Holy shit, does the Gold Door have a lot of holy stuff. With statuettes and jewelry depicting everything from Buddha to Kali, the Virgin Mary and even Michael Jackson, Gold Door is the goddess of faith-based art. Crystals and gems abound in a sea of hand-pounded metal jewelry, and there's even a basement full of furniture. Whether you're seeking a small jade elephant or a gigantic wooden penis (for fertility), Gold Door is an exotic art treasure chest.
Skulls carved from various minerals ($85-$285).
Portland is rife with vintage stores, but only one feels like a labyrinth even David Bowie couldn't navigate. House of Vintage is a 13,000-square-foot maze of treasures (including a half-off bargain attic) from 55 independent vendors, all under one roof. It's the only place you could find vintage smut, Dr. Mario, clothing, a velvet painting of a matador, chandeliers, couches, one-eyed dolls and stuffed animals (both plush and dead) under one roof.
A faux bronze bust of an English schoolboy ($18)—why not?
Like a cozy little Saturday Market without the tourists and street musicians (except for the buskers outside), Presents of Mind specializes in local goods. Inexpensive jewelry dominates display shelves; clothing racks hold handmade dresses, shawls and baby onesies with Portland logos; and an endless collection of cards feature artists' sentiments for any occasion.
Locally made necklaces, bracelets, rings and earrings ($15 and up).
Signs throughout the Third Eye Shoppe implore buyers not to call the shop's water pipes the B-word. But goddamn does the hippie emporium and perpetrator of perplexing late-night commercials have a massive collection of bongs—the converted bungalow is a museum of locally blown water pipes, one-hitters, steamrollers and Sherlocks ranging from $5 to $500. Add an assortment of oils, jewelry and everything else a hippie needs to go green and you've got one of Portland's best head shops.
The VaporGenie portable vaporizer ($60).
Hawthorne oddity the Dollar Scholar, which recently relocated from an old house down the road to the offices of a psychic, is all the stranger in its new digs: There are five rooms of random goodies spread out like a maze of savings (the place even offers a floor map). But some things never change. Co-owner Scott Corrie still greets customers by showing off goodies like trick dice and magic tricks, Dollar the dog still roams the store looking for belly rubs, and a vintage area still sports some of the city's least expensive secondhand clothing. For stocking stuffers, Dollar Scholar is the most Portlandian of bargain bins—it's like somebody fired a shotgun full of trinkets in the store. Where else could you walk out with a movie poster, fake poop, trick dice, a cap gun, a tiara, soap, paper towels, a deck of cards, incense, a fortune fish and a big grin for $10?
One of many varieties of fake poop ($1), perfect stocking-stuffer alternatives for coal and a great secret Santa gift for a dickhead boss.