How My Daughters Taught Me to Thrift (and Get Over the Gross Factor)
I’ll admit it: I used to think thrifting was gross. Why would I willingly pay for someone else’s discarded sweater when I could walk into a store where the clothes didn’t smell like a mix of attic dust and mystery Febreze? My daughters, however, treated thrift stores like treasure maps, dragging me in with the enthusiasm of pirates who’d just spotted an X on the horizon. At first, I hovered near the door like a skeptical tourist, waiting for them to realize that half of these clothes had lived entire lives before us—high school dances, job interviews, maybe even the occasional awkward family reunion. I was sure the racks held nothing but outdated blazers and prom dresses that smelled faintly of Aqua Net. But my daughters had a different vision. They’d dart down aisles, arms filling with “finds” I wouldn’t have touched with rubber gloves. “Trust me,” they’d say, handing me a pair of jeans that looked two decades too young for me. Against my better judgment, I tried them on—and sud...
