Have you ever noticed how frumpy some rich women are? I’m thinking Barbara Bush. I’m thinking Margaret Thatcher. I’m thinking Queen Elizabeth. Well, it’s no accident: it’s deliberate. Someone from a ritzy old-money family explained to me that, “Being fashionable shows lack of character.” So now, when I meet some Nouveau Beverly Hills type dressed head-to-toe in Prada-Yada-Yada, I think to myself, “Aha, she lacks character.” And the funny thing is, it usually turns out to be true.

Well, I think I have character but I’m not rich enough to aspire to frumpiness. Sure, I have my dowdy moments of elastic-waist pants and socks with sandals. But I also lust after pretty, stylish things. Lots of them. Here’s how I find them – for next-to-no-money:

YARD – TAG – GARAGE SALES
My addiction began when we moved from New York to Los Angeles. We were invited to our first big-time Hollywood party. There were going to be celebs at this event, and I needed something glitzy. On my way to Loehmann’s in Beverly Hills, I passed by a yard sale and found this fabulous Lillie Rubin jacket covered in sparkly red sequins and beads. The price was twenty bucks and that’s when I decided I would never buy retail again.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t yet learned that L. A. is the land of the casual. They’re so laid back they don’t even pronounce the whole word: it’s the land of the caszzz. The party turned out to be an informal barbecue. All the skinny blondes were in jeans. I was a sparkly, sequined idiot, but it was too late: I had been bitten by the second-hand bug and have never recovered.

There are actually two different kinds of yard sales. One is the private person who is moving, empty-nesting, spring-cleaning – whatever. You can find plenty of good stuff here, but it’s catch-as-catch-can. If you’re willing to wade through disorganized piles of worthless crap – which I am – you just might find that one great item. I just scored a silk tunic for fifty cents. It was reversible, so you could say I bought two tunics for a quarter each.

On Thursday I start checking the ads in the L.A. Times, Craig’s List, The Pennysaver, and our local neighborhood weekly. I can often tell from the ad if the sale is right for me. If they feature kids’ stuff or surfboards, I stay away. (But when my Danish sister-in-law visits, we check out these places and she finds tons of brand new toys for her grandchildren in Copenhagen.) By Saturday morning, I’ve compiled my list, put the first address into the GPS, and we’re off and running.

I’m happiest when a whole block or entire neighborhood does a group sale and I can just stroll from house to house, getting landscaping ideas as I examine the goodies.
Even urban areas are catching on to the garage sale phenomenon. There are no garages or front lawns, but people are inventive. I’ve been to “stoop sales” in Brooklyn – where people sell their stuff from the front steps of their apartment building while they enjoy their morning danish and The Sunday Times.

ESTATE SALES
These are the upscale cousins of the yard sale. They are usually well organized by a pro who has been hired to liquidate the possessions of a deceased person. Since I’m on the hunt for vintage clothing and jewelry, and my husband collects rare books, we like buying from dead people. These two-or-three-day events can be pricier than ordinary yard sales, so I tend to go on the last day, when things are usually half-off.

I walked into one such sale and they had a basket of sunglasses for $5 each. The lenses were scratched-up and useless, but the frames were Fendi, Armani, Prada, and the like. I bought them all, and had the lenses replaced with my prescription. Clever, yes?

My husband, Benni, is Danish and – just like the ex-Mrs. Keillor – he hates to shop. I pick up stuff for him when I can, but certain things need to be tried on. Benni needed a suit, and I saw an ad that the Boston Legal wardrobe department was getting rid of its inventory. I dragged him to the sale, with the promise that if he bought some clothes I would go with him to one of those brainless Hollywood comedies made for prepubescent boys of all ages. It was a fair trade: I actually almost laughed at least twice, and Benni now proudly sports his Zegna suit ($120) and Hugo Boss jacket ($40). The jacket has a name written onto the label: James Spader!