Russian Fashionista Finds Inspiration in American Thrift Stores

I grew up in Russia in the ‘70s. I remember the Soviet era stores. What was on the racks was dreadful, dull and dowdy. Not for me — the ambitious fashionista.

I remember the black market in the outskirts of my city Izhevsk, 700 miles East of Moscow. It was in the woods, between the trees. There, enterprising youngsters laid their merchandise out in plastic wraps at everyone's feet. The dressing room was in the nearby bushes.

In the 90’s, blue jeans came into fashion. I just graduated from medical school and dropped a full month's wages on my first pair. If you’d ask me, now, that was stupid. Yet, at the time it felt right.

The black market was out of my reach. The stores didn't have anything for me. I had no choice. I had to teach myself to design and make my own dresses.

And, the fabric? Where would I get the fabric? I needed sexy flowing silk in luscious colors. And there was none.

Unfazed, I would restyle my mom’s old dresses. I would make dresses out of curtains — desperation breeds creativity.

My friends thought I was nuts. But, that wouldn’t stop me, no.

I kept experimenting. I dyed a few meters of white medical gauze to my favorite color — blue, and made a dress with a long, flying skirt — a head turner.

Burda Moda — a German fashion magazine — was my favorite. It came with sewing patterns. The models on its pages. Stunning. Who could look like that?

And, now, I can snap a selfie and look just like that! Now, 50 years later. Unbelievable!

What else is unbelievable is how I became an American. Somewhere along the way, I responded to a personal ad in a PenPal magazine. That led me to meeting and marrying my American husband.

When I arrived in Miami in 1992, I immediately dived into the world of fashion.

In the first few years, I worked as a model at Bal Harbour Shop — South Florida’s answer to Rodeo Drive.

The looks that I would model — in the range of $10,000 — the world class designers, the jewelry, the accessories. It was fun to play the role like that. Yet, it wasn’t me.

The moment my gig was over, I’d make a bee-line to a nearby thrift store, Red White & Blue, and buy a magnificent dress for $7.

My Russian family would approve. They worked hard and spent every ruble very carefully.

My stylish mama would teach school in the daytime and wash the dirty floors at night, at the same school, to earn an extra ruble. When I think about that now, it makes me cry.

Living frugally and creatively — that’s what my mama would approve.

Now, bless you — the American fabric stores. All your glorious fabrics in a rainbow of hues and every texture imaginable. But, sorry, fabric stores, I no longer have the time to design from scratch.

And, why would I want to design from scratch when there are so many dresses that are works of art already?

Just going to a thrift store makes me happy. “Should I buy this $5 dress?” I ask a woman, a complete stranger, who is browsing next to me. “Yes! You'll look gorgeous in it!” she says. “Can I blame you, if I don’t like it later on?” I ask. “Yes, you can!” she says and we laugh out loud.

I love the hunt. Seeing styles and colors. Love bringing home the bounty.

And, bless you — the Sewing Lab at the Miami Beach Library. This is where I sat down in front of a sewing machine once again. You inspired me to get one of my own. I bought it at Bed Bath & Beyond for $49 in a bright pineapple color.

I can restyle anything in a couple of hours. A cut here, a few stitches there, and I’m done. Looking gorgeous, if you’d ask me.

Every time I step out on the street -- I am a fashion model. This is my stage. My runway.

Now, Trader Joe’s, that is my special store. I’ll never forget how one of its employees, a middle-aged woman, jumped when she saw me, “Ahhha, she cried, you made my day! That dress is amazing!”

“My pleasure,” I said, thinking, the real pleasure is knowing that I saved this dress from the dumpster, and gave it a second life, a worthy and loving life.