Perhaps this only happens to experienced “thrifters,” but sometimes your second-hand radar just takes you to the rack that holds the perfect item of clothing for you. I’ve experienced this often, but the thrill never gets old. This time, a sun-drenched afternoon in November 2021, was different.
I’d found the perfect pair of True Religion jeans within moments of entering a San Francisco thrift store, but my stomach felt hollow. I could have come here multiple times with Saskia. Why had I waited for her death before visiting her new home? We met at university in Australia when we were 19 and soon became firm friends, connected by a love of drinking, clubbing and unsuitable boys, although still taking our studies (fairly) seriously.
We were both taller than average and adored fashion. We took part in a few modelling shoots together. When I moved to London after finishing my degree, she – in those pre- social media days – was one of the few people I stayed in contact with.
I flew home for her 2003 wedding, and she was a guest at mine two years later. Our friendship entered a new phase when she moved to London with her husband’s work, by which time we were both young mothers. Our riotous twenties felt like a distant memory as we spent our time together pushing children on swings, picnicking in parks and hosting weekend barbecues with our husbands.
I felt so lucky to be in this phase of my life with an old friend when I was so far from home. And then, in 2010, her hus.