I don’t Discount. I don’t Haggle.

This is not a garage sale. This is not a flea market. This is not a carousel of fast fashion fakes spinning round with markdown stickers. Curating Americana is something else entirely.

I sell vintage clothes, yes—but more than that, I sell trust. I sell the unshakable knowing that what you see is what you get, and what you get is exactly what you hoped for. Maybe better. I am not a reseller. I am a curator. A gatekeeper. A preservationist.

Every piece I list has passed through my hands, but more importantly, it has passed through a quiet gauntlet of discernment. For every hundred pieces I acquire, fifty don’t make the cut. A few are clever forgeries, imposters pretending to be something they're not. Others might be noble garments marred by the wrong zipper, a set of mismatched buttons, a detail that doesn’t belong. These I let go. I don’t sell stories that don’t hold up.

My customers know this. They don’t buy to chase a trend or chase a deal. They buy because they see what I see: the quiet dignity of a perfectly worn-in denim jacket, the heavy drape of an honest wool coat, the imperfect perfection of a pair of boots that have seen something. They don’t flinch at patina. They understand that character is a feature, not a flaw.

So no, I don’t haggle. I don’t discount. The price on the tag is the price it took to do this right. To find the piece. To clean it, restore it, vet it, validate it. To make sure it is, in every sense, what it claims to be. That process—the invisible hours, the experience, the integrity—that is the product as much as the clothing itself. If you're looking for a deal, a markdown, a compromise—you won’t find it here.

That’s not arrogance. It’s alignment. If you can’t afford or don’t want to afford what I sell, then you are likely not my customer, and I am likely not your curator. There’s no shame in that. Just clarity.

But for those who stay, those who come back, again and again, you know: authenticity matters. Provenance matters. The right kind of wear matters. So does the person who picked the piece up, looked it over, and said, “Yes. This one.”

This isn’t a transaction. It’s a pact. And the price is just a footnote.