One of the occasional perks of my job is wardrobe and prop sales.
Most of the really nice (read: expensive) stuff is rented, but the cheaper stuff is usually purchased, in multiples, and kept beyond the date by which it can be returned to the store.
There are reasons for this, of course – spills, tears, and daily wear make multiple items necessary, and hanging onto the items for so long is a must in case there are re-shoots.
So a few times a year, the nice folks in wardrobe will let the crew pick through the racks and sell off some fairly nice things for Salvation Army prices.
Today, I was really in the right place at the right time.
As we breakfasted before call, one of the costumers wheeled up a rack and told us to grab whatever we wanted, gratis.
Most of the items had weird logos on them, but a few things were really nice and (I hoped) my size.
I wasn’t sure because I couldn’t try anything on.
As totally willing as I was to whip off my top at the old Barney’s warehouse sale (deep discounts, no dressing rooms), I have to pretend to maintain some semblance of professionalism at work, which means just guessing on the size and hoping.
Of the five tops I got, four fit, which is pretty good.
One item that I thought might be too big was, predictably, too big.
But it’s a really nice soft cotton T-shirt so I might just wear it anyways.
Tomorrow, I’m on a special effects shoot which will mainly be sitting around and wondering where my life went so fucking off course.
At least I’ll look good.
Filed under: studio lots, Work, California, clothing, discount, Los Angeles, movies, shopping, television, used clothing, wardrobe
Totally Unauthorized 
Having long been terminally challenged in all matters sartorial, I have only two decent dress shirts to my name, both of which were part of Alan Alda’s wardrobe for the TV movie on which I got my 30 days. At the end-of-shoot sale, I threw myself on the mercy of the wardrobe department, confessing my own abysmal taste when it comes to choosing clothes and asking them to pick out a couple of shirts for me. After a few minutes going through the racks, they sold me with two nice silk shirts for forty bucks — shirts I still wear whenever the occasion demands that I look somewhat more presentable than the homeless people down on Fifth Street.