Robert Owens lights up a cigar and eases into a wooden chair. He’s relaxed, watching the cars go by behind large puffs of smoke. The animals in the neighborhood casually pass by him- they are used to his presence.
Owens finds himself in this scenario nearly every day on the front porch of his masculine shop at the corner of 8th and Madison, Mantiques. His cigar-smoking, take-it-easy aura has fashioned the shop into a temple where zen and curiosity meet.
He was first curious out of happenstance. His parents owned an antique shop where he spent his childhood before entering the Marine Corps as a young adult. After his time in the corps, he naturally found his way back to the antiques business.
“I knew it,” he says. “It was a comfort thing for me.”
Growing up, Owens observed the intentionality that his parents took in selecting the items they sold.
“My dad dealt with a lot of CAP guns, BB guns and toys from the ‘50s,” he explains. “That was his childhood.”
Owens noticed a pattern in how the antique market trended depending on the era. He found that catering to the nostalgia of middle-aged people was the most lucrative strategy.
“Those are the people with the disposable income now to buy toys from their childhood,” he says. “I have to adapt to ‘70s and ‘80s toys.”
He first began selling on his own in the late ‘90s and early 2000s, setting up booths at antique shows across the country.
“One of the promoters of the show told me I should promote the show for them,” he says. “If I promote anything, I’m opening up my own store.”
Antiques can be repetitive, it’s hard for one place to stand out over another. If Owens was really going to start his own shop, it needed to have a clear brand.
“Most antique shops sell quills and tea cups,” he says. “I call that grandma’s antiques.”
Owens wasn’t interested in “grandma’s antiques,” instead opting to target male customers with machismo relics from bygone years. Inside, you’ll find old advertising displays, gas station equipment and classic cameras.
“During the antique shows I tried to cater more to men,” he explains. “It was a natural transition when I opened the store. Don’t ask me the price of this maker of china versus this maker. I don’t know. I lean towards the stuff I like.”
Twelve years removed from his grand opening on Bishop Arts, many other vintage stores have sprouted in the area, but Owens isn’t worried.
“I don’t deal with a lot of clothing,” he says. “There’s plenty of vintage clothing shops around here. There’s Dolly Python, Rare Heart Vintage. … I’m not here to compete with anybody. I’m here to sell something that they don’t.”
