I am an avid thrift shopper; I have been for years. As a kid, we went out of necessity, and I lived in fear that my classmates might figure it out. One girl (popular, perfect, so, so pretty) seemed to have it out for me – she’d interrogate me about my clothes, one time forcefully pulling the back of my shirt to examine a tag. She thankfully could glean nothing from it, but it was too much a risk for me. I needed to come clean, on my own terms, before someone else outed me.
So I leaned into it. I wore polyester shirts from the 70s, wool mini skirts from the 60s, things that had obviously belonged to someone else. I don’t have many photos from this time, because we weren’t great at documenting my life, and besides, my mother’s house caught fire a few years back, anyway. But