“I don’t belong here.”
Apprehensively, I peered into a gorgeous shadow-box display case of designer jewelry and handbag confections in the Dior boutique of South Coast Plaza. Candy-colored enamel bracelets and fondant-like leather purses peered back as I admired them. My gaze shifted around the immaculate showroom, from a floor-to-ceiling display of shoes to a collection of embellished robes hanging single-file along a golden garment rack.
Beautiful. Sterile. But alluring and attractive – like a Stepford Wife.
It was 8:45 on a Wednesday night, and my fiance and I were running out the clock on our evening after shopping for engagement rings. I felt a longing to touch and inspect each expertly-crafted item in the place. But, I didn’t dare. All these baubles were way out of my league – I knew it, and so did the salespeople.
Suddenly, a couple rushed into the Dior boutique – literally, they were almost running – and into a semi-private room in the back. There, they dumped their array of shopping bags on the floor (like I would with my luggage after a cross-country flight) and were presented with a menagerie of Dior clothing and trinkets by a staff that quickly jumped to attention upon their arrival.
This couple was eager and hungry; it was just another stop on their evening shopping crawl. Their overly-enthusiastic lust to acquire was comically ridiculous – but it was their ability to do so without the slightest bit of reservation that disgusted me.
And, to be totally honest here, I was way jealous.
I could care less about Dior or Louis Vuitton or Chanel, but I desperately wanted that access to style for myself. I just wanted to feel confident that I could acquire the things to wear and display that represented my personality and style – and not be relegated to shopping only at Target and H&M.
Dior wasn’t an option, and I refused to go on shopping fast-fashion that disintegrated after a single washing. So I devised a way to get the clothing I wanted on my tiny fashion budget: I would shop secondhand. I swore an oath that, for six months, I would shop only at Goodwill for my wardrobe to see if this was a viable way to build a wardrobe.
Yes, only at Goodwill. No consignment, no upscale resale shops and definitely no South Coast Plaza. I had a hunch that, if I meticulously searched a thrift store in a nice neighborhood, then I might find some original, new-to-me things for my wardrobe.
There’s a saying that goes “you always find what you’re looking for.” What I found in six months of Goodwill shopping was a wardrobe that I loved – full of the brands I had wanted (BCBG, J. Crew, Banana Republic), but couldn’t afford new. Most everything was in near-immaculate shape, and I even started to find some fun vintage items.
But the most important part was that I finally had the access that I craved. I could shop for 2 hours in a thrift store and come home with half a new wardrobe because nothing was off-limits. I could also experiment with styles I wouldn’t normally consider; if they didn’t work out, I’d lost only a $6 investment and I would just donate it back to Goodwill.
The lesson on what not to wear was worth the loss.
With some patience and willingness to shop a different way, I was opening yourself up to limitless options – and THAT’S the access I needed to really begin to find my unique style.
Unattainable designer brands not required.
