Greg and I found ourselves with a morning to burn this time around at Paris menswear market.
For a change of scenery from the same handful of streets we’d been bouncing between all weekend, we ventured just outside of the Parisian circle to do some vintage shopping. The plan was a flea market, and these words conjure some quaint imagery that others might relate to. Open parking lots littered with tents hiding booths of refurbished electronics, racks of used clothes, junk drawers packed with loose hardware among other oddities.
The market we went to shared some distant resemblance to that, but cranked up to a degree I couldn’t expect. The lot graduated to a network of venues, some of them lots, but most of them alleys and semi-indoor spaces flush with all sorts of goods. The electronics guys were specialized, dealing only in retro media players, video game consoles, or ancient cameras. The guy with scattered nuts and bolts had vast cases of clearly organized bits. There was even what seemed like a repurposed mall, and while it still served its purpose of hosting shops, the lack of chains and department stores had this novel quality to it that was both nostalgic and unfamiliar.
Our plan going into this was to make it a productive trip, maybe securing a stack of NOS naval shirts or military jackets, something that we’d dig and would make sense to share with the gang back home. While the market wasn’t lacking in sick one-off milsurp finds, we failed to unearth the kind of gear that felt worth hauling back to the states. At some point it seemed we resigned to shopping for ourselves and started getting into spaces with art, jewelry, records, and other trinkets that might make their way into our carry-ons. Marché Vernaison was a trove of this stuff, each storefront luring me in with objects I’ve never seen before but probably had a place in my apartment.
Ok so a lot of these were regretfully passed on by not meeting the “fits into bag” criterion, and it was feeling like another strike out was in our midst, that is until we stumbled into a shop that was sprawling with mid-century, aperitif branded glassware. I’d indulged in the French custom that is the late afternoon pastis earlier this trip, and all it took was a few sips for the yellow licorice milk to win me over, so seeing these little bottles, coasters, and ashtrays emblazoned with their logos sparked joy. It checked off all the boxes that I have for personal souvenirs: serves a purpose, nice to look at, and evokes a sweet memory. When chatting with the vendor, we learned that many of the single items on display were actually one of a small bunch of them he’d stocked up on over the years, and while it wasn’t the wearable dry goods we hoped for, there was a small selection of these that Greg and I felt like our guys would resonate with.
The Martini ashtray felt like a given. Its deep amber color has a moodiness to it that brings a loungey vibe to your space, along with iconic branding that’s a crowd favorite. The Ricard tray has a bold appearance similar to the pastis, an opaque yellow that’s achieved with proprietary plastic-glass material made by Opalex in France. Lastly we scored a couple of Casanis carafes, a pretty shaped bottle with colors on the label that really feel like a summer evening. We’ve got these zhuzhing up our office in the meantime, but if you want to grab some for your place, or share a bit Paris with some friends and loved ones, check the newly added Souvenir Shop on the site.
Cheers!
