The Time I Was a Flippant Flapper

Last night I dreamt that I was a flapper, but I was nearing thirty, unmarried, and watching my inheritance trickle away. I decided to remedy my situation by getting a new outfit, attending a fancy opera, and catching a husband as soon as possible. I got my ticket and swept off to buy an outfit with my chaperone/maid. And where does a dream-flapper get reasonably priced fancy clothing? you ask. Why, at the vintage clothing store! Hahaha! The store and everything in it had that musty-sweaty-oily vintage clothing smell, but I found some nice, if wrinkled, pieces. I also decided to strip down and try some dresses on in the middle of the store because I didn't care who saw. I was a modern woman! A jellybean was in the men's section of the store. I'm sure he noticed me changing, and I was a bit intrigued but also frustrated that another poor, useless hipster was interested in me rather than the steel barons I wanted to attract. I considered how a vintage shop in the 1920s probably wouldn't sell clothes from the 1920s, and if it did, the clothes probably wouldn't be all old-smelling and faded, and then I woke up.

Why are the poor ones always the romantic ones?