Hello and welcome to des lettres, which loosely translates from French to Letters. This is where I (Sarah Renée) write about fashion, personal style, thrifting, and what it means to live a joyful collected life.
Whenever I talk about clothes, I say that I found my personal style through secondhand shopping, so today I’m writing the second part of this story. If you haven’t read Part 1 yet, you can do so here.
Last I wrote, I was exploring my sense of fashion as a teen at the mall in the late ‘90s and early 2000s. These days led to what can only be described as:
The Aritzia Days
If you’ve ever been a young woman in Canada, especially in Vancouver, this era probably needs little explanation.
You’ll already know what it meant to spend your full minimum wage part-time job pay check on a single pair of jeans or a long cardigan or a too-short dress (or is it a top?) in which you will take a taxi downtown to stand outside in a lineup in uncomfortable shoes (from Aldo, of course) and freeze only to be let into an establishment with sticky floors and sweaty crowds.
My late teens’ early twenties’ shopping habits were a blur of Aritzia, Forever21, and Lululemon, with a sprinkling of BCBG and Bebe (unfortunately not thrifted, I might add).
Pinterest Takes the Stage
By this time in the mid-2000s, I was living on my own for the first time, constructing an identity and a sense of style distinct from my family.
Moving out into our shabby first apartments was the great equalizer; even my friends with wealthy families were learning to live on a budget. We decorated our little spaces with the zeal appropriate to 2010 DIYers.
Thrift shops were for collecting mason jars that we would then adorn with overpriced burlap and lace from Michael’s.
And once rent was paid, and cocktails served out of said mason jars, we raided each other’s Aritzia- and H&M-filled closets and hit the town.
Eventually, I discovered Pinterest and, subsequently, fashion bloggers like The August Diaries, and SFGirlbyBay.
As a connoisseur of fashion magazines and pop culture, I flirted with the idea of trying on trends and emulating the fashion I loved, but still felt limited by the clothing available at the mall and the judgment I feared from my peers.
My perception of what I could “get away with” wearing was even more restricted by the fact I was a 24-year-old brand new high school teacher (teaching in the very same community and school district where I was once an awkward teen) on a budget. I was desperately trying to be “appropriate” in a career I didn’t yet feel grown up enough to deserve.
My Stint as a Minimalist
In 2015, my then-boyfriend, now-husband and I decided to move across the world and then back again two years later. I call this my involuntary minimalist era in which I decluttered my closet down to the bare bones.
Threadbare fast fashion cardigans and hideous pointy-toe kitten heels that I’d held onto for years were donated, and my closet got a reset that included only the basics.
Today, several years later, back home with roots firmly planted, though you could hardly call me a minimalist, that template for a basic wardrobe has stayed the same. A few quality pieces of denim, simple work pants and dresses, t-shirts, tanks, blazers, and flats.
Finally Finding My Style and Myself
It’s not glamorous to say, but it wasn’t until thrifting started to take off as a trend in 2020 that my curiosity peaked and I began to question the stigma I’d always associated with secondhand clothes.
When my bored friends and I started adventuring in the aisles of Value Village more regularly in the earlier days of the pandemic, I noticed, too, that I would find not only vintage and antique treasures reminiscent of my grandmother’s house, but sometimes good quality or even brand new pieces sporting tags from the contemporary brands I loved.
It was like being told a secret someone had been keeping from me for years.
I began to see that shopping secondhand wasn’t just for cool flea market girls, but people like me who were growing concerned about the impact of fast fashion on the environment and our world, and who loved a pair of vintage jeans as much as a new with tags Wilfred sweater.
I do wish I could say I’d been a thrifter before it was cool, but that’s kind of the whole point of me not being Flea Market Cool Girl, isn’t it? I have my own beautiful, cringe-y, sometimes uncool journey of finding my style, and my self.
Hand on heart, I can say that today my wardrobe is 90% secondhand. That includes thrifted finds, Poshmark treasures, and pieces passed on from friends.
My clothes fit me better because in the absence of fitting rooms at the thrift, I’ve learned to use my body measurements and stop relying on arbitrary size tags on clothing.
And I’ve never been more comfortable in my clothes or my own skin. When shopping secondhand, I feel I am naturally drawn to what I like rather than what I’m being told to like. Instead of accepting what’s “in” by prescriptive curated store racks, I have to follow my eye to the colours, silhouettes, fabrics, and styles I’m inherently drawn to.
When I look at my closet, it feels collected, thoughtful, and representative of both the way I want to look and the way I want to feel.
A Happy Reminder
So this is all to say, shopping secondhand is not just for the ultra-cool retro vintage girlies (though I’ll definitely pull over if I ever pass an obscure roadside Tofino market stall selling scarves).
I will never not love flipping through a glossy magazine, curating an aesthetic and unattainable Pinterest board, or gleefully watching get ready with me videos…
But now, I know enough to avoid filling my cart with whatever the latest trend an influencer tells me I must have. When I buy clothes, I know that I can find clothes that channel my fashion icons, fit my body type, and express who I am.
A Final Word
One day last year, a colleague I’d just met complimented me on the pair of leopard mules I was wearing. “It takes a chic and confident person to wear leopard-print, and I admire that,” she said. I don’t remember what I said in the moment, but I’ve let her words resonate with me.
Because I know she’s right.
And listen, I know clothes aren’t everything.
But I do think authentic self-expression is. I tell you this story in the hopes you see glimpses of your past or present self in it. And if you’re longing to feel like you know your own personal style, and yourself, I would love to inspire you to keep exploring, particularly through shopping secondhand and taking the time to like what you like without being told.
A few past versions of me could have used a permission slip to do just that. So consider this yours if you need it.