I did not go to thrift stores when I was raising four sons on my own.
I like to pretend I simply wasn’t aware of the local thrift stores but this is a lie. The truth was, I was too ashamed of my poverty to shop at thrift stores. Too desperate to keep up pretenses, to show the rest of the world and especially my sons that we were doing fine.
We went without a lot of the time. We were careful with hand-me-downs and Christmas gift cards from family members. We shopped in January in the discount bin. Every once in a while I’d splurge on new shoes or winter coats we couldn’t afford and we suffered for it. The rent money gone, my tiny savings account depleted. Wasted on my need, my longing for stuff.
Not just for my sons. For me. Good boots. Nice jeans. A statement coat. Costume jewelry. I would feel that low pull of craving and wish I had more of everything. For them, for me, for whatever rental home we could afford at the time. I wanted tablecloths. Candles. Big throw pillows that always seemed to cost a fortune. A sturdy cookie jar. Things that felt so silly and so far out of reach that I pushed the want for them down as far as I could.
And then my sons grew up. And then they met my daughters-in-law. And then these four women opened my eyes to what thrifting could really look like. For me and for us as women learning our own love language together.
They taught me about Facebook Marketplace
It started with Facebook Marketplace during Covid lockdown, when we sheltered in place for weeks at a time my house and itched for something, anything to distract us.
I mentioned that I’d always wanted a cheval mirror for my room. My daughter-in-law scrolled through her phone for about one minute and said, “Here’s one for $40, they can deliver tomorrow. Want it? I’ll get it for you!” I couldn’t believe something I’d considered for so many years, a mirror standing in my room, could be found so close and for so little. And found by someone who loved me so much that she wanted me to have things. Who understood me as a woman, not just as a mom.
And so our adventures in thrifting began. These women brought me into their world of scrolling through Marketplace for steals. We began sending each other listings for plants and coffee tables and midcentury modern barware. I filled my empty rental home with pottery dishes and dressers, tablecloths and artwork and best of all, a squishy white sofa I’d always dreamed about thanks to Nancy Meyers. All secondhand, all coming to a total of around $200.
We started shopping together
When the world opened back up, we took our love language to stores whenever we got together. Piling into a car, coffees in hand, filling our carts with tea pots and straw bags, shiny platform penny loafers and maxi dresses.
These trips taught me patience. Taught me to be methodical about flipping through every single aisle for a hidden gem. Taught me to listen to my daughters-in-law, to pay attention to them as women. As friends. As my young guiding lights who finally, after so many years of guilt, have given me permission and space to fill a craving I never thought I could afford.
Thrifting has become the way we all move through the world as a family now. We give each other secondhand Christmas gifts. We resell thrifted items, passing along polka dot skirts and delicate china tea cups to the next thrifter looking for something special. We send each other coupons and reminders to keep an eye out for special items. A gorgeous thrifted cake topper was my birthday present last year. I look at it every single day and think of the women in my life now.
Our frugal frivolity. Our easy love.
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