From Fur to Vintage

When I walked into a thrift store a year ago, the musty scent would settle into my nasal cavities by the time I reached the first rack of clothing. Bargain deals in bold letters were based on the color of the tag. Racks of clothing were so close together you were practically swimming in a pool of cloth. The same old couples would be wandering the lines of home goods, their mouths dropping when they find a beautiful lamp or an unseen perfect photo frame. The teenagers who call themselves "hippies" would run down the racks, fighting for the last wool sweater.

I have been a frequent-going thrifter since my sophomore year of high school. Being the friend who always runs to the clearance section in Urban Outfitters (whoever doesn't definitely have their mum's credit card), when I realized that Goodwill offers clothes for $6-$10, I was ecstatic. Why wouldn't people be crowding the tightly-knit racks of color-coded clothing??

The first time I went into a second-hand store, my mum took me to the local Salvation Army. Being a nine-year-old girl, I took my mum's opinion very seriously. She loved donating all of her old clothes, she described it as a "sense of release". But going inside meant touching surfaces and baskets that have been touched by a lot of other people.

Grabbing her two Hefty bags full of Fashion Bug and Gap clothing, my mom lugged her bags onto the counter. I let go of her hand to turn and face the department store stocked full of clothing. Fashion Bug, Levi's, Gap, even Aeropostale was there! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I ran to the back of the store, picking out the perfect jacket for school on Monday, while my mum called to me that I had five minutes before I was out of there with a large dollop of hand sanitizer.

Guiding my hands through puffy jackets and dusty Nike soccer jerseys, I spread the rack to find a jean jacket lined with pink faux fur. Oh. My. Gosh.

I ran to my mother and begged her for the jacket. I think she literally shook at the sight of me trying it on, the pink fur wrapping around my neck like a scarf. After prying it off of me, she nodded unwillingly and paid the five dollars. The jacket survived two whole years of my elementary school career.

At nine years old, I begged my mom to drive me to the thrift store. I saved up my allowance for cool thrift clothes. But she wouldn't budge. She hated germs and hated the idea of digging around other people's clothes. I think her pushback was a big reason why I loved it.

I got my license my sophomore year. My first stop driving alone was going to the local Goodwill. I loved the musty smell that met my nasal cavities by the time I hit the first rack. The bargain deals scattered across my field of vision as my arms grew tired with more and more items. I knew I was in the right place. I even learned how to try on clothes within two minutes so if they felt itchy, the feeling wouldn't last for long. I loved every moment of it.

When the pandemic hit, so many parts of my life changed. I couldn't study in the local coffee shops. There was nowhere to try on clothes, only size charts on websites that never fit right. I stopped shopping completely and lived through the summer on my $5 denim jeans.

My mother begged me to buy shorts. "For god sake Isabella, it's 70 degrees out and you are working in a freaking restaurant all day! I refused. My entire wardrobe was now thrifted items, hand-selected by yours truly. How could I ever go back to spending more than $10 on a pair of jeans??

On April 4th, the local Goodwill opened. Thirty people max in the store, masks required, every item sanitized and quarantined for two days. My mum and I got our usual Dunkin order and she dropped me off at the Goodwill while she ran errands.

I stepped inside with my medical mask on and a cardigan wrapped around my body that I would quarantine myself after shopping. Rows of clothing were distanced apart, allowing customers to view each article of clothing in their own space. The local old people were still there, eyeing each new cabinet and bedside table that people had decided to drop off through quarantine. New articles of clothing with major brand names wrapped around the store. Everyone had dropped off their nice yet never worn clothing. It felt like Christmas! I ran through my usual routine, singing a song quietly while observing each article of clothing that caught my eye. Instead of trying on, I stood my a mirror for five minutes, using Instagram hacks to see if items fit. After putting the waists of jeans around my neck and sliding my arms into sleeves, I was ready to check out.

Thrifting has always been a therapeutic way of shopping for myself. I love thinking about who has lived through these clothes and I find it amazing when a cool pair of pants or a vintage t-shirt finds itself in my closet for years. It is a true gift to this world, from recycling to fashionable. It is how I represent myself to this world and how I will continue to express myself.