I want to shop secondhand. An easy sentence to say (or maybe more accurately: type). It always garners some encouragement from friends, some virtue in the eyes of others. It’s a quick crowd pleaser, and a throw away comment I make a lot. But really, it’s a slow, enthusiasm draining reality.
Don’t get me wrong, as a recovering charity-shop-addict, I am all too aware of the allure of secondhand shopping, it’s fun and unpredictable. But only when you’re looking for nothing in particular. When you’re looking for something specific? That’s when the frustration begins.
Recently, I’ve been on the prowl for a beige trench coat. Think Elizabeth James from the Parent Trap. I made regular pilgrimages to the Morningside, Bruntsfield, Tollcross, Newington and even – on one occasion – Stockbridge charity shops. But to no avail. For a few months I sulked the rails. Looking, but never finding.
And then I bumped into a (now former) friend. She was gleefully brandishing her new beige trench, that she had all too gleefully purchased from the charity shop opposite my flat. I know. The audacity. Our friendship was quickly terminated, and I refuse to move on even now. But eventually, after a prolonged period of mourning, I finally conceded and invested in a brand new trench. I decided that maybe it’s better to get one that fits just right and that’s in good nick, one that I’m totally head over heels in love with, so that I can treasure and wear it for years to come. A true investment – and a mindset that would make Confessions of a Shopaholic’s Becky Bloomwood proud – just, I don’t know, Google the reference if you’re ill-versed in 00s romcoms.
But this is the issue with second hand shopping: it’s so easy to find things you want, but not want you need. So often you end up having to buy new for those things that you’re desperate for, and just use “sustainable shopping” as a justification filling your wardrobe with unnecessary clutter.
The fact that items are one of a kind, and the shops are popular with students who have similar tastes and would snatch that leather jacket means the whole shopping experience can create bad choices. I know that I for one have often bought charity shop purchases that I snapped up in the moment – scared they’d go if I didn’t, and I’d regret it forever – only to wear them a few times before moving on, unhappy with the fit, the colour, or the fact they don’t go with anything else in my wardrobe. Keeping a clear head can be hard, and your head can end up as muddled as the racks of M&S jumper in front of you.
It seems we have forgotten the most sacred rule of responsible fashion: the most sustainable choice is the one already in your wardrobe. It’s not just about the origin of your purchases, but also their future: are they going to be reworn time after time?
“Charity Shops, Great Moor Street. Bolton, Greater Manchester” by mrrobertwade (wadey) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
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Does secondhand shopping promote good shopping habits?
I want to shop secondhand. An easy sentence to say (or maybe more accurately: type). It always garners some encouragement from friends, some virtue in the eyes of others. It’s a quick crowd pleaser, and a throw away comment I make a lot. But really, it’s a slow, enthusiasm draining reality.
Don’t get me wrong, as a recovering charity-shop-addict, I am all too aware of the allure of secondhand shopping, it’s fun and unpredictable. But only when you’re looking for nothing in particular. When you’re looking for something specific? That’s when the frustration begins.
Recently, I’ve been on the prowl for a beige trench coat. Think Elizabeth James from the Parent Trap. I made regular pilgrimages to the Morningside, Bruntsfield, Tollcross, Newington and even – on one occasion – Stockbridge charity shops. But to no avail. For a few months I sulked the rails. Looking, but never finding.
And then I bumped into a (now former) friend. She was gleefully brandishing her new beige trench, that she had all too gleefully purchased from the charity shop opposite my flat. I know. The audacity. Our friendship was quickly terminated, and I refuse to move on even now. But eventually, after a prolonged period of mourning, I finally conceded and invested in a brand new trench. I decided that maybe it’s better to get one that fits just right and that’s in good nick, one that I’m totally head over heels in love with, so that I can treasure and wear it for years to come. A true investment – and a mindset that would make Confessions of a Shopaholic’s Becky Bloomwood proud – just, I don’t know, Google the reference if you’re ill-versed in 00s romcoms.
But this is the issue with second hand shopping: it’s so easy to find things you want, but not want you need. So often you end up having to buy new for those things that you’re desperate for, and just use “sustainable shopping” as a justification filling your wardrobe with unnecessary clutter.
The fact that items are one of a kind, and the shops are popular with students who have similar tastes and would snatch that leather jacket means the whole shopping experience can create bad choices. I know that I for one have often bought charity shop purchases that I snapped up in the moment – scared they’d go if I didn’t, and I’d regret it forever – only to wear them a few times before moving on, unhappy with the fit, the colour, or the fact they don’t go with anything else in my wardrobe. Keeping a clear head can be hard, and your head can end up as muddled as the racks of M&S jumper in front of you.
It seems we have forgotten the most sacred rule of responsible fashion: the most sustainable choice is the one already in your wardrobe. It’s not just about the origin of your purchases, but also their future: are they going to be reworn time after time?
“Charity Shops, Great Moor Street. Bolton, Greater Manchester” by mrrobertwade (wadey) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
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