Yoga increases one’s capacity for patience. Patience tips the secondhand shopping scales in or out of your favor. Yoga is, heretofore, an excellent tool for developing your secondhand shopping prowess.

Onto the mantra:

If it’s comfortable, you’re probably not doing it right.

If you’re ego-centric and stubborn a la moi, instructional nuggets of this ilk tend not to prompt any revelations upon first hearing: I was in triangle pose, and I still managed to roll my eyes. It was only when the instructor glided over and re-tweaked my body into the proper position that I realized I’d been doing it wrong all along. I’d been too consumed by how it looked to make it work.

Triangle is a deceptively simple posture, as it turns out – the side-bending, twisting and stretching involved don’t amount to a pleasant experience. It’s not physically painful, but it’s uncomfortable and unsettling, particularly when you don’t have the flexibility to mimic the statuesque curve of more devoted yogis.

Then you move out of the pose, feel the rewarding rush prompted by your efforts – by your ability to embrace what it is in lieu of what it’s supposed to be – and you stop rolling your eyes at the mantra.

Comfortable doesn’t prompt growth or achievement. Uncomfortable does.

On that note, let’s talk about the uncomfortable experience of thrifting the Hell’s Kitchen Salvation Army.

My last visit to this particular SA location was four months ago, i.e. enough time for me to forget how disgusting it is. Time and time again, I block out the grime on the floor, the stains on the clothes, the screaming babies accompanying the shoppers, the musty, mothball-esque odor of the place. It’s an unconscious survival tactic – insurance against my being too icked out to shop.

It takes about fifteen minutes to re-acquaint myself with my surroundings. I calm myself with the knowledge that I’ve come prepared (plastic bag, Purell, hands-free bag), and meditate on scores of the past bestowed on me by the HK SA (Rich and Skinny jeans, $7.99). I embrace the ick. I summon the patience. I do an internal spin, Tazmanian Devil style. Then I tear through the place like a possessed flying rodent, brand-focused radar leading the way.

Velvet tops, as we know, retail for around $80 – $100 a pop. I found this versatile tunic approximately eighteen minutes into my browse. And it’s striped! I effing love stripes.

The stellar taupe tone of these puppies is tres Fall appropriate.

I don’t usually buy pants months in advance of when I can wear them: Rock & Republic jeans priced at $4.99 are obvs grounds for an exception.

I didn’t leave the Hell’s Kitchen Salvation Army scarred by fugly wares and subpar sanitation standards. I left buoyed by a mantra as true of thrift as it is of yoga.

Sifting through the donated muck isn’t comfortable.

It’s the uncomfortable that makes the price of whatever you find so effing right.

Can a thorough browse at the Hell’s Kitchen Salvation Army result in a pair of legit Rich & Skinny Jeans? Also yes.

These denim dreams were originally priced at $14.99; I happened to find them on a half-off-all-green-tags day, hence their ludicrously low price of $7.99.

So. What do you do when you snag $220 jeans for $7.99?

Tee hee.

Sidebar: I accidentally chucked the hard evidence. My bad. BUT – I have an alibi!

Those audacious enough to doubt my thrifting skillz are advised to swing by the amazing AuH20 and ask the even-more-amazing Kate Goldwater for confirmation re: all the above.

The inner monologue goes something like this:

Resale’s an easy sell, but what about thrift? The notion of patience as the only thing needed to uncover hidden gems amidst tons of donated crap sounds like a warm and fuzzy crock of shit. Can I honestly endorse tackling a Goodwill if doing so means you might come up empty handed? Is that really fair?

When questions like these periodically threaten my entire approach to sartorial fulfillment, I hightail it to the dirtiest thrift within walking distance: The Salvation Army in Chelsea.

I’d never recommend this store to a novice thrifter – the place hasn’t been dusted in decades, the racks are riddled with heinousness – it’s enough to turn off even a pro like me. But every few months, I suck it up and go. Why?

Because if I can find something I love in decent condition HERE, in the underbelly of the secondhand universe, it rejuvenates my belief that anyone can thrift.

What happens whenever I perform the above exercise? I ALWAYS FIND SOMETHING – and by that I mean something so good, I might consider purchasing it retail.

The something in this case was a C&C California extra-long sleeve turtleneck in navy (my fave color to boot).

The garment was originally priced at $58.00, and is currently on sale for $14.90 online. What’d I pay?

The numbers don’t lie:  $3.99.

“Just so you know, none of the white-tagged clothes are on sale,” said an apologetic staffer at the register. I smiled and reassured her paying full price was okay by me.

It took me about twenty-five minutes of digging before I found my gem. And if twenty-five minutes and four bucks nets a brandtastic turtle AND a renewed sense of purpose, it’s time and money well-spent, methinks.

There is, of course, one glaring con. The keyhole neckline.

The keyhole neckline is the least flattering of all necklines in existence – it ruins the fit of a top entirely, making one’s boobage lumpy and asymmetrical in the process (unless your chest is flat to the point of pre-pubescence, in which case, you should probably start eating). Who came up with this asinine styling detail? We have v-necks, crew-necks, turtlenecks, scoop-necks, boat-necks and cowl-necks. There’s already too much to choose from, so if you’re going to throw something else into the mix, it better be good. The keyhole neckline isn’t just bad – it’s an insult to breasts everywhere. It’s even more offensive than the mock-turtle (another piss-poor attempt at neckline diversification).

I bought this top for the explicit purpose of exorcising my rage re: the keyhole neckline. The battle involved scissors, hem tape, and a scalding hot iron. Here’s how I emerged victorious:

Step 1: Plug in iron; turn heat to STEAM function. While it warms up, scissor the front of the top into a wide V or U shape. Chalk a line from the shoulder to the center, or eyeball it if you’re a badass like me. (In order to remove the keyhole entirely, you must cut into the hem of the top’s neckline. Don’t worry about it. It deserves it.)

Step 2: Trim the neckline hem off the shoulder and back portions of the top, staying as close to the original line as possible. Bust out the hem tape (I prefer Heat ‘n’ Bond. (Note: Any no-sew hem tape that claims it works sans heat application is lying.) Cut two strips (length should roughly mirror the back-neck portion. Cut those in half down the middle. You now have four thin pieces of hem tape and a hot iron. You are READY.

Step 3: Turn the keyhole-free top inside-out. Hem tape is a bitch and a half, btdubs, but if you work on the inside of the garment, errors are virtually invisible. Anything’s better than sewing. Peel the paper off one of the pieces of tape and apply sticky-side down, about a centimeter from the edge of the neckline. Fold the part of the neckline you’re working with over onto the hem tape. Ready the iron in one hand; use a finger of the other to keep the fold in place. Remove it just before you get the iron down on the material, and try not to burn yourself. I can’t have that on my conscience. Hold the iron down for a few seconds before moving it back and forth. I highly recommend hitting the STEAM button periodically, in addition to ironing on high heat.

Note: My iron reads that synthetic materials should not be subjected to the STEAM function. It is lying to cover its ass in case I damage something and get mad at it. Cotton poly-blends are not synthetics in my book – if it’s got cotton in it, it can handle the cotton heat setting, and that means it gets the STEAM. Your hem tape might not set properly otherwise. (All of this is off the record – I don’t want you effing up your clothes on my account. Use your head. That’s that lump that’s three feet above your ass!)

Repeat Step 3 until you’ve worked your way around the re-vamped neckline of the top. Flip top right-side out; iron out front to smooth. Un-plug iron, let top rest for approximately twenty minutes, and go do something else.

Once heat-tape is fully set, put top on… BACKWARDS! You cut the tag out when you trimmed the neckline hem anyway – why not? (You can wear it with the wide V/U in front too obvs – I just dig the high-neck/low-back thang).

When you’re done, you’ll have successfully obliterated that unsightly keyhole into something like this:

May it rest in peace.

Said suspicion was confirmed when I snagged these puppies at Salvation army for ninety-nine cents each. Two shirts for two bucks? Yes please.



A big fat shout out to the Hell’s Kitchen Salvation Army for affirming my hunch, and for imbuing me with high school nostalgia via Can’t Hardly Wait‘s fictitious band.

An authentic Loveburger shirt?!

My life is officially complete.

Theory Cashmere Sweaters start at around $200 and can cost as much as $395.

Yesterday, I found one for $3.99.

Do I give a shit about the small hole on the elbow? Not a lick, particularly because the rest of the garment’s in stellar condition. It fits perfectly, it’s the warmest, cuddliest thing EVER, and I’m going to wear it 24/7. As soon as it’s clean, that is. I’m heading to the laundromat ASAP to sanitize it in a hot dryer cycle, along with everything else I purchased.

Stay tuned for the lowdown on the rest of my finds.

The first shocking bolt came in the form of a Jill Stuart pleated skirt. Say WHAT?!

The discovery propelled me into full-on shopping mode, and I started tearing through the merch like a crazed baboon. Was the skirt a fluke, or material proof that the quality of donations had significantly increased? A Susana Monaco top suggested the latter…

…and the pants section affirmed it in effing spades. Ya-Ya trousers and James jeans. I Shit. You. Not.

To fully appreciate the redonkulousness of these finds, let’s do some price-point comparison. I’m not sure about the Jill Stewart Jeans pleated skirt but (based on the fact that dresses from her high-end line line retail for $500+), I’d guess her “budget-friendly” endeavor charges at least $100 per item. Salvation Army charged $3.99. A breakdown of the remaining items (FYI: the 6/2′s and 6/9′s on some of the tags mark the DATES the items hit the racks and have nothing to do with the prices. The numbers below are real. Very real.):

Susana Monaco Top – Average Retail: $110.
Salvation Army: $4.00.

Ya-Ya Pants – Average Retail: $150.
Salvation Army: $7.99.

James Jeans – Average Retail: $175.
Salvation Army: $5.99.



Note: All items underwent extensive scanning for stains, tears, missing buttons and/or ickiness of any kind and passed pre-purchase. Said were taken directly to laundromat for sterilization purposes post-photo shoot.

It was still raining when I left the store that day, but it was 75 and sunny as far as I was concerned. Nothing, NOTHING, could kill my buzz. Ahh, the emotionally transformative power of labels snagged for a fraction of their retail price. Loves it.

O.M.F.G. The dress, the clutch, the shoes, and the way she put them together is all kinds of awesome. This outfit is KILLER! I almost can’t believe this is the work of a thrifting newbie – you’s a natural, girlfriend. I’m kvelling like a proud Jewish mother over here, I shit you not.

Let’s get a close-up of the clutch (thrifted years ago from Goodwill) and shoes (snagged at the reduced-reduced-reduced price of $27).

KVELLING. A massive MWAH to Donna, and to all you ladies brave enough to hit your local Salvation Army. As you can see, it’s well worth the risk.

I kind of thought that uber-successful thrift shopping was limited to thin petite pretty girls like you.

I was proven wrong when I took a trip to my local Salvation Army. I was able to snag two dresses for a total of $7! The first one was a $3.50 black, white and red not too mini number that was perfect for a wedding I was attending soon. I paired it with a clutch from a Goodwill from years ago and a pair of Mia high-heel sandals that I got on clearance and damage discount for $27. I must’ve looked in 10 stores and many more online to find the perfect current sandals, but I didn’t want to pay more than say $50. Keep in mind that I was toting along two toddlers the whole time! After debuting this outfit, people are asking to go shopping with me!

Donna’s snagging two dresses for $7, TOTAL, is a feat even I haven’t achieved (yet). That she managed to do so with two toddlers in tow is an accomplishment beyond my conception (read: children fear me). The Salvation Army dress + Goodwill clutch + reduced-reduced-reduced price sandals exemplifies the notion of a truly Cheap JAPtastic outfit I am DYING to see (hint hint – bust out the camera, girlfriend), one clearly fab enough to merit public acclaim.

(Note: The public response to any given outfit is only to be taken seriously if it positively reinforces said outfit. Those ‘comedians’ delivering really witty one-liners in US Weekly’s Fashion Victims section? Fuck ‘em. Critics – regardless of whether or not they target celebrities or women on the street – aren’t fashion experts: They’re people too chicken shit to wear what they really want. Moving on…).

All that being said, what I’m most impressed by here isn’t how little Donna spent on her dress, or how well she put her outfit together, or that she’s now obvs a bonafide shopping guru. What I’m most impressed by is her willingness to take a chance on thrift in spite of her preconceived notions about it, and about shopping in general.

I’m well aware of how alienating my size can be: Easy for her to claim anyone can shop thrift, what the fuck would she know about shopping for a larger frame? I hate that shopping as we know it is designed to help women my size and hurt those who aren’t, and I hate Fashion for making it so. This is exactly why I’m such a fan of shopping secondhand. What you see in a thrift store doesn’t resemble what you see in a magazine; it reflects a mishmash of tastes, brands, styles and SIZES of real, live women. Seeing as what’s on those racks has actually been worn by real, live women, and seeing as the average American woman’s a size 14 (NBD, obvs), there’s actually more merchandise to choose from if you’re NOT my size. Where all of our varying sizes are concerned, there’s no place more inclusive than the world of the gently worn. I’m thrilled that Donna found this to be the case. And I hope her ability to strap on a pair and go for it inspires you to do the same.

A big fat MWAH for the Sharesies. Loves it.