowers trick the mind after all: The flavors are shockingly soulful. A standout Moroccan restaurant: Marie-Jose Mimoun waves you to a table at Le Tagine in the 11th, and for a few hours you sort of absorb into the living entity of her dining room, flowing with the pace. I was sad that, pre-vacation, she had stopped making a special lamb and peach tagine advertised on a placard, but a variation with the meat flavored with raisins, onions, honey and almonds was still among the best tagines I've tasted outside Morocco. Ditto the couscous, served with plenty of broth and smoky harissa full of tightly knotted spices. Great natural-leaning wine list too. 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Wilson loves Clerc's iced coffee; I admire his long list of pour over options listed by growing region and tasting notes in order of intensity. It was my first coffee stop on the trip, and the place to which I most returned. His banana bread with salted butter was, most days, the only breakfast I needed. The most dedicated coffee nerds should plan ahead for Substance Café, a reservations-only bar run by barista Joachim Morceau and his wife Alexandrine. Joachim has showmanship, charming customers from behind the counter but he's intensely serious about his craft. (The couple roasts their own beans.) He often encourages every person to start with one featured coffee to grasp individual tastes, and then he starts making excellent suggestions, equally compelling for pour overs or milky espresso drinks. Substance is one of those places where customers compare notes on where else they're drinking coffee in Paris, and based on those conversations I ended up at Tiba, a tiny shop that gets intensely busy on the weekends. Kevin Cerqueira, as friendly as he is passionate, mans the place by himself. He wasn't brewing a variety of Colombian beans roasted by local company Datura, but based on my very specific predlictions in coffee (notes dried fruits and booze) I bought them from his supply … and I already have an order in for four more boxes.
