Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: I met the one, but she lived so far away. Would she ever come to L.A.?
It was Sunday morning. I shivered from the rain and entered John O’Groats on Pico Boulevard. The owner greeted me as I headed for a seat at the crowded counter. A few of the regulars nodded in my direction.
I was four months past the bruising crash of a long-distance romance, armed with a new vow: No more cross-country heartbreak. While the ex-love of my life was back with her ex-beau in Michigan enjoying Mackinac Island fudge, I was ready to bury all regret and rethink my vow over a fruitless bowl of steel-cut oats.
I had met Renée the previous month during a three-week consulting project in Washington, D.C. The all-consuming emotion of being swept away by a beautiful, intelligent and compassionate person collided with my self-inflicted vow. In the throes of cognitive dissonance, I ignored the vow and fell in love with Renée. I returned to L.A. but only after securing a promise she would visit soon.
Thankfully Renée came to L.A. for a week-long work assignment. Our plan was simple: After breakfast, I would meet her at her hotel, and together we would spend the day exploring the sights and experiences that L.A. had to offer.
I scanned nearby tables for friends but was distracted by a woman quickening her pace toward the only available stool at the counter. Renée? What is she doing here? A man with a cane, a few steps ahead of her, tapped a steady claim to the prize. She slowed her walk, resigned to a second-place finish and nowhere to sit. Her lips pressed in a rueful grin.
The man next to me dropped a $5 tip on the counter and walked away. I waved to get Renée’s attention and gestured to the empty seat. We exchanged surprised smiles as she approached, hugged me, and said, “I missed you. The concierge recommended O’Groats. I’m ready to explore L.A.”
“I missed you too. What’s on your must-see list?” I replied.
“I’d like to see Malibu, the Sunset Strip and … here, the concierge gave me this.” I examined the handwritten sightseeing list. I said it was a good list, but it missed a few of my favorite places. Our final list included the Petersen Automotive Museum — we both had fathers who passed on to us their love of classic cars — Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Malibu and dinner at Geoffrey’s.
“If you can still put up with me,” I said, “we can cruise the Sunset Strip and Hollywood Boulevard tonight.”
We finished breakfast and drove to the Petersen. Upon entering, we were met by a fleet of vintage Corvettes and a row of charcuterie boards. We barely touched the hors d’oeuvres while drooling over the cars. When we walked across the street toward LACMA, it was nearly 3 p.m.
Amid intermittent raindrops, we were talking about cars from the ’60s when Renée stopped walking. Standing 10 yards in front of us on a corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Fairfax Avenue was a shivering elderly woman who looked lost. Renée quickened her pace and approached the woman. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t … I’m not sure this is … ” Her speech was hesitant, halting. Renée coaxed a complete sentence. “I want to go home.” She whispered an address.
Renée looked at me and said, “Let’s bring her home.”
We drove a short distance to the address, where an anxious man guided the confused woman through the front door. “Mom, where did you go?” He thanked us profusely, and Renée and I walked back to my car.
I drove east on Wilshire toward LACMA. We found parking on Fairfax and walked toward the corner where we had approached the lost woman.
“That was a beautiful thing you did,” I said.
“We did,” she replied.
“Still, it was you who … ”
“Well, once I saw her, I knew we weren’t here just to eat canapés and see Corvettes. We had to help her.”
Until this moment, standing at the corner of one of the busiest intersections in the city, falling in love had always been for me an arduous process.
This, however, was fireworks with dazzling explosions. Time to be bold, I thought. “Let’s skip the art exhibits and drive to Malibu,” I said. “I want to be with you, the ocean and the setting sun. I know the perfect place.”
It was nearly 5 p.m. when we parked at El Matador State Beach. As we hiked the short distance from Pacific Coast Highway on the rocky switchback trail, she caught glimpses of the sculpted sea stacks rising 50 meters from the sand and shallow waters.
When we reached the beach, Renée was silent. “These towers always take my breath away too,” I said.
She took off her shoes, rolled up her pants and waded into the water. I joined her. The wind and waves whipped around us. At my urging, she closed her eyes. Uneven sandbars lifted and then dropped us in a slow-motion, repetitive dance on the sediment floor. The salty seawater splashed our faces beneath a salmon-colored sky.
We skipped Geoffrey’s, Hollywood and the Sunset Strip. I drove back to her hotel. We kissed goodnight and made plans to visit those places the next evening without the ocean-soaked clothes.
Confession: All of this happened more than 30 years ago. Renée and I are happily married and live in L.A. The iconic landmarks we visited all those years ago are, thankfully, still here. We have done our best to revisit them each year on our wedding anniversary with one modification — we bring bathing suits and towels.
The author, who was born and raised in L.A., is a retired HR consultant and executive coach. His debut novel, “Coyote Time,” published by Guernica Editions, will be available in April.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Editor’s note: Have a dating story to tell about starting fresh? Share it at L.A. Affairs Live, our new competition show featuring real dating stories from people living in the Greater Los Angeles area. Find audition details here.
Lifestyle
We’re having a main character summer. Are you? : It’s Been a Minute
Lifestyle
Vintage-obsessed millennial parents are driving L.A.’s booming kids’ clothing resale market
Kids’ vintage clothing sales are experiencing a remarkable boom at in-person markets and online, where prices for clothes for little ones have shot up on websites including Depop and Poshmark. Millennial parents are looking to outfit their kids in the clothes and TV and film characters they loved (or coveted) when they were kids.
The result? There’s a new generation of kiddos hitting the playground looking incredibly cool. Take Amari Case, a SoCal toddler who spent a Sunday afternoon this spring ambling around a vintage market in a West Hollywood warehouse clad in baggy jeans and a ’90s-era tee emblazoned with the “Dragon Ball Z” character Son Goku.
When she wasn’t scribbling on a Lorax coloring sheet, she’d been cruising around the market with her dad, Aaron Munoz Case, snapping up new pieces destined to make her the flyest kid at the preschool playground.
Neil Wright, from left, Kristine Nite Scalzo and Brandon Rosenblatt, co-founders of Elemeno Kids Vintage Market.
Showing off Amari’s new vintage satin L.A. Raiders jacket and tiny teal Grant Hill Detroit Pistons jersey, Munoz Case, who was also impeccably dressed, noted that while Amari went through a phase at about 18 months where she wanted to dress herself, eventually she gave up and went back to letting her dripped-out dad dictate her wardrobe.
Munoz Case found Amari’s first vintage piece at the Rose Bowl Flea Market and got the bug, going back every month to pick up something to add to his little’s wardrobe.
Trendspotters and researchers say Munoz Case isn’t alone in his quest. The market for kids’ vintage clothing has heated up precipitously over the last few years, perhaps hitting a boiling point in January when an Eeyore romper from the ’90s sold for over $3,000 on EBay. (It was new with tags, but one without tags still went for almost a grand about a month later.)
The thirst for tiny throwbacks is so popular that first-ever, all-kids market Elemeno — named after the “L-M-N-O” bit of “The Alphabet Song” and where Amari was toddling and shopping — drew 17 vendors and over 2,000 attendees over a single weekend in March. (There are plans for another Elemeno Kids Vintage Market pop-up later this year in New York, as well as plans to bring the event back to L.A. sometime next year.)
1. Cameron Scalzo, wearing a vintage McDonald’s T-shirt from the ‘90s, and mom Kristine Nite Scalzo. 2. Cameron Scalzo rocks an Avirex jacket from the ‘90s.
Eye Speak Vintage’s Kristine Nite Scalzo, who co-organized the event and is opening an all-kids vintage store in Pasadena this month, says she fell under the kids vintage spell in 2020 when she was pregnant with her son. She’d always been a vintage shopper for herself, so she knew she wanted to pass the passion down to the next generation. She started filling up her son’s closet, and soon enough, she found herself selling her other finds out of a bodega in her garage.
She has a by-appointment space in Pasadena now, where she draws everyone from Rihanna’s stylist to out-of-town moms who make a point to stop by on their way to Disneyland. “The community around kids vintage has really skyrocketed on Instagram over the past six years,” Scalzo says. “We want to know who we’re buying from. We want to know that we’re doing good with buying secondhand. And it’s a hobby for people that can turn into a possible business on the side. Because knowing there’s a big group that’s interested in vintage kids clothes, you can always pass an item [your kid outgrows] to someone else or resell it.”
Scalzo says some parents are out digging through bins at the Goodwill Outlet looking for the perfect piece, while others are content to pay up for, say, a ’90s Simpsons T-shirt or a mini-size Harley-Davidson jacket. Scouring the racks at the Elemeno market, most pieces cost $15 to $40, though there were special pieces pulled to the side in some booths with price tags that could make a parent’s eyes pop. (Think $275 for a set of well-worn Spider-Man overalls from the ’00s or $150 for a pair of Cross Colours denim shorts from the ’90s.)
In kids and adult vintage alike, mint condition is highly valued. No matter the era in which they were raised, kids tend to be messy. They get strawberry juice on their shirts or scuff up the knees on their Bugle Boy jeans. Vintage kids clothes that look pristine are more expensive, and while plain kids clothes do sell, items with characters on them or cool prints tend to draw more attention and dollars.
Brandon Rosenblatt, another of the Elemeno organizers, says he’s had his eye on a specific kids “Back to the Future” shirt for some time, but notes that it typically sells for about $1,000. He’s partial to McKids clothes for his daughter, from McDonald’s short-lived kids clothing brand, noting that he’s even snagged her a vintage official McDonald’s-themed aloha shirt from Hawaii, something he says he’s never seen anywhere else.
1. Siblings Amora and Milo Castilo wear vintage cowboy hats, jackets and chaps. 2. Thalia Castilo and her kids Amora and Milo.
Other collectors, he says, might be a little less obscure, leaning into mainstream characters such as Strawberry Shortcake or from ’80s and ’90s properties including “The Land Before Time” and “Rugrats.”
“A lot of millennials are having kids — like everyone who’s in their 30s and 40s — and they all want to put their kids in the same IP they grew up in,” Rosenblatt says.
“It’s the thrill of the hunt that gets everyone so excited,” Scalzo says. “Once you find that perfect nostalgic piece, you’re like ‘Holy s—,’ and you just want to chase that feeling again and again.”
Mia De La Rosa, a reseller who was at the Elemeno market, says that like Scalzo, she started buying kids vintage clothes when she was pregnant with her daughter, Liv, who’s 6 now, very into everything on PBS Kids and has a closet full of thrifted vintage garb covered in characters such as D.W., the annoying little sister from the ’90s show “Arthur.”
Everything Liv wears is “completely her style,” De La Rosa says. “She dresses herself every day and she gets compliments on what she’s wearing at school all the time.”
Other vintage-wearing kids — and in particular younger ones — might simply be sporting what their parents like or might just like the look of the shirt even if they don’t know what it’s advertising. (An 8-year-old boy at the Elemeno market, for instance, chose to wear a pristine T-shirt highlighting the ’90s Jim Carrey movie “The Mask” because it featured his favorite color: green.)
Derrick Broaster, a vintage enthusiast turned full-time reseller, says that while he chooses to put himself in clothes from the ’60s and ’70s, he outfits his two sons in clothes from the 2000s. (“How Bow Wow used to dress when he was a kid,” he says.)
Although his younger son tends to rebel against Broaster’s vintage picks, opting for whatever Spider-Man shoes happen to be in his eyeline, his older son has leaned in, letting his dad advise him on what vintage pieces could work and what would be the most stylish.
1. Julian, left, and Javier Gutierrez show off their vintage clothing. Javier says his mom always tells him to keep his vintage outfits clean. 2. Mom Priscilla Guzman, clockwise, Dad Javier Gutierrez and sons Julian and Javier Gutierrez enjoy the vibe of vintage clothing. Guzman says she’s been buying and selling kids’ vintage since her oldest son was born eight years ago.
Rosenblatt says a good portion of what vintage finds he sees in the market now has returned to the U.S. from places in Central America and South America or Asia where those pieces were likely sent decades ago after they were donated or given away.
“There’s a real underbelly of this vintage game with rag houses getting access to bulk product overseas and letting people sort through it,” he says. “There are companies now that rip through 20, 30 or 40,000 pieces of vintage clothing a week. It’s a really interesting ecosystem.”
For many kids vintage sellers, finding their stock is just as fun and interesting as getting it back into consumers’ hands. “Anywhere we can find clothes, we’re there,” says Matthew Carlos, owner of Long Gone Youth. He started selling vintage clothes 11 years ago, when he was 15, switched to kids vintage at 20 and has spent the last six years scouring flea markets, websites and swap meets.
“The kids market is definitely growing,” he says, “but I still feel like we haven’t even gotten close to where we can go. It’s just getting popular now, but the more events [like Elemeno] we can do, the more it’ll go mainstream.” Even now, some major brands like Gap and OshKosh B’gosh have recognized the interest in some of their styles from the ’80s and ’90s, moving to re-release the looks in limited runs.
Jackie and Frank Oropeza with daughter Rumi Mae shop at Elemeno Kids Vintage Market.
Kids resale is also leaning into streetwear culture. Rosenblatt, who worked in the streetwear industry, says that he’s noticed that a good portion of those interested in kids vintage — particularly, male shoppers — tend to be fans of streetwear brands like Supreme, Fear of God Essentials and Bape. At Elemeno, for instance, a good portion of the parents we saw pushing strollers were well-dressed dads seemingly on solo missions, something you don’t always see at kid-centric events.
“I just want my son to feel like I did as a kid,” said Justin Nguyen, while watching his toddler, Jayden, play with bubbles. “I want him to be happy, carefree and joyful, and I want to be able to spend time with him. My mom and dad were always working, even on the weekends. Now that I’m a dad, taking my son out on weekends to do stuff like this just seems like a blessing.”
Lifestyle
‘Hellions’ author Julia Elliott wins $150K fiction prize
Author Julia Elliott won for her short story collection Hellions.
Forrest Clonts/Tin House
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Forrest Clonts/Tin House
Writer Julia Elliott has won this year’s Carol Shields Prize for Fiction for her short story collection Hellions. The award honors work by women and nonbinary authors in the U.S. and Canada.
Elliott, who also authored the novel The New and Improved Romie Futch and the short story collection The Wilds, is known for blending elements of Southern gothic horror, surrealism and fairy tale. Hellions, published in 2025, includes stories set against backdrops like a plague-stricken medieval convent, a feminist art colony, and small Southern towns.
“This eerie, eclectic, genre-leaping collection takes no half-measures; every sentence of Hellions crackles or crawls,” wrote the prize jury in a statement. “Here, human folly moves against a backdrop of horror and magic … But for all its wildness, there is tremendous control.”
The prize, named after a Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist, awards $150,000 to one winner each year. Novels, short story collections, and graphic novels by women and nonbinary authors are eligible.
This year’s finalists included Quiara Alegría Hudes (The White Hot), Lee Lai (Cannon), Megha Majumdar (A Guardian and a Thief), and Sonya Walger (Lion). They will each receive $12,500.
The Carol Shields Prize went to writer Canisia Lubrin in 2025.
You can listen to actor Donna Lynne Champlin read Elliott’s story “Hellion” on the Death, Sex & Money podcast here.
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