this is your brain on the sandy liang sample sale
"a resource-guarding, scarcity mindset took over"—rosa jisoo pyo reports back on new york's unofficial bargain bow bonanza.
I’ve always been mesmerized by the spectacle that is the annual Sandy Liang sample sale. As a Californian, I used to get SO achingly jealous that I wasn’t there. (This was during the peak of my Sandy obsession).
But now, at 31, I’ve mellowed out on sample sale FOMO. I have also simply lost my tolerance for long lines and getting shoulder-checked by fellow bargain huntresses. Sample sales are a younger woman’s game; I’m happy to watch the chaos and thrill from afar.
So, today’s newsletter is written by guest contributor Rosa Jisoo Pyo, a style, culture, and beauty writer in New York City. She has written for Vogue, Teen Vogue, Dazed, The Cut, and more. We have been long distance pen pal friends for a few years now, and met for the first time IRL when I was at NYFW this winter!
Handing it over to Rosa now :)
P.S. If you are Mika, Ellen, Bridget, or any of the gals in line who posed for a photo or gave a quote for the story, email me at [vivthemole@gmail.com] for a comped month’s subscription.
It’s trench coat season.
Both classic and cropped versions littered the line to the Sandy Liang sample sale.
When I came on Friday at 3pm, only ten-ish people were ahead of me in the line. I was gobsmacked. TikTok videos of the sale, which started two days ago, showed lines snaking through the streets of Chinatown. People waited hours before the 12pm opening. One woman even took a bus from Boston. But I was inside in less than twenty five minutes.
While I waited in line, I met Ellen and Bridget, who were experiencing their first Sandy Liang sample sale. For them, there was no budget, no hard limit. They simply had to see what was in stock.
Ellen wanted the red flower arm wristlet and a pair of the designer’s signature satin ballet flats. Bridget wanted the big bow purse in cream. I wanted a pair of silver nautical shell hoops and maybe a hair clip.
“I called off [work] because we went to the Betsy Johnson pop-up and we saw Betsy Johnson. I’m just happy I called off because we got to see her, and take photos and videos of her,” Ellen said, “And then we came here.”
I saluted them as I went inside, and they wished me luck in finding the earrings. To enforce the no photo policy, dot stickers were placed over our phone cameras. Those with oversized bags had to place them in a designated area.
And then we were in.
An electric green sheer tulle dress greeted me.
Among it were three long rows of racks separated by garment type and, vaguely, by size. The left side of the room had jewelry, socks, and accessories. The wall in the very back had purses. A small room in the back right was filled with shoes. It felt like one of those carnival fun houses, but for coquette-ish wares.
A classic JBL black speaker was plugged into the wall and awkwardly stood on its side like a pointe shoe. The windows were covered with brown paper with its corners held down by pink tape. There were flimsy mirrors here and there, but we were not allowed to try any clothes on, just press the hangers against our bodies.
It was a bit ludicrous for the hundreds of dollars people were spending, but hey—sample sale rules.
I approached the closest rack on the right. Tempted by the Delia dress, which was marked down from $475 to $200, I snatched it up in an XS just in case—again, sample sale rules. However, the unlined nature of the white dress and drop waist caught me off guard. Five minutes went by before I recognized how much I didn’t need it, and with wise embarrassment, put it back on the rack.