A word of caution to all my potential future visitors: do not open the closet in my office. There’s nothing secret in there, I promise — it’s just that you probably won’t be able to get it closed again.
On top of boxes of birthday cards, old newspapers, records, and everything else that I’ve saved with a modicum of sentimental value is a pile of discarded clothes. Bags and bags and bags of dresses, shirts, pants, shoes, and accessories; things I will never wear again because they either don’t fit or I find them unappealing now.
Now you’re probably thinking, Jenn, why don’t you just take that stuff to Goodwill? And the truth is, I totally could. But I won’t for two reasons, the first one being that resale stores are overburdened with stuff they can’t sell, and a lot of it goes in the garbage. I’d rather rehome my clothes with individuals who I know want them, whether that be friends or relatives or strangers online.
If it was all just basics and practical clothing, I’d happily donate it to a shelter or recovery center. But frilly, neon dresses and heeled boots that seem intentionally designed to cause horrendous blisters aren’t exactly the kind of clothes I think people would want to wear when they’re getting back on their feet.
The second reason is purely selfish: I could make some money. During the first few months of Covid, I spent a lot of time hunting for deals on Poshmark for name-brand goods. Nothing truly luxury, but I bought a lot of Free People, Anthropologie, Lilly Pulitzer, and general vintage — stuff that doesn’t resell for more than $100 usually, but is popular enough that people actually search for and buy it secondhand.
My body changed a lot over the past few years, and many of the things I bought in 2020 and 2021 don’t fit me anymore. I’ve also been holding onto things I purchased back in high school and college, even though I haven’t worn, or much less though about them for many years.
Reselling those pieces will give me a little extra cash that I will probably use to buy more clothes. Not that I really need anything. It’s just fun, and being on the hamster wheel of consumption gives me something to do (though I’m well aware that this isn’t a good hobby — more on that later).
So that brings me to online resale. Last week, I began to tackle my mountain of clothes and list things on Poshmark. I’m not certain how much junk I have in the closet, but it’s probably in the ballpark of 75-100 items. I haven’t counted. I don’t think it’s worth it to count, since it will probably just make me depressed.
Anyway, I planned at the beginning of last week to get through a decent chunk of the pile, and maybe even finish it. That was way too optimistic.
The thing about online resale is that it takes a lot more effort than it should. You have to make sure each item is clean and relatively unwrinkled, then find a well-lit area to capture several pictures of it and document the details. Then, if you want any chance of things selling without buyers sending lowball offers or asking a billion questions, you have to measure everything.
I always record way too many measurements because I hate when people ask for them after I’ve already put the item away and I have to dig through my bags again to find it. You’d think after stashing clothes away like a squirrel for the past few years, I’d have some organized system to keep track of everything. I don’t.
Then after the rigmarole of taking pictures and measuring, you have to upload all the info to the website. Writing descriptions for each item makes me feel like a peppy pyramid-scheme girlie, overselling each item so that someone thinks it’s the best thing money could buy. Stuff like: “gorgeous, flattering summer dress with built-in bra pads, perfect for your summer adventures! *heart-eyes emoji*”
I also do some “market research,” which usually entails figuring out style and pattern names for items by certain brands. Lilly Pulitzer is a big one I do this for. Everything has some long-ass, frilly name that no one would remember, except hardcore collectors. But having specifics in the description name helps people find it on Google. I hope there’s some buyer scouring the web for my Lenore Lace Cut-Out Fit n Flare Sundress in Kir Royal Pink Ooh La La because I really want to get rid of it.
At the end of last week, I think I listed about two dozen items. Sounds impressive, but it totally wiped me out. I somehow have less of a desire to look at my pile of unwanted clothes now than I did before I started selling them.
That’s not the reason why reselling sucks, though. The real reason is the buyers, specifically the buyers who don’t actually buy anything, but make you extremely low offers and then ghost when you try to nudge them to pay more for the item you took all that time to list. Yesterday, someone offered me $30 on a $60 item — one that I already listed waaaay below market value. I ghosted them before they could ghost me, because I didn’t even want to deal with it.
The good news is that I did make some sales last week, though. My giant pile is now … four items lighter. I’m hoping some benevolent buyers come along this week and decide to clear out my whole stock.
Actually, on second thought, that’ll make even more work for me because I’ll have to pack up a ton of orders and figure out a way to get the post office to pick them up without hating me. I’m like Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill, except the boulder is a ball of cheap, polyester clothing.
If anything, the process of reselling is making me shop less, so that’s a good thing. When you start looking at goods that you once placed a lot of value on and realize they don’t have any value to you anymore, you start to realize how worthless it is to own things. Specifically, things you don’t need that you bought on a whim because you were bored.
Take whatever lesson you will from this. And also, please buy my stuff.
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