About six months ago, we decided to get serious about this whole reselling thing. It made sense. Lindy and I were already in thrift stores all the time shopping for ourselves, and we run a small nonprofit that helps refugees get their lives started in the United States. Many arrive with only the clothes on their backs, so we’d hit the racks on 50% off days to find clothing for them.
We were already there. Apparently, we just needed to give ourselves more things to carry home.
What I didn’t expect was how much all that time in thrift stores would change the way we shop—and, as it turns out, the way we look at complete strangers.
For starters, we now know we can find just about anything we need secondhand. Don’t misunderstand me. I still occasionally step out and buy a new jersey or a pair of shoes that I want and probably don’t need. I’m a soccer jersey collector. Let’s not pretend I’ve taken a vow of shopping celibacy.
But about 98% of what I own is pre-loved.
I like clothes with a story. And a broken-in pair of jeans beats the hell out of a stiff pair I have to work on myself. I’m all about efficiency. Somebody else already did the hard part. Thank you for your service.
And nothing beats a vintage soccer jersey—especially one that brings back a memory or has your favorite player’s name on the back. Your team’s crest. Your team’s colors. Maybe a season you still talk about. Maybe a season you’ve spent years trying to forget.
Either way, there’s a story.
Spending this much time around secondhand clothing also makes you think about how much stuff we buy, how quickly we get tired of it, and where it all goes afterward. Clothing doesn’t disappear just because we drop a bag at the donation door and drive away feeling productive.
Some of it gets another life. Some of it travels a very long way. Some of it becomes somebody else’s problem.
Thrift stores and us evil resellers aren’t going to fix everything. But helping a perfectly good shirt find someone who will wear it seems like a reasonable place to start.
There has been another side effect, though. I’ve become a weird clothing appraiser.
Yes, I am eye-humping your outfit.
That vintage rock band T-shirt? I noticed. Those Made in the USA Levi’s 501s? Already running the numbers. I don’t even like reselling shoes, but certain pairs still get my attention.
You’re standing there trying to order lunch, and I’ve mentally priced half your wardrobe.
It has infected Lindy, too. We’ll be sitting somewhere, and one of us will lean over and say, “Do you see that shirt over there? Sell-through is over 100%.”
Fortunately, we haven’t resorted to robbing people for their clothing.
Yet. ;)
Mostly, though, this has made shopping a whole lot more fun.
There are treasures in thrift store racks, at yard and estate sales, on Facebook Marketplace, and scattered across the online selling platforms. Sometimes you recognize one immediately. Sometimes you pick something up and think, “What in the world is this?”
That second question has led to some pretty good finds. It has also led to a few purchases we’ll call tuition.
We’ve become a treasure-hunting machine. We aren’t funded by millionaires searching for sunken Spanish ships full of gold. We’re funded by adrenaline, curiosity, and whatever is left after coffee.
We have considerably more curiosity than stacks of banded $1,000 bills.
But give me a venti coffee and a few yard-sale signs, and I’ll head out on a sourcing run like I’m driving a car I stole.
Yesterday, while we were out hitting yard sales, Lindy asked, “Could you even imagine this is what we’d be doing on a weekend when we were dating?” (Today's photo is yesterday's haul and what we will be processing today minus the chaos in the background - you've already seen my closet).
I was 19 when we started dating. She was 20. We’re now in our 50s.
I’ve been married for 31 years. Lindy has been married for 72, once you account for the extra wear and tear my shenanigans have put on her.
Could I have imagined this back then?
No chance.
But I couldn’t be happier that she’s the one riding along with me, pointing out the next yard-sale sign and occasionally asking whether I really need another jersey.
Happy thrifting!
From the Hunt
One of my favorite parts of yard-sale sourcing is talking to the people selling their stuff. You get to hear a little of their story while you’re looking through the things they’re ready to pass along.
Yesterday, I got to pet a beautiful little schnauzer with the lightest eyes I’ve ever seen on one. Excellent customer service. Would visit again.
I also spoke with a mom watching a women’s college soccer match. I could tell she had a daughter playing. Our oldest played college softball, and you develop a sixth sense for spotting another parent who has spent years hauling chairs, snacks, and their nervous system to sporting events.
Then I met a couple who were both Liga MX fans. He supported Cruz Azul. She supported Club América.
That had to make for an interesting household on match day.
Naturally, I found an opening to mention my Rayados’ recent results against their teams. You can’t put three soccer fans together at a yard sale and expect everyone to behave.
We went out looking for inventory and came home with a few stories, some soccer conversation, and a schnauzer encounter.
People have stories, too. Take a little time to hear them while you’re out hunting.
The racks and tables aren’t the only places you’ll find something interesting.