Vintage FILA Sweater Proves Fab Apres Ski Wear

A few nights ago, my ski buds and I cruised the town of Telluride on two separate missions. While the dudes debated our dining options, I surveyed the shopping situation. Cowboy-themed garb littered the displays of nearly every storefront; Stetsons, furs, suede fringe boots and sterling silver cuffs seemed the only non-ski gear for miles, and the situation was looking grim. I was in the midst of contemplating a last-resort drive to the local Salvation Army when the above sign caught my eye: Pip’s Fine and Funky Consignment. A thriftastic experience, mere blocks away from the condo? WORD.

The following afternoon, I obvs hit Pip’s for some Apres Ski shopping. The selection was so varied that it immediately prompted the trancelike state I often find myself in at Beacon’s or Buff Exchange. As I navigated my way through D&G skirts, Marc Jacobs sweaters, J Brand jeans and Petit Bateau tees, I thought: Fuck yoga. This is my Zen. (I mean, not Pip’s in particular, but the experience that is Pip’s, Beacon’s, Buff, et. al, if you will. Soooo deep riiiiiight .

It was during this trancelike state that I happened upon what I’m pretty sure is the sickest, dirtiest, nastiest, most wicked, insert-any-other-negative-adjective-adapted-toward-the-positive-here, sweater I’ve ever owned. I don’t know if it’s considered very vintage or simply secondhand; I do know it’s FILA – a brand I haven’t seen in stores since 1997 – which means it’s badass by default.
Now, I generally feel about Consignment the same way my father feels about Asian Fusion Cuisine: Describing it as such means you get to charge approximately 20% more than what it’s worth. That being said, Colorado Consignment’s still a hell of a lot cheaper than anything I’ve seen back east. Had I found my FILA at Cheap Jack’s (and I use that term loosely) it would have cost me significantly more than the $48 I paid.

While I ponied up my dough for this puppy sans hesitation, paying more than $30 for apparel of the sweater/top ilk always makes me a little queasy. Said queasiness was effectively quashed by my friends’ collective approval of my purchase: When a non-fitted, non-cleavage bearing sweater prompts compliments from three guys, you know it’s a goodie.