In the mid 90's my parents, Jackie and Dave Williams*, opened King Tut's Booth-- a bustling merchandise store that resided in the heart of the Panama Canal Zone. They sold items related to Black history & culture, and the Hip-Hop & grassroots Reggaetón movement of the era.
"When Reggaetón blew up in Panama so did King Tut's Booth," Jackie said.
Reggaetón originated in Panama after Jamaican and other Caribbean workers were brought to the country to work on the construction of the Panama Canal. When these
West Indian migrants brought their Afrocentric music to Panama it was translated into Spanish and combined with dancehall; and thus 'Reggae en Espanol' was formed.
In the 90s this genre of music boomed. The term Reggaetón was coined, and it became it's own culture. Reggaetoneros (Reggaetón artists) wanted cool outfits to represent their style. They wanted clothing that tied in hip-hop aesthetics with the Jamaican culture that Reggae originated from. "They started wearing our clothing," Jackie said.
There was no other place in the country were you could purchase so much Black cultural merch. "We had Egyptian stuff, African stuff, African American, Jamaican," Jackie said.
And word got around fast. "People that were in other malls would come over and say 'Ay, I came over because some folks are saying you've got all kinds of stuff,'" said Dave.
"Store owners desperately wanted to buy from us so that they could have our rare items in their own shops," Jackie said.
King Tut's Booth quickly became a hot spot. "On busy days we'd have huge crowds," said Dave. "To entertain the crowds we'd set up large speakers outside, trays of food on tables, and have staff passing around drinks to shoppers."
King Tut's Booth was more than a shop, it was a party--a celebration of culture.
"People would come in dancing!" Dave said. "Even people that were just driving down the street would hear the music coming from the store or see the crowd and they'd turn around and come in."
Despite the shop's success, my parents had bigger dreams. "The main reason for closing down was that we wanted to leave," said Dave. "We were leaving the country and a lot of our primary customers were doing the same."
After making the bold decision to completely pack up their life and immigrate to America in 1997, their store had to go too. The unsold merch was put away in a 'vault' and all items went untouched.
For years, my parents dreamed of reopening their shop. They imagined King Tut's Booth in a lively open-air mall in Miami surrounded by other boutiques.
My parents ventured after Coconut Grove and locals malls but they were met with challenges.
"Even a little cart in Coconut Grove was too expensive," Dave said. "We also knew other malls in South Florida would be expensive, but we learned they had an exclusivity on the type of merch that they would allow in their mall."
The Black culture items my parents sold didn't fit into the image some malls wanted to uphold. "African American, hip-hop and rap style tees weren't on their list," Dave said. "They wanted to be an exclusive white rich mall."
Miami's exorbitant rent prices and cultural-intolerances locked my parent's dreams back in the vault.
Nearly three decades later, however, a new opportunity opened up.
2020 marked a shift for many. By November, I was living at home with little to do, struggling to find a job after graduating in the midst of the global pandemic. I was bored, spending (maybe a little too much of) my time on social media and I began to notice a trend-- fashion was shifting as well.
At the pandemic's height in spring 2020, fashion spending plummeted a record 79%. In later months, when people went back to spending, they were spending in different places. For Gen-Z it was thrift stores, and platforms like Depop and Lyst stood at the forefront of online shopping.
As Emily Farra reports in Vogue, 2020 became a big year for old clothes. "In September, when many of us were thinking about our fall wardrobes, 'vintage fashion' generated more than 35,000 new searches on Lyst," Farra reports. "While entries for secondhand-related keywords increased 104%."
Vintage clothing was hot, and I knew where I could find lots of it.
I shared my findings with my mom and told her that we might be able to make profit selling some items from her old shop on Depop, and thus the Culture Vault was unlocked and my pandemic project began.
For weeks, every inch of my bedroom was covered in boxes of merchandise.
I'd cycle through the daily routine of unboxing, inspecting for stains and damage, researching item value, logging inventory into a spreadsheet. Then, I'd model the item and upload it to my store. It was a tedious, but rewarding process and the shop gained positive attention quickly.
The Culture Vault stands as a revival of the culture and nostalgia from the mid 90s; bringing back authentic vintage merchandise from the era we love to remember. Today, we're nearing the shop's two year anniversary with a total of 329 followers, 53 sales, and a 5 star rating on Depop.
It may seem small, but for a store that thought it would never see business again, it's felt huge.
When asked to share how she felt about the revival of her shop, Jackie said this: "I feel fantastic. Especially knowing that my own daughter took the lead in taking this shop to the next level with a new image. That makes me very proud."
So go on, unlock some culture and shop The Culture Vault.
[All photos taken by my parents and me.]
*Last name was requested to be changed for privacy reasons.