The morning is sweaty-hot, and aside from the toddlers in strollers, Carlos and I might be the youngest people at the antique market. We're surrounded by baby boomers, elderly couples, people our age whose lifestyle—dogs, babies, mortgage—propels them closer to middle age than us.
The market is enormous and better curated than what I'd expected. Dealers from all over the midwest have set up shop, and the result is overwhelming. It would take a few hours to look at everything, so we don't even try. We like a lot of the same things. Chairs, mostly. I spot a pair of white Bertoia side chairs, exactly what I've been looking for, but they've already been sold for a ridiculously low price that makes me jealous.
The strange thing is, when you see all of this stuff in one place, it makes you not want to buy anything at all. There's so much of it, and it's all old, and you realize how unnecessary it is to manufacture new nightstands (or curtains, or whatever) when there are so many existing ones. I left without buying anything, and then pedaled home to a house already full of too much.
The market is enormous and better curated than what I'd expected. Dealers from all over the midwest have set up shop, and the result is overwhelming. It would take a few hours to look at everything, so we don't even try. We like a lot of the same things. Chairs, mostly. I spot a pair of white Bertoia side chairs, exactly what I've been looking for, but they've already been sold for a ridiculously low price that makes me jealous.
The strange thing is, when you see all of this stuff in one place, it makes you not want to buy anything at all. There's so much of it, and it's all old, and you realize how unnecessary it is to manufacture new nightstands (or curtains, or whatever) when there are so many existing ones. I left without buying anything, and then pedaled home to a house already full of too much.
Labels: chicago
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