The Path to Hedonic Thrift Inquiry

I get into the car with great anticipation. It’s snowing today, but I’m certain my Civic can make the two-mile drive to my favorite by-the-pound thrift store. I hope. I need that thrill, that fix, that rush of the hunt, find, and capture. “What will I uncover today?” My mind wanders. I am hopeful.

Once in the store I get lost in the act of the archeological dig through once-used items. I always question what is hidden deep beneath the layers and inside the waist-high bins filled with broken items, dirty blouses, and gleaming treasures. I never know what’s in the piles, and this thrills me, motivates me, and challenges me to uncover and rename that which has been left behind.

A fresh set of bins is on their way. “Hands up. No shopping. Step away from the bins. And … SHOP,” is yelled through the amplified megaphone. My heart starts racing, yet I wait until the more seasoned, glove-clad pros get their first turn through the items. Once inside, I carefully watch out for the flying shoes, the silent stare-downs, the extended reaches.

Recording artists Macklemore, Ryan Lewis, and Wanz have made thrift shopping and grandpa-style once again in vogue due to the pop culture catchiness of their familiar single, but the act of searching, recycling, and repurposing items has been a part of my life since I was very young. This private action in a public space is an event that is familiar and comforting to me even decades later. But, very seldom do I sit down to reflect on this act of unearthing—excavating and the act of thrift archeology—of uncovering. The still evolving discourse of materiality (Bolin & Blandy, 2011) and the theorizing of consumerism and collecting are not something that enters my mind as I dig and save in my weekly outings.

As I dive into this inquiry, seeking information through and about this action, I realize that there is a name and a diagram for my condition. Bardhi and Arnould (2005) studied the behaviors of midwesterners involved in the act of thrift shopping, wondering if they engaged in this action because of the money-saving nature of buying at a secondhand store or if it was the thrill of the hunt that motivated the shoppers. The “pursuit of the unexpected” (Bardhi & Arnould, 2005, p. 230) and the narratives that I concoct in my head when I stumble upon unique items have been diagrammed by these researchers. I realize I have been accurately Venned through this ethnography of shopping study. I am a hybrid of economic (necessity) and hedonic (thrill) shopping; thrifting for me is a treat.

Lucero (2013), when speaking of artist Alberto Aguilar and his relational aesthetic work practice, stated that a “conceptual exercise can change the way we engage with our everyday practices as potential moments of creative practice/art” (p. 27). This statement was a huge relief for me. It made me feel like I belonged to a special artistic crowd. If this is what I was actually doing through my thrift work, then I could answer affirmatively, and with great gusto, when people ask me if I am an artist. The “work” (Lucero, 2013, p. 30) that Aguilar discusses and the energy derived from the accumulation of art works together might indeed be similar to the gathering of my items and the pile of accumulated thrift works through the vehicle of my dig.

Figure 1.

Domain of study: Thrift shopping (Bardhi & Arnould, 2005, p. 225).

Today I found a vintage Oleg Cassini top encrusted with large black sequins. Score! I rush it home lovingly and instantly go to the computer to research its background, value, and story. I find similar ones selling on eBay for $50. I did well today. As I clutch my prize for the day, I notice a very small pouch inside the neckline on the front of the blouse, made out of the same black silk as the lining. Inside there is something round. Hard. I am intrigued...