Second-Hand Shopping is not Second-Rate

The hangers make that familiar metal-on-plastic clink as I sift through dozens of blouses and pants.  I’m blasting through someone else’s past in a tidy little second-hand clothing store in Okotoks and it’s the first of four my sisters and I will be visiting today. 

It’s a bit daunting, but worth the effort, I think.  I’ve become increasingly tired of spending $100 on one pair of jeans, (I know, even that is fairly cheap these days) or $65 for a simple t-shirt.  The buyer’s remorse coupled with the fact that I’m not even sure what I bought looks good on me or even goes together is frustrating.  In a mall, I wander around discouraged and overwhelmed.   To many choices is not always a good thing for me.  Usually, I give up within the first 30 minutes and head to the frozen yogurt stand to seek solace and comfort.

So after hearing a conversation from several co-workers about their amazing second-hand buys, I decide it’s time to take the plunge. 

But even after all my reasoning, I’m really not looking forward to spending my day indoors hunting for treasure like an apathetic pirate.  But I began to realize that I could treat this excursion like a mission, complete with a plan and a goal in mind.  So I come up with the idea of taking the $100 I would spend on one pair of pants at the yoga store and see how many gently used pieces of clothing I can buy with it.

So I adjust my attitude and stride into the first shop with a clear and determined mind.  I vow to go through every single shirt, blouse, vest and turtleneck one-by-one.  It doesn’t take long to find two blouses that actually fit and look half decent--and for $10 apiece, the thrifty side of me rejoices.

Feeling good about my finds, we drive to our next destination.  I picture a small shop like the one we were just in, but instead, we walk into one of the biggest second-hand shops I’ve ever seen.  Rows upon rows of every kind of shirt, pant, coat, dress, skirt and shoes line a space big enough to house a basketball court.  I feel myself deflate slightly.  I’ve had actual nightmares about this.  The air is thick with the scent of old refurbished clothing, and dozens of solemn-faced women peruse the racks with robotic-like focus.  I picture a pack of lions slowly circling their prey and then fighting over the carcass.  However, remembering my attitude adjustment, I begin the task.  After what feels like hours, I eventually find a pair of jeans that might work, trudge back to the dressing rooms and try them on.  No dice.  I give them to the harried sales lady and walk back into the fray.  The clothes are all color-coded, and so the isles look like an enormous color wheel—not a bad idea.  But still, it is too much for me, and I lose the small amount of determination I had when I walked in.  If only I had a personal shopper, I think, for the thousandth time.  Someone to just lead me around plying me with an armful of clothes and telling me what looks good. 

I am still at only $20, so we get back into the car and drive to our next location.  This one is a little more my style, tucked into an aging brick building in downtown Calgary.  It’s small, and we are the only people inside, so it begins to feel a little more intimate and casual.  The anxiety I had in the bigger store dissipates and I relax and go slowly through the racks.  I find a pair of tights, a yoga top and some sort of golden sparkly sleeveless number I wouldn’t normally buy.  But for $10, why not?   I soon realize that buying second hand clothing is actually making me a little bolder.  Or maybe it’s reckless.  Either way, it seems to be working.  I’m looking at dresses and other pieces I would never even consider at the mall.  I realize the reason is that my choices are limited, and the clothes are unique, a concept that appeals to me.

Our last destination is in the quaint Kensington area of Calgary.  The shop sits on the upper floor of a two-store building, overlooking a bustling street.  Inside, we find a similar vibe as our last shop and begin browsing.  I eventually find a great name brand short-sleeve pullover for a bargain.  I’m elated.  I end up with five pieces of clothing for just under $100.  Not bad for my first attempt.  I’m sure a more adept shopper would have squeezed a little more product out of their cash, but I’m satisfied.  I hear tell of a few more second-hand stores sprinkled around the city and I intend on going there soon.  Who knows what kind of treasure lies in wait for such unsuspecting (and sometimes unwilling) shoppers like me.