Readers, you know how I love regaling you with superfluous details on how I arrive at inconsequential news? Here’s my latest tale. A trail. Of breadcrumbs. To discovery.

The conversation.
It started when I was ringing out a customer’s order. We were chatting a bit, though not at all in a salesy way, because I like to practice my personal ideal of customer service. I was giving her some advice on the little-known services our store offers and she ended up giving me her card.

Her business, a consignment boutique called Urbanity.

“So, if I have a BCBG jacket that I want to ‘pass on,’ I bring it to you?” I asked.

“Yes, exactly. We just opened a few months ago in North Berkeley.” She explained Urbanity’s mode of operation. From the sound of it, she ran a high-end fashion boutique. Selective clothing recyclers more trustworthy than Buffalo or Crossroads. “We pick more of designer and boutique labels,” she said.

This was fantastic news to me. I have a few fashion pieces that I’ve outgrown in one way or another, and though I’m happy to donate the ones that are out of style but in good condition, I’d rather see some sort of monetary return for the ones that are in style and in good condition and were really expensive in the first place.

Shop Urbanity.
So I dry-cleaned a few dresses this week: an FCUK mini bubble-ish thing, an Industry way-too-feminine-for-me thing, and a Donna Ricco that I like to call “The Stepford Wives” dress. I also brought that BCBG jacket (I’m just done with it.) and a pair of Franco Sarto flats that go against my “no shoes should give me pain” philosophy.

Wouldn’t you know it? They took the stuff I didn’t pay to have cleaned.

As they picked over my offerings, I perused the rest of the store and was really pleased with their selection. The women who did their buying obviously had a keen fashion sense for the edgy yet organic kind of Bay Area fashionista. All pieces were clean, all well taken care of, and all definitely wearable and timely. The lowest of the pieces I saw was a Nor*Cal graphic tee, but some Berkeley hippie could have totally made that an urban-distressed fashion statement. The more prolific labels in the house were the things that cost about $80 and up at Nordstrom.

Though the main purpose of my trip was to “streamline,” “not clutter,” I did end up walking out with a couple of new additions to my closet. I whittled four down to two: an indie designer dress with a graphic of a smoking pigeon on the front and back (I don’t have any strong feelings toward pigeons and the thought of a flying rodent smoking a cigarette on a dress was too random to pass up.) and an OK47 graphic tee with a design of a cockfight on the front (Don’t know what was up with me and birds that day. I don’t condone cockfighting. The graphic just looks beautiful.).

Also, the prices rocked.

If there’s one thing lacking at Urbanity it’s the more urban, not urbane, line of style one could probably find at Buffalo or Crossroads. I wish there was a more streetwear-friendly version of Urbanity, one that recycled trendy fashions as much as timeless fashions. I don’t think such an establishment exists. Unless you count the random luggage store where I bought a 2XL tall tee for a Baydestrian Halloween costume that never saw the light of day – Their return policy was “Just bring the T-shirt back. You don’t need tags or a receipt.” Does that even count as an exchange policy?

The OK47 shirt stood out quite a bit in comparison to the rest of the racks in the store, and I realized I missed OK47. They’re a very quintessential Urban Outfitters brand. Naturally, I had to find their online store and see what else they had available.

Bye-bye, OK47.
Now we get to the end of the story. OK47 is closing. Closing! A logo I’ve always considered while trying on clothes at kitschy hipster-esque boutiques is closing. Tomorrow. Their run as a brand ends on September 15th. Again, that’s tomorrow.

It’s always a little weird to rediscover something and then find out it’s on its last legs. Like the time I went to my family’s favorite pho joint by myself on a whim and they told me they were closing the next day. I wanted to cry and host a funeral. Another time, my mother took my sister and me to our favorite Chinese restaurant, where we were friends with the owners and I shook Kristi Yamaguchi’s hand. At the door, the owner stopped us and said, “We’re closed. No more business.” This was a high-end place with mother of pearl monograms inlaid into the high backs of the dark wooden carved chairs. We just happened to crave their house soup on the very night that they were closing their doors. It felt like part of my existence had died because someone I depended upon as a caterer to my style was moving on. “But, but, you know exactly how I like it!”

So there it is. There is a turnover of brands just as there is turnover in design staff, business personnel, government officials. It’s funny how we personify organizations when they do something so mortal as “close,” which is basically the same as “die.” That restaurant or fashion label becomes a living organism only in the time you know it to be deceased. One can only hope it decomposes into the ground to give birth to a new Fine Establishment.

Not like the one time I went on a quarterly pilgrimmage to the only store I liked in the Great Mall, just to find out its rental space was to be remodeled into a Verizon store. Ouch. Rest in peace, Mojo.

In the meantime, massive sale at OK47! He-ey!