Thrifting and the Paradox of Style
By Christy Liang ‘28
Photo by Charlotte Cebula
In January of last year, I walked into a curated thrift store for the first time. It was tucked away in a picturesque alleyway and exhibited a predominantly boho aesthetic. I became immediately enthralled as I sifted through each unique item in this vibrant, distinctly aestheticized, and welcomingly messy space. Since then, I’ve made a point of checking out at least a few thrift stores in every place I visit, not only to expand my wardrobe but also to familiarize myself with the broader vintage landscape.
Thrifting has become a multifaceted experience for me, rendering the regular shopping mall or department store lamentably pale. I love the ethnographic intrigue of spatial and stylistic curation, and the organic feeling of surprise as the next piece catches my eye. It’s like walking into an etherealized museum of items that once inhabited so many places, time scapes, and human lives.
Different thrift stores also make for different shopping experiences. While some are explicitly meant for affordable finds and homey feels, others can be quite intimidating in their upscale aura and selective clientele.
Another delight of thrifting is the immediate access to a variety of vintage fashion trends beyond the stale, fast fashion scene today. I soon fell under the allure of Y2K fashion, which evokes, to me, a unique blend of chic, adventure, and provocativeness. Nowadays, I spend lots of time scrolling on Depop, an addictive virtual thrift shop that tailors to your tastes and updates every minute.
As much as I lament about my (often unnecessary) spending on Depop, I delight in finding niche items that speak to me in a certain way or bring a certain freshness to my routine college life. After all, isn’t cultivating a personal style in itself a form of revitalization? Through my many Depop finds, I’ve ventured outside of my comfort zone–colors and shapes I used to constrain myself to–and experimented with new styles that reinvigorated my self-perception.
There were moments where I stopped to ponder if an obsession with style is nothing more than a reflection (and satiation) of vanity, and an excessive worry about how we’re perceived in others’ eyes. It frustrates me that more often than not, I don’t feel like ‘enough’ in my unembellished rawness. The urge to stylize as a means of looking prettier can be both gratifying and exasperating.
But style is part of the individual—there is no point in separating the “natural” self from the aestheticized self. We oscillate between the two depending on our mood, energy level, and confidence, but both versions are ultimately interchangeable and form a dynamic, integrated whole. We are recognized and remembered for the multilayered, atmospheric impression we leave on others, our witty remarks, the brooding or exuberant air we carry, and the empathy we feel and exude—all of which are so much more innate to who we are than the outfits we wear or the make-up styles we experiment with.
Someday, hopefully soon enough, I want to truly embody and radiate the climaxing sentiment in Dolly Alderton’s memoir, “Everything I Know About Love”: “Because I am enough. My heart is enough. The stories and the sentences twisting around my mind are enough. I am fizzing and frothing and buzzing and exploding. I’m bubbling over and burning up.”
I want to feel so grounded in my own being that any aestheticization is merely an outward projection of comfort and confidence.