Visiting an American Flea Market (Part 1)
Re: What is Taylor Sirard doing?
If the eyes are the windows to a person's soul, granting the observer a passageway of deeper understanding, then markets are the windows to a peoples' culture. Whether passing the intricately crafted lanterns in a Moroccan souk or the overflowing hot-food corridor of a Thai street market, visitors glimpse a petri dish of culture. Within a market, the careful observer can find a concentration of nearly every cultural aspect: art, social norms, economy, food, language, and religion. Through foreign travel, I've learned that the marketplace is as good a classroom (and better than most) as any traditional place to learn about a region and its people.
In my home country, the vast lands of the United States, I've shopped at a diverse array of markets: craft fairs, farmer's markets, shopping malls, etc. I won't pretend my first thought walking into a corporate supercenter is "cultural hub," but according to my theory, each market should provide insight into American culture.
Although our structure as a single nation makes it easy to overlook the variety of cultures we have, I believe our marketplaces each represent a different culture.
Growing up experiencing the forced idea of unity our federal government perpetuates, like daily recitations of The Pledge of Allegiance, led me to believe that Americans were all about the same. The lack of diversity in small-town rural Michigan didn't help. I figured if I had experienced one part of the US, there was nothing new to discover here. But in a nation that spans 9.8 million square kilometers (that's 3.8 million square miles), with a population of 3.27 million, built on a foundation of immigration, which is a union of fifty separate states, a single culture would be absurd.
My background diminished my enthusiasm to learn from American cultures as openly as I learn from foreign cultures. Since leaving that small town, I've gained a more global worldview through classrooms, first-hand experience, and the internet, of course. Only after this education, while embarking on travel in the US, did I start to recognize the various cultures within our borders. (See also: White Girl Discovers the Concept of Minorities.)
When I immerse myself in unfamiliar surroundings within the US, I try to situate my perspective as if I am in another country. If I approach American cultures with the same humility and innocent curiosity as I do foreign cultures, I will have an equal opportunity for education. Surely, there is as much to learn from a bodega in Queens as there is from a Parisian flower market.
Continuing my travels across the South, I found myself in one of those foreign environments. My Grandmother's retirement community was a culture I had yet to explore. The experience was a constant vacation. One where I was always well fed, rested, and even well groomed as I explored in a recent post.
Time was filled, sufficiently so, with slow, unexcited events. Perhaps, one evening, my grandmother would make plans with her neighbor and the date would consist entirely of sitting down together on the patio. At any time of day, the conversation was more like a meandering stick than a straight-shooting arrow.
Life was easy and I was increasingly delighted at the idea of reaching retirement age and financial ability. One day, my grandmother offered to take me to the local flea market.
"You have to see it, Taylor. They have everything—row after row," my aunt, who was also visiting, raved. After a short pause, she shrugged, "Only if you want to, of course."
I was reluctant to accept the invitation. Having dived into minimalism prior to moving into my motorhome, my opinion of recreational shopping in America had soured from therapeutic to horrific. When shopping in the past, before I minimized, I evaluated if I liked an item and if it was worth the price. In addition, I now evaluate a myriad of other questions before buying:
And that's just the list of questions I ask after I have decided to purchase a newly manufactured item. There is a separate list I go through in order to decide if I want to buy a new item at all. That list was coined "The Buyerarchy of Needs" in an illustration by Canadian artist Sarah Lazarovic.
In summary, the number of considerations I make when purchasing a single item is overwhelming. (Mom, this is why I rarely replace my crumbling shoes and fraying sweaters.) So with the abundance of seemingly useless products crammed into the flea market, my thoughts became a burden. They produced as frequently as my heartbeat, each thought angrier than the last.
I conjured up images of landfills bulging with plastic, famished clothing makers, miles of pollution trailing on the tail of every nic and nac, and buildings exploding to supply the gasoline. I considered the journey of each item, and all the horrors enacted along the way, all so Ethel could have a quirky table ornament.
If the eyes are the windows to a person's soul, granting the observer a passageway of deeper understanding, then markets are the windows to a peoples' culture. Whether passing the intricately crafted lanterns in a Moroccan souk or the overflowing hot-food corridor of a Thai street market, visitors glimpse a petri dish of culture. Within a market, the careful observer can find a concentration of nearly every cultural aspect: art, social norms, economy, food, language, and religion. Through foreign travel, I've learned that the marketplace is as good a classroom (and better than most) as any traditional place to learn about a region and its people.
In my home country, the vast lands of the United States, I've shopped at a diverse array of markets: craft fairs, farmer's markets, shopping malls, etc. I won't pretend my first thought walking into a corporate supercenter is "cultural hub," but according to my theory, each market should provide insight into American culture.
Although our structure as a single nation makes it easy to overlook the variety of cultures we have, I believe our marketplaces each represent a different culture.
Growing up experiencing the forced idea of unity our federal government perpetuates, like daily recitations of The Pledge of Allegiance, led me to believe that Americans were all about the same. The lack of diversity in small-town rural Michigan didn't help. I figured if I had experienced one part of the US, there was nothing new to discover here. But in a nation that spans 9.8 million square kilometers (that's 3.8 million square miles), with a population of 3.27 million, built on a foundation of immigration, which is a union of fifty separate states, a single culture would be absurd.
My background diminished my enthusiasm to learn from American cultures as openly as I learn from foreign cultures. Since leaving that small town, I've gained a more global worldview through classrooms, first-hand experience, and the internet, of course. Only after this education, while embarking on travel in the US, did I start to recognize the various cultures within our borders. (See also: White Girl Discovers the Concept of Minorities.)
When I immerse myself in unfamiliar surroundings within the US, I try to situate my perspective as if I am in another country. If I approach American cultures with the same humility and innocent curiosity as I do foreign cultures, I will have an equal opportunity for education. Surely, there is as much to learn from a bodega in Queens as there is from a Parisian flower market.
---
Continuing my travels across the South, I found myself in one of those foreign environments. My Grandmother's retirement community was a culture I had yet to explore. The experience was a constant vacation. One where I was always well fed, rested, and even well groomed as I explored in a recent post.
Time was filled, sufficiently so, with slow, unexcited events. Perhaps, one evening, my grandmother would make plans with her neighbor and the date would consist entirely of sitting down together on the patio. At any time of day, the conversation was more like a meandering stick than a straight-shooting arrow.
Life was easy and I was increasingly delighted at the idea of reaching retirement age and financial ability. One day, my grandmother offered to take me to the local flea market.
"You have to see it, Taylor. They have everything—row after row," my aunt, who was also visiting, raved. After a short pause, she shrugged, "Only if you want to, of course."
 |
| [Image: People walk down a warehouse corridor lined with vendors.] |
I was reluctant to accept the invitation. Having dived into minimalism prior to moving into my motorhome, my opinion of recreational shopping in America had soured from therapeutic to horrific. When shopping in the past, before I minimized, I evaluated if I liked an item and if it was worth the price. In addition, I now evaluate a myriad of other questions before buying:
- Will this add value to my life?
- Is the quality good enough for longevity?
- Where was this made?
- Was this made under ethical conditions for both the people making it and the environment?
- How long will the materials used take to decompose?
- How will this item be used or disposed of after I am done with it?
- How much material has been wasted to package this item?
- What am I voting for with the money I spend on this item?
- Is there a more local source I can get something similar?
And that's just the list of questions I ask after I have decided to purchase a newly manufactured item. There is a separate list I go through in order to decide if I want to buy a new item at all. That list was coined "The Buyerarchy of Needs" in an illustration by Canadian artist Sarah Lazarovic.
 |
| [Image: A painting of a pyramid with six levels, each having a handwritten label. From bottom to top they are: Use What You Have, Borrow, Swap, Thrift, Make, and Buy. Underneath the pyramid is written, "The Buyerarchy of Needs (with apologies to Maslow.)"] |
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In summary, the number of considerations I make when purchasing a single item is overwhelming. (Mom, this is why I rarely replace my crumbling shoes and fraying sweaters.) So with the abundance of seemingly useless products crammed into the flea market, my thoughts became a burden. They produced as frequently as my heartbeat, each thought angrier than the last.
 |
| [Image: A rack displays miniature couches that function as tissue box holders. Each couch is made with fabric displaying the logos of a major sports team. A handwritten sign reads, "Tissue Box Couches only $20 each. Cash sale only. Choose Your Favorite Design."] |
I conjured up images of landfills bulging with plastic, famished clothing makers, miles of pollution trailing on the tail of every nic and nac, and buildings exploding to supply the gasoline. I considered the journey of each item, and all the horrors enacted along the way, all so Ethel could have a quirky table ornament.
The ambush of thoughts paired nicely with the ads screaming at me from across the warehouse. Signs along the rows of vendors plucked my attention towards five different booths before I could get close enough to tell what they were advertising.
 |
| [Image: A table display of the "Magic Sticky Mat," a cell phone mount. Several fake cell phones are displayed on the mats. There are several signs on the table overloaded with bright colors and text advertising the mat.] |
Feeling nice and queasy from my appetizer, I was hesitant to move on to the second course and turn down the next row of vendors. Without much to do but endure the experience, I decided to approach it from a different perspective.
I took the opportunity to see the market as a foreigner. After all, I have never been retired or a senior. I knew I would not purchase anything, so I set my intention on exploring and observing. I began to wonder what I could learn about the retirement community from their local flea market. Embodying the wonder I feel in foreign markets, I turned the corner.
I took the opportunity to see the market as a foreigner. After all, I have never been retired or a senior. I knew I would not purchase anything, so I set my intention on exploring and observing. I began to wonder what I could learn about the retirement community from their local flea market. Embodying the wonder I feel in foreign markets, I turned the corner.
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Hey you, thanks a million for reading this. Stay tuned for part two, where I dive into what I found in my field research.
Until then, you can see the rest of the photos from my visit over on my Patreon. There, you will find a handful of exclusive photos and stories related to the WITS blog. Patreon is a platform that helps internet creators get paid for the free content they put online. How awesome! It helps people like me to afford to do something they love. The best part is that it can cost any amount you want. If this sounds like something you are interested in please check it out. I appreciate every patron who has made a pledge, as it is the reason I can continue writing. Thank you.
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See you around the corner!
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