Working within Eclectiques has always felt fated to me. From a young age I roamed the cave-like halls of this antique mall. When I think about it, I never “got into” vintage or antiques. I’ve always just found them & had them. I never thought of Eclectiques as a place with old things. Maybe random things. Maybe weird things. But I never saw them as old or used. Even though I fully knew that they were in fact, old…and used.

Maybe it was because my Great Grandmother, Ethel, who I adored with my whole heart and was lucky enough to get 10 years of life with, had such immaculate taste in her time, that the things at this mall felt less like relics and more like something “every home should have.” The swung vases, Native American art, and low profile furniture; piles of cast iron cookware, copper pots, and crystal glasses; stacks of weathered, heavily read books—none of this was out of the ordinary for me. In fact, I had always known these things. I had Blenko vases in my childhood bedroom, not because I’m fancy, but because they were my GGs and I loved her and they were all of her I had left.

And that’s exactly how I fell in love with things. They reminded me of someone or something I loved. And the people I loved? Tasteful, chic, brilliant individuals. That’s just dumb luck. Not everyone associates their grandmothers with silk sofas and velvet pantsuits (NOT VELOUR). Few grandfathers collect art of the locale they live in, so that the walls of their seaside home reflect the marshy view out the back windows. Even fewer take the time to invite the artists over to see their work be beloved, to sit down with them and ask them the why, the how & who, behind their passions. Few people see their grandparents as globetrotting adventurers and are bestowed with tiny treasures from the farthest reaches of the Earth before they realized they were actually just Chevy dealers with really great sales records.

Myth always came first for me. Objects just held all the stories and energy. We put it there together, my loved ones and I. Each item is about connection, and a collection becomes less a display of worth and more a visual history of love and remembrance. So yeah, I fucking love stuff. I love it like I love my life. Everything around me is a trophy of love, curiosity, and memory.

Eclectiques is an absolute menagerie of stories. Not just the items for sale, but the people who bring them, their vibrant souls coloring 1000s of homes across this city; the building itself that has been an antique hoard for decades and a community fixture for decades before that; the business owners’, whose family legacy is rooted in the art of collecting and service to their community.

It’s not just a shop, it’s so much more. Every ounce of that place has soul. Being tasked with communicating these notions is monumental. Because really it feels a bit silly to be so passionate about what is a literal pile of overpriced junk to some people. But I know how much something so small and seemingly insignificant can mean to someone. I know how the smallest thing can bring back a lifetime of memories. And I know that concept is not something that can be communicated in a single Instagram Reel.

I will continue to tell Eclectiques’ story as long as I’m asked to. I will tell it in a million different ways from as many perspectives as possible. I will tell it as it changes and morphs into something new--as it has for years and years and years. Because it is part of my story and so many others’. Coming to work in this business opened me up to a world of people who felt things just like I did. People who remember the little things, celebrate them, get excited to talk to someone who’s excited about something too.

This is my place, made possible by my people. What a privilege it is to be highlighting all this for anyone who’s willing to watch.