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| - As we may have discussed, travel miracles abound in Las Vegas' historic downtown. I mean, you clearly aren't in Vegas for the same arts-district experience as, say, Christianshavn or the Marais, so let's just calibrate our expectations a little bit here before you're all, "why do you give everything five stars, bitch? your gross overstatement has misled me on more than one occasion!" And to that I say, sorry Mom. Anyway, in fact Las Vegas has a flat, dusty little industrial wonderland of thrift, mixed in with cab yards and distribution centers and probably a sex dungeon or two, and while it's hot as fuck to navigate on foot and impossible to get a cab, it's entirely worth a visit.
Or rather, a pilgrimage. Because therein lies The Attic: a two-floor members only Eden of 20th-century relics hand-picked with a discerning eye for glitz and camp. And where I normally favor the less libidinous Edwardian era of decorative arts, it's never too early to start preserving the past, and besides, I'm no square and I can get down to some polyester house-dresses and a brocade settee! I am, after all, a collector of vintage 60's-era Playboy magazines (the articles were SO GOOD!), my entire collection of which will now be presented in genuflect to The Attic on the faint hope that they may find a place for them in their time capsule diorama of dreams. (see photos. also please don't tell them I took photos!!) Also perhaps to garner some store credit, since I plan to be taking at least four pieces of furniture and pounds of clothing home in a U-Haul on my next visit.
It may not be the most refined or restrained vintage store you have ever been in, but you can be sure that the living embodiment of every late summer childhood night spent watching six episodes of Bewitched on Nick at Nite, every furtive cult movie rental at Le Video, and every grandmother's closet exists splendidly in this place. You can also be sure, if you come from a coastal metropolis, that the prices will in fact blow your mind.
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