Trying to find anything specific at a flea market is like trying to find the elusive needle in a haystack. Alas, North America’s oldest outdoor flea market, Brimfield, is the perfect place to get lost for hours – or days, or weeks even, if it were open that long – enchanted by object after object, each one stranger and a little bit more bizarre than the next. In a world where it’s becoming increasingly hard to find authentic shopping experiences in person, Brimfield is the perfect place to hunt for whimsical baubles, eclectic chunky gold necklaces, and 150-year-old gems from the Victorian era, all with time and patience. Under wooden shacks, billowing tents, and on top of thick plastic tables, you never know what you might find. Located in rural Massachusetts, the market unfurls each year across miles of empty fields for six days at a time in May, July, and September. I’ve been going for years and make a point to try to return at least once a year in May, when the sun isn’t too scorching. The market is free to attend (besides paying for parking) and divided into sections, aptly named everything from “Quaker Acres” to “New England Motel”. You can find almost anything you ever wanted at Brimfield. But my favorite thing to look for? Maximalist costume jewelry. Every time I go, I typically start out at the “Brimfield Auction Acres” area, which is ample hunting ground for jewelry with great prices. There are hundreds of vendors in this section alone, and jewelry is mostly displayed in bins or scattered on tables rather than placed under glass. Finding pieces that speak to you takes time, but almost instantly, I can tell if a particular seller is going to resonate with my style. After about an hour into my 2024 excursion, I find a tent that I love and end up buying a couple of antique books full of prints of birds and flowers, some Victorian decorated sugar eggs, two 1920s hats, and a pink Victorian era beaded bag. But no jewelry. I find myself looking at some pink depression glass a few tables over and eye a pair of massive navy blue and yellow resin earrings – the kind you can’t place a date on. They could be as early as the 1940s or as late as the early 2000s, and that’s what I love about them. I snap a quick photo and do a reverse Google image search to see if any information comes up or if there’s anything similar listed online. There’s nothing – even better. For $15, they’re an instant yes. Right before paying, I almost miss a pair of cherry red Christian Dior with matching red lenses that look to be from the 1960s. I try them on; it’s too bad they’re prescription. Before moving on to the next field, I spot a table full of cases that caught the light, and one ring in particular that I have to have: a stunning mint green and coral hued ram head cocktail ring by American designer and New York legend Hattie Carnegie. Luckily, it’s also the perfect size. Here, I also see the perfect pair of sunglasses: oversize, red, octagonal – the same exact ones Jennifer Lawrence wears in in black. They’re mine now. Across the street is “Mahogany Ridge,” which is set up with a so-called “fashion tent” full of clothes and accessories. One could easily spend a few hours here. I find a ‘60s polka dot maxi dress but no jewelry. Next, I head to the “Quaker Acres” area where there are three different covered barn structures, mostly full of jewelry, vintage bags, and delicate trinkets. Table after table after table of cases are stocked full of vintage and antique fine jewelry. I stop to look at a triple-carved shell cameo ring from the ’70s – tempting, but beyond the price point I want to pay ($650). And besides, I’m here to find costume jewelry, anyway. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy a chunky gold necklace shaped like a miniature handbag, by vintage costume jewelry brand Craft. It’s so perfect. The same vendor also has a thick, ’80s style necklace, surprisingly by Chico’s. She tells me she doesn’t sell online or anywhere else but here. In the back of my mind, I’ve also been looking for Victorian hairwork pieces – memorial jewelry made with real hair. They’ve always been a fascination of mine, even before Simone Rocha and Schiaparelli tapped into the trend for recent runway collections. I gasped when I saw a seller with a collection of hair brooches, bracelets, and pendants – it’s so rare to see them in person. I leave with two large brooches – one with black enamel and a second that swivels with dual sides. As soon as I turn around, I see a table with a dreamy green pearlescent choker, unmarked, from the 1950s likely, and a pair of Hattie Carnegie clip-on earrings that don’t perfectly match the ring I got earlier, but somehow still go with them. I know it’s fate. This seller also doesn’t sell online or have a shop. The magic of Brimfield is that many of these sellers don’t – they only do markets. So when you see something you like, it’s hard to pass it up. Nearby the barns, outside, is one of my favorite maximalist costume jewelry purveyors – who I always save for last. Hailing from West Palm Beach, almost every piece they sell is immaculately enchanting. The pieces in the case are incredible, but it’s even more fun to go through bin after bin overflowing with unorganized baggies of doorknocker necklaces and supersized clip-on earrings, most unmarked and dating as far back as the 1920s. At the table where everything cost $20, I load up on hulking gold chain necklaces, a pearl ring containing a perfume locket, an antique brooch with hands, and white square-shaped hoops with gold details. The sellers chat with me about the recent demand for authentic American costume jewelry and how it’s getting harder and harder to keep pieces in stock, as international buyers request virtual buying appointments. I can’t resist making one final round in the barns, or leaving behind a Mary Frances pumpkin-shaped bag embellished with beads and crystals. (I love a good novelty bag.) Out of the corner of my eye, I spy a pair of face earrings in a case at the same vendor’s table. I almost don’t ask about them, but when I do and I find out they cost only $7, I’m pleasantly surprised. Just when I think I’m done, I pass by a vendor with rows and rows of rings – all $3 – and choose a pink glass one shaped like a shell. With that, I’ve secured all the secondhand maximalist costume jewelry I need – at least until next year.
Brimfield Flea Market: A Treasure Trove of Maximalist Costume Jewelry
