Editor’s Note: All opinion section content reflects the views of the individual author only and does not represent a stance taken by The Collegian or its editorial board.
As a broke college student, I am always looking for a good deal. When I first heard about the Goodwill Outlet bins, I was ecstatic. I’m very familiar with rack thrifting with price tags, but you’re telling me that I can get a whole pound of clothes for only $1.99? Count me in.
One Saturday afternoon, I decided to take a trip to the Goodwill Outlets in Englewood, ready to spend a few hours sifting through the bins for some cheap finds. Once I walked in, I was immediately confronted with a sea of teenage boys. Their carts were filled to the brim with clothes they’d been gathering since 8 a.m. when the store opened. Standing behind the white line waiting for the next bin rotation to begin, their mob of shaggy haircuts, vintage crewnecks and baggy jeans were all that could be seen.
The competition that occurred during the next 30-minute rotation was astounding. This group of boys — obviously not shopping for themselves — took anything and everything they deemed worth reselling, nabbing vintage T-shirts, dainty tank tops or dresses, and high-quality canvas jackets in hopes of flipping them for more than double what they paid for by the pound. They even snapped pictures to post before checking out.
What happened to leaving things for the rest of us? By selling on sites like Depop, Poshmark and eBay, these scalpers decide the fate of secondhand shopping, ruining the culture and the purpose of thrifting.
What used to be an enjoyable experience, hobby or weekend activity is now a war zone, and these outlets are the front lines. There’s an unspoken competition when shopping secondhand, with the winner being whoever finds the most valuable item for the lowest price.
It’s no longer an action done out of kindness for the planet or for the love of the search, but rather for status and profit.
Thrifting and shopping secondhand used to be shunned, as it was associated with lower socioeconomic status; it was necessary for some families, often being the only thing that many could afford, and it still is for many. Now, with the rise of sustainability as a social media trend, the spread of secondhand shopping on platforms like TikTok and Pinterest is evident.
“Resellers take the high-quality goods away from low-income families in the name of a good side hustle.”
With thrifting as a normalized source of obtaining clothing and decor, and as audiences increasingly seek curated collections and items deemed vintage or rare deadstock — items that can only be found at thrift stores, smaller boutiques or antique shops — thrift stores are becoming increasingly popular. Prices are rising in rack thrift stores, and the outlet’s price by the pound has increased as traffic gets heavier and heavier.
Thrift stores are starting to realize what their inventory is worth, too. Employees recognize brands more, and the price tags reflect this. Jackets that would have normally cost around $5 at the local Goodwill 10 years ago can be priced anywhere from $15 to $20 now.
This phenomenon has made sustainability expensive and nearly unaffordable for many people, including students like me. Those looking to avoid fast fashion are now unable to afford what was once the cheaper alternative. Everyone should be practicing sustainability, but reselling culture makes a seemingly easy way to participate in sustainability inaccessible. Resellers take the high-quality goods away from low-income families in the name of a good side hustle.
For thrifting and secondhand shopping to be accessible, there must be a cutback on the reselling culture, as well as ensuring that thrifting can exist at an affordable price point for everyone. Practicing sustainability shouldn’t be expensive, and thrifting should be enjoyable — not centered on competition.
Reach Ava Stampa at letters@collegian.com or on social media @RMCollegian.
