Why We Op-Shop
Last week I fearlessly reported on the Climate Club Challenge, in which a bunch of young people encourage us to do our bit for the planet, one op-shop find at a time. The plan? To keep quality clothes out of landfill, reduce our carbon footprint, and discourage production of wasteful fast-fashion.
To be fair, I needed little encouragement. I’ve been op-shopping since high school, using my weekend-job wages to buy clothes that felt like me. There were tweed jackets, nana shoes (I painted a pair bright pink), lace-collared blouses and screw-on earrings. For some reason, my 1970s aesthetic was Cartoon Librarian. I may bring it back.
My mother approved of the enterprise – she loved clothes, too. But some of her friends pursed their lips, and my father worried people might see me frequenting our town’s first “opportunity shop” - or worse, wearing their castoffs - and decide we were poor. There’d been a lot of make-do-and-mend in his childhood, and he was proud we didn’t have to.
But as usual (sorry, Dad) I carried on regardless, flouncing home on the bus during student years in thrifted scarves and fur coats.
I’ve never stopped op-shopping – often out of necessity, but also because I love the thrill of the hunt, of a bargain, of finding treasures you can’t get in stores. I genuinely find it soothing to rummage through racks, believing there’s a treasure waiting for me, I just have to be patient.
There’s less stigma now, probably since the advent of stores which recycle high-end designer garments. “Pre-loved” we’ve learned to call them, rather than “cast-offs” or the horribly evocative “dead people’s clothes”.
Young ones I talked to looked surprised there’d been shame about second hand. I was curious, then, about current attitudes amongst women my age.
Canvas a decent-sized Facebook group and you’ll discover many of us live in a world of pre-loved treasures. Some started early - garage sales with the family blossomed into op-shopping and online trading.
Boundaries vary from someone who won’t buy “anything with a crotch”, to split views on activewear and shoes, to others who only draw the line at socks and undies. Regardless, there’s general agreement you’ll wash whatever it is first to “make it yours”.
Drivers range from necessity, to pleasure, to trying new styles at low financial risk. Many are consciously making an ethical choice.
Several women - like me – find the hunt soothing and calming. Rifling through a rack of frocks, I’m entirely in the moment, assessing each piece for style, size, the life left in it.
This bliss is not universal. Those who don’t op-shop speak of cognitive overload, the overwhelm of too many things all completely different from each other, jammed tightly into racks. Sometimes it’s the smell.
Others lament the lack of plus-sizes, and rising prices as charity shops keep up with rising rents. Some simply don’t fancy the idea of wearing something someone else has worn.
But you can change your mind. Lyn’s story resonates. Lyn grew up with family hand-me-downs and op-shop buys. “The worst was when I got the most beautiful blouse ever, only to be humiliated at school by a very nasty girl who said, ‘Oh that was mine, mummy took it to the poor people shop’."
It took Lyn until her thirties to even walk into an op-shop. But now, it’s her favourite thing.
I am sending hugs back in time to Younger Lyn, and hoping that nasty girl’s tights always snag and the buttons fall off all her blouses.