The top catches your eye from across the rack. Beads sprinkled across its form, accentuating the olive green satin fabric beneath. Perfectly trendy and $75 anywhere else. You flip the tag. Three dollars. You grab it without thinking. At checkout, it occurs to you that the woman behind you is buying a cart full of similar tops, tagging them on her phone before she even gets home. Somewhere between your find and hers, the experience shifts. Something about it feels different, though you can’t quite place what.

Thrifting, broadly defined, is the practice of shopping at secondhand stores, estate sales and donation-based retailers for used clothing, furniture and household goods. What once carried a stigma of necessity has transformed into a cultural phenomenon, trend chasing teenagers, boutique shops and resellers looking to flip inventory for profit. The thrift store has entered a new era – one shaped by social media, shifting economics and a generation that has turned bargain-hunting into an aesthetic.

However, thrifting is far from a modern invention. The first Goodwill store opened in 1902, and the Salvation Army’s retail operations date back even earlier. Both were originally conceived as charitable models to support low-income communities. For much of the 20th century, buying secondhand was widely associated with poverty or financial hardship, and ownership of new clothing functioned as a marker of social status. Those who could afford new items actively avoided thrift stores.

So, what changed? A 2022 survey from New York University found that 74% of thrift shoppers believe the practice is more socially acceptable than it was just five years ago. The best answer? The shift accelerated alongside the rise of social media. Influencers began posting massive thrift hauls on platforms like TikTok and Instagram, from Juicy zip-ups to the low-rise jeans of the early 2000s. Resale apps like Depop, Poshmark and ThredUp made secondhand clothes-shopping easily accessible online. This, along with the significantly lower pricing at the thrift, made it extremely attractive to teens.

“Instead of spending an insane amount of money to buy an entirely new style, why don’t we go thrifting [to] find pieces that fit this new vibe?” junior Jade Wolff asked. “It’s a way that I could experiment with new styles without being broke, which as a teenager is kind of hard to do.”

Thrifting also holds the advantage of reducing one’s negative economic impact. The fast fashion industry has decimated natural environments. Textile manufacturing companies like Zara, Temu and Shein are estimated to increase their carbon emissions by 60% by 2030. Thrifting, when done with intentionality, will produce far less waste.

“Sustainability is cool. Would I say it’s my main motivator? Hmm, no. It’s an added bonus, for sure, that I’m single handedly saving the planet,” Wolff said jokingly. “It’s like when I don’t get straws at restaurants, that’s how I feel. Like, I’m singlehandedly saving the world right now.”

Now that thrifting has officially hit the mainstream, a new problem has emerged: resellers. Resellers, or people who buy thrifted items specifically to flip them at a markup on platforms like Depop, have become a growing fixture of the secondhand ecosystem. The practice isn’t inherently new, but its scale has exploded alongside thrifting as a trend. For shoppers who rely on thrift stores out of necessity rather than preference, the consequences are tangible.

In 2025, U.S. fashion resale platforms generated an estimated $20 billion in sales, a 19% increase from the year prior. That growth comes, in large part, from thrift stores, and when resellers move through those racks in volume, the inventory available to everyone else shrinks.

“I appreciate a good side hustle, but I think that everyone could have a better experience if people were only shopping for themselves,” Wolff said.

Senior Max Fybel has seen it up close at the Goodwill Bins in Oxnard. “I have seen a lot of people, specifically people in their early 20s, in very fashionable clothes,” she said. “I see the things that they’re getting, and I know I’m going to see them on Depop in 20 minutes for 20% more than what they just bought.”

The effect is a thinning of available inventory paired with rising prices, a combination that hits low-income shoppers hardest. When Fybel started thrifting around 2020, shirts at her local Goodwill ran about three dollars. Now, the same items go for eight. “I think it’s really unfortunate for people who can’t buy any other clothes,” Fybel said, “because thrifting is their only option.”

While saving money remains the most common driver for thrift shoppers, with 89% of secondhand consumers citing affordability as their reason for buying used goods, the stores built to serve that need are becoming harder to access for the people who need them most.

“If I find a really beautiful prom dress, I will leave it,” Fybel said, “because I know that some people… don’t have that privilege. You want to care for the environment and give clothes a new home, but you also want to make clothing accessible for everybody, because it’s a basic necessity.”

Despite all of it, thrifting is not going anywhere. In 2024, 58% of consumers said they bought used clothing – a record high – and the overall U.S. secondhand apparel market is projected to reach $74 billion by 2029. 

“I think it’s here to stay, because it influenced a lot of people to start thrifting, and I know a lot of people who rely on thrift stores to afford clothing as well,” Fybel said.

For first-timers, the experience can feel overwhelming; racks packed floor to ceiling, no obvious organization and no guarantee of finding anything at all. Starting at a local, mid-sized store offers a reasonable middle ground: enough variety to make the trip worthwhile, without the sensory overload of a massive Goodwill warehouse. Washing everything before wearing it, going in without rigid expectations and giving yourself extra time to browse are all habits that tend to make the first trip more enjoyable than frustrating.

“If you’re not a germophobe, it’s a great time,” Wolff said. “By wearing their clothes, you inherit their swag. So why would you want to miss out on that?”

The sentiment is simple, but it points to something thrifting has always had that most retail experiences don’t: the sense that you’re participating in something larger than a transaction. The item on the rack has a history, and so does the store itself; that’s what makes the trend of thrifting so popular, after all.

The version that exists today is messier and more complicated than the one that came before it, shaped by trends and practices that no one person created and no one person can undo. However, individual choices still add up. Leaving the prom dress on the rack, resisting the urge to bulk-buy for resale and being honest about whether a purchase is a want or a need are small decisions. They are also, collectively, the difference between a thrift store that serves everyone and one that serves whoever got there first.