Hold On

Every Saturday when I was in middle school, my best friend Arielle and I walked over to the Salvation Army on West 46th Street, returning home with huge plastic bags filled with clothing that we’d gotten for a dollar or two per piece. Every once in awhile when I’m visiting my parents I still stop by – mostly to check out the (honestly amazing) furniture selection on the third floor – but when it comes to clothing, the finds are much fewer and further between than they used to be back in the d...