Shop around the corner

Taking stock of Ragstock

Find a little bit of everything at Belmont’s clothing treasure chest

By Brenna Ehrlich

Break off from the main drag of Belmont and sidle down a dank alley. Come to a door under the Ragstock sign. Open the door to the blaring wails of indie rock and note the handwritten sign taped to the register wishing the “followers” a happy New Year. Wonder briefly if that means you.

Kimonos and denim and hospital wear and aprons and vinyl jumpsuits. “Princess Bride” t-shirts next to Cry Baby and James Dean and Bon Jovi and Marilyn Monroe and Audrey and Lynyrd Skynyrd — judging from this array, culture maxed out in the 1980s, if not before. Gorilla suits and boas and retro suits, tuxedos and prom dresses. Cowboy boots and cheerleader tops for the cheerleader who refuses to cheer — the Goth girl who’d just as soon bowl over the pyramid as stand on top of it. She’ll put on the tiny “Angels” top under an Army jacket and call it “ironic.”

Here we wear our mottos on our chests, Rock Stars and PETA tofu-lovers and girls who love to shop. Why let people get to know you when you can proclaim your loyalties up front? Those who refuse labels buy them nevertheless and call it fashion.

Mother and daughter admire the same pair of knit knee-high moccasins, one remembering free-loving bonfires of the past and the other looking for the next new trend/ re-trend.

At Ragstock, it becomes more evident than ever: There ain’t nothing new under the sun. Fashion is an endless parade of the past, a hodgepodge of the centuries. Pull up your ’80s legwarmers and tie on your skull and bones scarf, courtesy of the days when Blackbeard roamed the high seas. We are the rag and bone generation, attired in pieces from the scrap pile of the past.

Alan and the other clerks survey the scene from behind the counter, where they’ve been surveying the scene for the past five months, hawking sweaters with built-in mittens in order to pay the bills, dreaming that one day one of the tuxedos in the men’s basement will be the right fit.

The clerks wait for the new shipments, mostly from a mysterious used-clothing facility in the foreign land of Minnesota. Each month they ask for blue jeans, and each month they find themselves in a denim drought. Still, there seems to be a mass influx of unloved bridesmaid dresses which will be sure to make someone’s Halloween.

The clerks put up with a lot: sickos who leave scatological mementos wrapped in socks in the dressing rooms, and slobbering drunks who find the “one size fits all” gorilla suits just a little too tight. Once, a confused man — no doubt bleary-eyed and lonely — asked how much it cost to go downstairs. He had mistaken the men’s department, with its dim lights and bright neon sign reading “Men’s,” for a strip club. Dejected, he headed out into the night, seeking more subversive pleasures than those found in Ragstock’s stock.

Flapper dresses and three-dollar shirts and Seven jeans. Get them all in one place.

Do we wear what we want or what we think we want?

Is the quest for anti-fashion a fashion unto itself?

Can counter-culture really be purchased at the counter?

Ragstock doesn’t offer any answers, any screaming proclamations of what’s “in” or what’s “out.” Still, judging from the line at the register, and the intense popularity of those sweaters with the built-in mittens, there’s something novel about outfitting yourself with the past.

Ragstock is located at 812 West Belmont (just east of the Belmont/Clark intersection). Enter off the alley on Dayton. (773) 868-9263. www.Ragstock.com

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