The Good Glendale Goodwill

Treasure hunting

It is blazingly hot here in God’s Country (Los Angeles), as it is in most of the world, and apparently will be in perpetuity. The other day, after wrapping up lunch with a friend, I couldn’t face returning home, blasting the A/C, and lying prostrate on a soft surface until morning came. So I sought comfort in the air-conditioned, hangar-like good Glendale Goodwill.

no funny business

What makes a Goodwill good? (Definitely not their business practices!) It mostly comes down to a large inventory and general cleanliness, and the good Glendale Goodwill has both. It should be noted: there are other Goodwills in Glendale. They are not good.

Once there, I scurried across the baking hot parking lot into the windowless, industrial sanctuary. It was cool and relatively quiet, with the exception of a couple interrogating the cashier about some prize that had slipped through their fingers. “It was right there and then bam it was gone! Did that Armenian guy buy it?” I left them to never solve this mystery and wandered the racks.

I didn’t need and anything and didn’t want anything—I just wanted to make a nice little list in my head of what I would purchase if I was in the mood. This meditative practice has of course become an entire TikTok genre, and I expected the place to be crawling with people erratically filming their finds. Luckily the good Glendale Goodwill remained influencer-free. Another reason it’s good.

I didn’t buy a midnight blue velour jumpsuit. I didn’t buy a solid wood dresser. I didn’t buy a crèche with three noseless wise men. Satisfied with the treasures both appreciated and left behind, I decided to head out. And that is when I made my fatal mistake: I took one last spin.

That spin was in the direction of the coats section. As Carrie Bradshaw is to shoes, I am to outerwear. And LA’s not a bad place for a light jacket—you’ll never be upset to have some options on a cool evening. At that moment, my closet was brimming with options. I certainly didn’t need one more. But like a moth to a flame, a cat to a canary, a pot to a kettle, I homed on in on a flash of emerald green wool.

It revealed itself to be a vintage Laura Ashley wool cashmere blend princess coat. The perfect piece of clothing if you live somewhere like Russia or Minnesota or a research station in Antarctica. I made my next error: I tried it on. It fit perfectly. Even the arms were long enough. An extra label at the top declared “MADE IN ENGLAND.” My synapses fired. Home of…Jane Austen and…the queen?!

I flashed back to standing in front of the same good Glendale Goodwill mirror several years ago, examining lavender Bill Blass Jeans that fit me so perfectly I am currently weeping just thinking about them. At the time, I thought that the color was impractical and I left them behind, possibly to be purchased and (the horror) hemmed by a short person. Those who do not learn from the past are doomed repeat it, so when I walked back out across the baking parking lot, I did my best not to sweat on my new old coat.

I know what you need: a picture of me wearing the coat. But it’s been so goddamned hot that the thought of even putting it on makes me want to pass out. So here it is, disembodied, awaiting the invitation to a one horse open sleigh that will surely arrive any day now. A beacon of hope in our boiling world. A relic whose beauty made it impossible to leave behind.