A Treasury Of… Minneapolis Fashion and Interior Design Blog

This is what we looked like.
This is what was important to us.

We went searching for boots and bags and better bow ties,
and on the way we found ourselves friends.

This is a document of what it felt like in our American-made world
when we came together for goods we believed in.

Thanks to Larry and to Mac & Kat for setting up this Minnesotan magic,
and for letting me capture it for everyone to see.

NorthernGRADE

When I first came across a pair of open Mountain Valley Spring Water bottles they were so Pre-War lovely that I assumed they were vintage props disguised as cocktail-hour carafes.

But I was wrong, which makes our world a little more right! Bottled at the source in Garland County, Arkansas in gorgeous green glass, Mountain Valley is available in sparkling or still varieties at the swankier of the Twin Cities supermarket chains.

So slap on some striped suspenders and mix yourself something super stiff with Mountain Valley on my behalf. I’m probably gonna just take mine straight.

Today finally felt like Fall here in Minneapolis, so I’m shutting the door on Summer (and my eight months of silence) by entering into The Treasury my favorite find of the past few, fiery months: a set of sweetly singing Tibetan bowls.

They first called out to me as I arrived at a free, outdoor Qi Gong class one hot July evening. They sat still in the grass, at the foot of the instructor, where I stared at their tarnished sort of glamour for nearly an hour until they were brought up before me, where I learned of their true beauty.

Made from the metal of bells, when hit with suede-tipped sticks, they ring out clean and strong cleansing the mind and body. When circled around and around at the outer rim with felt-capped wands they whisper gently with an electric, super-hero-like hum, releasing energy and purity into the universe. They’re a hypnotic fusion of physics and feeling that can be played with in countless ways…

At first sight, I instantly knew I wanted one shimmering somewhere in my living room. I had no idea I’d then spend the rest of the summer setting it ringing ‘n singing throughout my entire home.

All that was worn way down where it was warm…

I’ve just returned from a week down in Mexico having learned two things. First, I tend to be more successful in shopping FOR my vacations, rather than shopping ON my vacations.

And second, a vacation, to anywhere at all, is the perfect excuse to stop dressing so exactly like yourself and try to have some fun.

To jump-start both my souvenir shopping as well as my escape from my aesthetic self, I special-ordered a variety pack of rugged accessories from Los Angeles’s RTH Shop six days before my departure.

The Deep in the Desert gift-shop vibe of RTH’s branding as well as their merchandise (which includes ultra-simple totes and envelope bags in ever-changing shades of leather and suede and handmade beaded jewelry) I find to be really extraordinary.

It’s everything we’ve decided to care for these days: Hand-crafted, American-made, Nostalgia-tinged goods, presented with a pure and peerless sense of understated style. The fact that they don’t have a tattered U.S. flag hanging behind their cash register like every other selvage ‘n chambray store anyone’s blogged about in the past 18 months is but one of the reasons I find RTH so refreshing and rare.

Unquestionably, I thought their Arizona summer camp approach to cool was the perfect starting point for an ol’ gringo like me, heading south of the border.

Somewhere else’s sky and a sea you’ve never seen…

…Are raging reminders what a wide, wild world it is out there. And there’s just got to be more to one’s wardrobe than dark dressy denim and ties cut real trim.

Plus when you’re staying in a sun-struck pink and purple hotel, going trad with plaid and cordovan and all the rest of that makes no sense at all.

So I slipped a bit of sailor into my suitcase…

And met up with a crazy caballero later in the week, deep inside a Mexican flea market.

The three of us, plus my mean, dead grandfather shared clothes & my new suede envelope bag the rest of the trip. Whether we should regret it or not, tomorrow’s snapshots will soon show!

And now, the very best present for last!

An original 8 x 10 promo photo from 1990 of Audrey Horne brooding in the halls of Twin Peaks High School the morning the blue body washes up, and everything starts to change.

And so with that, on to a new year!

The second batch of Santa’s bounty.

1. Wasp Queen Honey Flavored Syrup (in the sweetest jar ever).

2. Quirky-Colored Prize Ribbons.

3. Imported Indian Bowl & Spice Spoon.

4. Yesterday’s Candy (edible today).

5. Little Bottles of Liquid Luxury.

6. Military Grade Notebooks.

7. Sweet Potato Chocolate Bar (I’m enthralled yet half-afraid!)

8. Letterman Jacket Patch (to attach to almost anything except, probably, a jacket).

I’m saving my favorite present for last. (Be sure and check back!)

Two years ago, I felt I had to meticulously photograph all of my Christmas gifts before I could properly use or enjoy any of them. And out of that sudden, strong urge I launched The Treasury just a few days later.

The way I see it, there’s no point in something being delightful unless it’s dutifully documented.

My yuletide tradition continues for a third year. I present to you (and, really, to myself) a selection of the Christmas gifts I was lucky enough to have given and received this happy, holiday season.

1. Vintage French Workbooks.

2. Rogues Gallery Key Fob.

3. Gem-like Game Dice.

4. Bandit Boy Screen Print.

5. Retro-Perfect Stabilo Pens.

6. Not Chocolate-Covered Cherries, but Chocolate-Flavored Cherries!

7. Vintage Book on Style.

8. Made-In-America Robin’s Egg Colored Duct Tape.

More and more it’s the little things – the ones that typically show up in my stocking – that give me the biggest smiles at Christmas.

An editor by nature, and by trade, I’m a real sucker for any “Best Of” list since they efficiently illuminate what was or still is relevant and radiant, while whittling away the extraneous.

Unless we count my nearly two years of Treasuring as one giant list itself, I’ve never posted a proper list. I thought I’d look back through the digi-pics of 2010 to tally up the top 10 treasures I’d measure as “The Best of The Year”.

1. Favorite Accessory
My new, U.S. issued Aviator Kit Bag. After one machine wash, and one mini-trip to New Orleans, it’s proven itself to be the perfect carry-on suitcase in terms of size and studly style.

2. Favorite Flashback
A TV junkie, just about everything’s been re-runs since early December. But Universal’s HD cable channel, roster-ed with random re-runs of hits from all eras, has been providing me with a dozen Charlie’s Angels episodes a week. It was my first favorite show as child, and it’s finally aged enough now to no longer seem dated and dull (which it did to me a few years back). Now every single tunic, discotheque, and Tom Selleck cameo highlights how chic and swanky the late 70s and early 80s were.

3. Favorite Finger-Painting
The J. Crew shorts I cropped myself then coated in 5 different colors earned me internet high-fives as well as veiled death threats, but I wore them rogue-ly and regularly all summer, to that magic point on the far side of self-consciousness. These shorts and the sideways glances they brought on taught me that if I’m not making someone’s eyes roll over what I’m wearing, I’m just not doing my job.

4. Favorite Follow Up
After two whole albums and a boat-shoe-box’s worth of B-sides, I’ve never heard a Vampire Weekend song I didn’t like. The CONTRA album was more Californian and yet noticeably colder than the New York band’s debut disc, but the sound of shivers in the sunshine made me happy and happily sad, over and over and over this year.

5. Favorite Mistake
I’ve ordered a lot of treasures over the internet these past years, but these vintage black boots were the only package that never arrived. (NOOOO!) I’m still too torn up inside to tell why I loved them so much, or type up all the outfits I would’ve worked up around them. Rest in peace, black boots. I know, without you, that I won’t.

6. Favorite Flavor
The black licorice macaron I chewed in slow motion on the windy steps of a church somewhere in Paris.

7. Favorite Escape
No one saw this coming, not even me, but somehow I became a fan of prison break books. Papillon is the ultimate, the tall-tale-sized autobiography of a Parisian criminal’s repeated escapes from prisons in French Guiana, including the Devil’s Island colony. The protagonist’s will is so strong and sturdy that even when he must endure years/chapters trapped to sunless, solitary confinement, his tone remains brave and bright. The Steve McQueen movie version of the story isn’t criminal, but it lacks the disarming charm of Papillon and his incredible adventure.

8. Favorite Fad
Reddish-orange pants, or orangey-red jeans. But we all already knew that.

9. Favorite Forty-Four Minutes
The best “hour” of TV I saw all year was Mad Men’s season four episode “The Suitcase”. There’s always been a “Will they or won’t they?” tension to Draper and Peggy’s relationship. Not “Will they or won’t they?” fall into bed, but “Will they or won’t they?” fling aside the stressed charades of their 1960s social roles for forty five seconds, and just look at one another for who they actually are. In “The Suitcase”, they finally did just that, puked-on dress shirts and all. It was a long time coming, and it was a sweet and needed relief.

10. Favorite Fantasy
Lying on the beaches of Mexico on an extra large, linen deck-towel- shaped island. I got the towel in August, the plane ticket in November, and soon enough my fantasy will turn reality!

2011 has a lot to live up to.

Other than shoes and obscene amounts of boots, I haven’t been buying as much vintage wear as I once did. When you’re young and broke and free, it’s easier to find the patience to flip through racks of Aeropostale polo shirts and Deee-Lite-ful polyester pants for hours on end to find the one rare and worthwhile wearable.

But, of course, if you never shoot, you’ll never score, and so now and then I return to my thrift-store roots in hopes I’ll hit the jackpot.

Last week’s find was a late 70s/early 80s mystery shirt by a brand called CAMPUS® Easy Life.

Its safari and sorta shutter-buggy at first glance, but the shirt’s quilted shoulders & pocket flaps, plus its rounded shawl collar take it to an almost Luke Skywalker-like universe.

It’s just the sort of unusual and interesting piece no label would have reason to design today, and which simply must be rescued from the fading force of yesterday.

So remind me not to forget again about the merits of valiant thrifting. Cause had I not flipped past hanger after hanger of irrelevant vintage for like a whole hour last Friday, I never would’ve nabbed the perfect top for photographing Ewoks or Elaine Irwin in some outer-spacy outback.

But now I do!

Lo-fi little numbers, as cool and simple as anything Apple tells me I need.

Lined and Squared MUCU paper pads. As powerful as you are.

Come December I like to read boyish old adventure stories. Two years ago it was Call of The Wild, and this year I decided to give the Hardy Boys a try for the first time ever since the back cover of Case #8: The Mystery of Cabin Island mentioned the action took place on a snow-covered island over Christmas vacation.

My sister and I used to have an un-secret stash of Nancy Drew books lying around as kids, and honestly, my favorite moments of any of these teen detective books is whenever it describes what the young sleuths are eating. It’s always cozy comfort food like chicken and biscuits, or flapjacks with syrup, or stews served alongside cold pitchers of milk. To me it’s essentially literary snacking, the plot-lines pretty much filler ’til the next mention of cobbler, or creamed corn, or fresh caught catfish.

In The Mystery of Cabin Island, Frank and Joe Hardy’s wealthy old client Elroy Jefferson receives a holiday gift he believes to be from his missing grandson. It’s a can of plum pudding adorned with fresh pinecones!

Upon reading that, before flipping another page, I searched online for canned plum pudding, hoping someone still sold a tin of the classic Christmas dessert in packaging appropriately retro.

The closet I came upon were various “Christmas Puddings” which definitely are old-century and cinematic enough for me. Since the cupcake and the French macaron have already enjoyed their return from nostalgic novelty to the sweet-tooth center stage, I’m thinking the proper pudding deserves a royal resurgence.

Served warm under brandy butter or custard, it’s a rich reflection of (seemingly) sweeter, simpler days.