It always shocks me that I’ve only known Carlee for seven years. It always feels like it’s been decades, but such is the nature of time. Sometimes you meet people who simply feel like they’ve always been there.
I met Carlee when I was 24. She needed a roommate, and I needed a place to live. I had just begun my very glamorous 30k-a-year job as a gallery assistant (lol), and I was still commuting from my parents’ place nearly fifty miles away. Yes, it was miserable. I was staying a few times a week with my dear old friends Jessica and Preston at their place in Los Angeles, joking that they were my parents. I slept on an air mattress on their studio apartment floor, and I would often wake with their sweet, neurotic cat, Bella, sleeping on my head.
I knew it wasn’t sustainable for any of us. Gracious as my friends were, I knew they probably didn’t love having an extra body in their space, disrupting the natural flow of things, so I searched for places whenever I could—between exhibition openings and making coffee for the unfathomably wealthy people who showed up at the gallery, often expressing interest in buying a $20,000 painting via an apathetic one-shoulder shrug. Sure, why not? I’ll take it. Throw it in the Porsche/G-Wagon/Jaguar. I made $1800 a month and often worked ten-hour days. Perhaps it was this job that radicalized me toward anti-capitalism.
Jessica knew Carlee through work and introduced us, and from there it’s history. That introduction to Carlee was a godsend, as it indirectly liberated me from my unintentionally nomadic life, providing fertile ground for the roots I so needed to put down in Los Angeles—roots that felt necessary to begin my young adult life. It was my first real home in the city, and it was perfect: a little house with noisy wood floors, ample sunlight, and lived-in charm. Even our landlord was an anomaly. He was delightfully friendly, self-published fantasy novels about werewolves, and always fixed what needed fixing promptly. I lived there for about four years with a rotation of different roommates and pets. Carlee was there the whole time, a permanent fixture in our home with paper-thin walls, where I had no closet and had to keep all my clothes on a rolling rack. Nothing is perfect, after all—but it was all worth it.
Seven years later, all of our lives—mine, Jessica’s, Carlee’s, and everyone else’s in our social group—look vastly different. Our friendships are the same, though. Even amid all of adulthood’s trappings and inconveniences, we manage to stay in each other’s lives. Weeks may pass without speaking or seeing one another, but we always come together as if nothing’s changed. Perhaps it’s a naive wish, given the unpredictability of our current world and life in general, but I hope it stays this way for as long as possible.
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Two weeks ago, I spent an early afternoon at Carlee’s sweet apartment as the midday glow filtered through the linen curtains, little dust motes floating like glitter in the warm sunlight. Beanie, Carlee’s pocket-sized chihuahua, made occasional dramatic entrances, stretching and happy-sneezing and pawing at our shins, demanding we pick her up and hold her like a baby. She weighs about as much as a ball of dough, and is just as easy to carry around. Carlee and I chattered and moved through her space, past garment racks, antique mirrors, stacks of linens, and dresses that looked as though they had survived not just decades but entire past lives, in a good way. I brought my camera, and Carlee brought her tenderness, her humor, and her particular way of seeing the world.
We began, naturally, with clothes. Carlee has recently launched a vintage bridal collection, which I was lucky to be on set for, capturing behind-the-scenes shots on film. We talked about lace, silhouettes, the surprising strength of antique silk and cotton. But as always, the conversation didn’t stay there. It veered into questions of value, nostalgia, capitalism, and the quiet rebellion of choosing to wear (and care for) things that have already been here, rather than trying to create something new through wasteful and often destructive practices.
What follows is a portrait of Carlee in her element: thoughtful, funny, slightly chaotic, and wholly devoted to beauty and the preservation of history through clothing.
Tell us a little about yourself.
My name is Carlee and I own Something Special Vintage <3 I worked in production for 7 years and have bought and sold vintage for 10 years! I’m from the Midwest, which is where I go often to visit family and source a lot of my inventory. I’m obsessed with “The Dig,” cleaning and mending clothes, and bringing them back to their former glory.
What first sparked your love for vintage?
I’ve been obsessed with costumes and interesting clothing my whole life. I wore the same pink slip and big floppy hat every day for a summer when I was 5. I thrifted and antiqued in high school, and then worked at Free People at the end of high school and into college. I then worked at Raggedy Threads in Little Tokyo through the rest of college, which gave me a real bug and increased my collecting and selling.
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I asked if Carlee’s time working in production has influenced the way she approaches vintage now—if it’s helped to see where brands compromise their visions for profit and cut corners, and she said yes. In bygone times, even as recent as the 90s, clothes were just made better. Even clothes from department stores and malls, although it is now clear in hindsight that era marked the beginning of the end. I have a blue trench coat from Sears from the 90s that’s made better than most things you could buy brand new today. The profit margins erode the integrity of clothing, often compromising a brand’s original ethos and vision, which is a heartbreaking thing to see. You don’t get that with vintage, though. Not if you’re looking in the right places.
We discussed this phenomenon with brands like Free People, which seemed so magical in our young adulthoods, and even Doên, which began so beautifully but seems to miss the mark for us both these days. I’ve offloaded a lot of my clothes from brands like this, instead holding onto the real stuff—the vintage, the pieces that serve as the blueprint for these contemporary brands. I believe that, somewhere along the way, many contemporary brands develop a misguided desire for exponential growth. This becomes a runaway train, because now these brands have massive overhead: employees with salaries, buildings they work from, and the factories they work with. It’s hard to scale back once you’ve gone too far, once others are relying on you for an income and livelihood.
Do you have any non-negotiable daily or weekly rituals?
Floss, moisturize, sunscreen, drink lots of water, make my bed, walk Beanie 4-5 times because I’m a guilt-ridden mom, get in a few TBM meditations.
If you had to put three things in a time capsule that defined your interior world right now—not for posterity, not to represent “the times,” just to represent you in this exact moment—what would they be?
Beanie my dog, daughter, soul mate, spirit guide, familiar. My horribly embarrassing journal. My 1960s pink pipe cleaner poodle air freshener that I’ve had in its original packaging for 5+ years and finally took out to put on my rearview mirror (which felt like a big step in the right direction for me).
Tell me one thing that’s overrated, and one thing that’s underrated.
Over: TV, even though I love it, it’s my little evil numbing tool.
Under: Jeni’s Ice Cream.
Last book you read and film you watched?
God of the Woods, A Complete Unknown.
If you were a ghost but could only haunt one thing, what would it be?
Beanie!
The last thing you underlined, highlighted, or annotated?
Daily to-do lists.
Something you ate and/or drank this week that you loved?
I had some very good Khao Soi tonight.
What is a sensation—a smell, a taste, a texture, a sound—that has unexpectedly transported you back to another time in your life? What memory did it unearth?
I walked by the middle school I live near today and got a whiff of Abercrombie or Hollister—hard to determine which these days. It transported me to the mall, back when they were just malls and not Westfields and everything seemed nicer.
What’s a project you’re working on right now, or something you’ve done recently you’re proud of? Be as shameless and indulgent as you’d like.
I just launched my Bridal Collection! This is very exciting because it was an idea that came to fruition by magic. You and our other beautiful and talented friends encouraged and supported me in every way possible. We got to use my dream location. We were guided by your husband to a magic estate sale right before where I found all the additional pieces I needed for it to come together. It feels great to do something you've said you want to do someday and have it come together so beautifully. <3
Carlee leaves us with her magical stain-removal recipe for whites, which can allegedly get decades-old blood stains out of vintage wedding dresses. Fantastic news for sweaty girls like me, who previously thought I couldn’t buy antique whites because I sweat too much and ruin them. No more ~
Love the interview and you 💝