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Let me set the scene: I’m near my son’s university in Oregon, my husband is patiently waiting in the car (probably wondering why this always happens), my suitcase is half-zipped in the trunk, and I’ve got a plane to catch. But I find it—a promising antique store with that magical musty smell and rows of dusty treasures just waiting to be discovered.

And here’s where things take a turn.

I walk in with high hopes and a caffeine buzz. But within minutes? I’m spiraling. My heart is racing. My brain is whirring. There are too many shelves. Too many bins. Too many things I might miss. I don’t have time to dig, flip, inspect, or Google. My phone has one bar of service. I can’t even focus long enough to commit to a strategy. Do I go glassware first? Peek behind the counter? Check for hidden Pyrex? WHAT IF THERE’S A CATHERINE HOLM BOWL UNDER THAT TIN TRAY???

Reader—I bought nothing.

I walked out with a wildly spiked heart rate and zero purchases. Just me, some slight chest tightness, and a firm mental note to never thrift again under a time crunch. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself once I got back in the car.

Is this just me? Or do other vintage lovers get that same frantic, FOMO-fueled rush when you stumble into a promising place but don’t have enough time to do it right?

Let’s call it what it is: Thrifter’s Anxiety Syndrome. No known cure except ample time, good lighting, and the possibility of snacks.

Would love to hear your own stories of “panic picking.” Let’s bond over the ones that got away