Every once in awhile I get the feeling

that my life is a movie.

Maybe not an Oscar-nominated film or an artsy indie flick. It might be more like slapstick comedy or made-for-tv.

And I don’t mean that I am the center of my own universe and it feels like I am the protagonist in my own movie (that much is always true). No – sometimes these things happen to me that I swear are right from a script.

Like the time that a guest at my husband’s birthday party was complaining about someone’s cankles, and then for some inexplicable reason she pulled up an image of MY feet and legs to show everyone just how bad this girl’s cankles were.

Or the time I literally slipped on a banana peel. Or when I rear-ended my mom on a bike, she rear-ended my dad, and we all crashed.

Or the time my first kiss from middle school sat down in the front row of my community college classroom –  as a student of mine.

Well, another silver-screen worthy moment occurred this week.

Here is the scene:

I was on the hunt for commercial-grade steel rolling racks. I am starting a vintage clothing business in my sweet little garage, and I needed some space to hang my goods.


I went in search of “Joe” at a somewhat sketchy location on East Colfax. Joe ushered me into a 7,000 square-foot basement that was once an old Woolworth’s. There was a giant conveyer belt near the stairs. The place was jammed with piles of what can only be labeled as “stuff.”

Joe naturally wanted to know why I wanted the racks, and so I naturally told him of my business plan.

“I wish I had met you 6 weeks ago,” declared Joe. “I had pallets full of beautiful vintage clothing.” I looked up inquisitively. “And it wasn’t just any vintage clothing,” Joe continued. “It was stripper clothing.”

My eyes widened.

“Stripper clothes?”

Now, for some folks, stripper clothes may seem well, less than appealing. And I can understand your resistance.

But for me, stripper clothes have always possessed a certain…magic.

Remember my story about the blinky clear high heels I wore on my birthday?


Exhibit A.

I mean, I am the girl that LOVES anything sparkly.


Sparkly Exhibit B.

The girl who wore leather shorts and a leather vest for Halloween last year (and loved every moment of it). I think I may have also acquired thigh-high boots for the occasion?


Leather Exhibit C.

Who wore an all pleather gettup to homecoming sophomore year of high school (I think my parents are still slightly embarrassed about this)

Who LOVES fringe.


Fringe Exhibit D.

And did someone say FEATHERS!?

I may or may not even own several bustiers, including a few denim bustiers (one with lots of rhinestones) and at least one sparkly black sequin one (and matching shorts, obvi).

So Joe starts rummaging around his whole 7,000 square feet of “stuff” looking for the stripper clothes. And I am at once horrified and ecstatic.

“Here they are!” shouts Joe, flinging open three Tupperware containers packed with….




But they weren’t just any stripper clothes. No, no. They had a story. According to Joe, he had met a preacher at Mile Hi Flea Market. When Joe asked the preacher why all the clothes were so small, the preacher explained that he had “saved” a gaggle of strippers, and they had given him all of their clothes. And so he was selling them (the clothes, not the strippers) to support the church.

Which means….

that the three boxes of stripper clothes Joe had just flung open belonged not just to any strippers. They belonged to born-again-Christian ex-strippers! And the clothing deal had been brokered by a preacher, no less.

So I squatted down to investigate these three tubs in the dimly-lit Woolworth’s basement light.

And lo and behold… all of the items in the tubs were…. leather.

Leather pants. Leather bustiers. Leather skirts. And this totally fabulous cobalt blue leather dress. That happens to fit me.


ImageBy now Joe had noticed I was making a pile of things I liked. He was eager to make a sale.

“How about I give you all of these tubs for an extra $50, on top of what you pay for the racks?”

I continued rummaging.

I agreed to take one small tub off of Joe’s hands.

And this Pepsi-cola box.


IMG_4380And so I departed, with three steel rolling racks bungeed into the back of my truck, Beverly Hillbilly-style, and a pile of vintage leather stripper clothes safely beside me in the passenger seat.


Yup. Racks and stripper clothes. That’s how WE roll on a Tuesday.

Just another day in Denver. In my own personal movie script.


  1. Haley

    This story is amazing, as are you m’lady! Love your writing style and your fashion style. Can I book an appointment for late August to see your vintage wares? XO


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