Let's Put our Hands Together for Hand-Me-Downs!

And honor National Secondhand Wardrobe Day appropriately

Photo by Emma Rahmani, image created by author on Canva.comcaption...

That’s right, friends and neighbors, boys and girls, Muddy Ones all.

You bought them with your hard-earned or slightly stolen–well, borrowed really, though you have no idea if or when you’ll pay it back–cash. This was back on August 17, National Thrift Shop Day.

Which is when we engaged in one of our favorite sports, shopping.

But just like they have the Para-Olympics or the Special Olympics to include differently-abled athletes. We have Thrift Shop Day to honor us differently-budgeted folks. And now, on August 25, we have National Secondhand Wardrobe Day, so we can actually wear the outfits we so thriftily shopped for.

This is why I get really incensed when folks of means — and I do mean, you mean rich folks — think it’s a hoot to invade and raid our secondhand stores.

That’s not your job. This ain’t your ‘hood.

Your hood is over there behind those golden gates and marble pillars.

Stay back there where you belong so we can satirize you.

If you put on a holey pair of jeans and come slumming, we might get you mixed up with one of us. Until we see a glint of gold on your finger, or 69 karats sparkling in the sunbeams streaming in the shop despite the grimy windows.

Do you have any idea what this does to our brains?

When we can’t put you — or one of our own who might have come upon your jewelry when you weren’t looking and helped themself — into one of those nifty niches so deeply carved into our craniums, we go haywire.

Literally. Wires — well actually chains of neurotransmitters, but you know what I mean — in our brains get crossed. And all hell breaks lose up there. Neon signs flash, sirens sound, horns blow, and cacophony ensues.

The noise in our heads drives us bonkers. We blow fuses and gaskets. Smoke blasts out of our ears. When this happens we can’t be held responsible for our behavior. If I were you, I’d get the hell out of Dodge. Or never enter in the first place.

Follow our Bard-inspired advice and get thee to a mall.

The nearest Nordstroms. A by-standing Bloomingdales. The greatest Guicci. These places were made with you in mind. If you’re spending your easy-earned dollars, your coupon-cut cash, or your inherited interest over here in the cheap seats, those places might go bankrupt. Or out of business.

And if that happened, the ripple effects shooting off from there might crush our entire fragile economy. So it’s your patriotic duty to not spend your handed-down hundreds on our hand-me-downs.

Instead, your job is to buy the latest fashions at said chi-chi upscale stores and boutiques, wear them once, maybe twice, and then donate them to the second-hand shop of your choosing. That way, they come to us just as we like them — gently used.

Don’t wait until there are permanent caviar stains, or the silky colors have faded to a fraction of their formal friskiness. Hand them over — or rather, down — while they still have some life in them. While they might still turn some heads, shake some booty, or land us that job.

This is the way of the future.

The way of sustainability. The best way to recycle, upcycle, downcycle, and/or repurpose. It’s ecologically efficient. It saves on synthetics.

Remember when you donate your gently worn shoes, we save the planet by walking our miles in your carbon footprint. This makes you generous humanitarians, and us, eco-hereos.

How ‘bout that for a partnership?

One we can all feel good about.

So now that you know what to do, get the eff out of Goodwill, ThriftTown, and the Buffalo Exchange — if they aren’t yet completely extinct.

Slip into silk and slink on down to the stores that serve champagne to their shoppers, and raise your glass to Mama GAIA. Buy a chi-chi natural fiber ensemble to wear to the next charity ball, and be careful not to spill. Maybe take a matching bib if they’re serving ribs.

And the next day, or the one after that if you’re too hungover, take the duds off and donate them to the nifty thrifty store of your choice.

We’ll be waiting there with bated breath, rummaging in your discarded pockets for chump change. You know, like that crumpled fifty you stashed along with the fresh pair of panties and condoms, just in case.

We’ll put all of that to good use. I promise.