i stumbled into this place by accident while chasing a stuffing sale from a pawn shop. the sign said ‘vintage clothes for people who hate new,’ which immediately made me think it was a scam. turns out it was a scam. or at least, a scam with more soul. 17.42 degrees feels like the universe’s way of making you uncomfortable. the humidity clings like a bad relationship, and the air smells like mildew and regret. but hey, that’s where the good stuff is.

if you’re after a coat that smells like mothballs, this is your spot. i found a wool jacket from the 80s that a local told me was worth $15. instead, i paid $12 and a conversation about my life choices. the top buttons were stitched with thread that looked like someone’s spit. authenticity, i guess.

i heard the weather here is supposed to be a fraction of the drama, but the feels_like 16.71 degrees made me question everything. maybe it’s a metaphor. maybe the place hates me. or maybe i’m just dressed wrong. either way, the street artist next to the entrance spray-painted a sign reading ‘don’t take this seriously’ in splattered blood red. it was either genius or a cry for help.

the crowd is a mix of people who know what they’re doing and people who don’t. a tourist asked me if i’d recommend it. i told them no, but also yes-depends if you like regret. the real trick isn’t finding clothes; it’s surviving the mothballs that’ve been there since the 90s. some suits were worth $300 locally, but i gifted myself a $20 scarf because why not?

i heard a budget student once got lost here for three days and ended up with a mural-sized shirt as a souvenir. it’s waterproof. iconic.

best time to visit? when it’s not raining. if it rains, you’ll regret everything. if it doesn’t rain, you’ll probably spend 14 hours haggling over a hat that’s 30% polyester. local advised: bring snacks. this place is a hunger pit.

someone told me the safest way to navigate is to follow the smell of old soap. apparently, that’s where the hidden gems hide. i tried it. i found a lamp that still worked and a belt that could double as a sword. or a necktie. depends on your mood.

tripadvisor says this is a maze, but i’d argue it’s part of the charm. i got turned around three times and found a photo booth with a vintage camera. someone inside took my picture holding a pair of gloves that looked like they belonged to a vampire. weirdly lovely.

if you hate thrift stores, hate yourself. if you’re here for ‘vintage aesthetics without the guilt,’ you’re in the wrong place. this is about embracing the nuclear option: clothes that are literally falling apart. but also, in a good way.

repeat after me: ‘17.42 degrees is a lie.’ i swear, the weather service is gaslighting. the pressure is 1020 hpa, which is approximately the same as holding your breath during a panic attack. not helpful.

i saw a local warn me about the tap water. don’t drink it. i ignored him. i’m fine. probably. the humidity is 57%, which is like a middle finger to your pores. your face will hate you.

the nearby city ofxyz is 45 minutes away. but don’t bother. this place is an island of clichéd nostalgia. if you leave, you’ll lose your soul. or at least your appetite for cheap knickers.

there’s a section with kids’ clothes. i found a pair of overalls with tiny dinosaur prints. the seller said they were from a 2005 rave. i don’t know if that’s accurate, but i kept them. they’re my new favorite outfit for existential dread.

portail’d pursuits in the 17.42 degree backwater of somewhere i shouldn’t care about

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