Ethics of Thrifting

Student Guest Opinion

By Tess Tarchak-Hiss | Sept. 20, 2025

In my last mall adventure, I had a dilemma: I found the perfect pair of jeans. A pair of low-rise pants that didn’t sag or drag—I felt extremely Destiny’s Child. The cut was trendy; the style was in; the jeans were mine. Or it could have been, if I didn’t have a moral meltdown about a bunch of bootlegs.

I’ve gotten 90 percent of my clothes from a variety of secondhand sources: Moxie Estate Sales, thrift shops, my mom’s closet (until she angrily hounds it down), the yearly Zany yard sale if I’m in the mood for fighting a nanna for a pair of Orthofeet. I’ve never been disturbed by items from former owners—I’d like to imagine they’re content that their Tommy Bahama shirt is being turned into a crop-top by a teenager.

I’ve always loved the eccentric aspect of my style, taken from decades of decaying closets. My relationship with fashion has developed since sixth grade, but in a time when most middle-schoolers felt insignificant and unsure in their skin, I had the rarity of confidence due to my closet. An inflated self-confidence and identity that evaporated this month at the mall in a millisecond due to something so minuscule: a brand-new pair of jeans.

It’s not that I looked aesthetically bad—I was totally giving Lindsay from Arrested Development. However, feeling culpable in purchasing something new led me to criticize my motives. I told myself I could find something for cheaper, something better for the environment, and therefore better for my ego. But in the grand scheme of the world, were these jeans really that big a deal?

I consider myself fairly responsible with my money, mostly due to my mom’s consistent attitude towards budgeting. Thrifting felt like a loophole. I could purchase oodles of jeans that were nothing more than mediocre at Women’s Resource for the price of a single sock at Hot Topic. Move over, dude at the Goodwill—I need another Family Guy shirt.

As my frontal lobe developed, so did my sense of shame. By buying countless corduroys, as cute as they were, I felt as if I was taking away resources for those who actually needed a pair of flares. I didn’t need all that I owned.

Was I thrifting to save money and the planet? Or was I doing it so I could buy increased items? Whenever the “more, more, more” mentality continues to creep up, it’s important to redirect consumerism with gratitude: savor the stuff you find glee in, whether it’s from the Salvation Army or Spencer’s.

Not a single person is perfect, so stop treating your financial decisions like they have to be. Consistency is key to a constructive impact—as long as you’re mindful of what your underlying intentions are and acting on those the majority of the time, you’re doing the “right” thing. Nobody’s actions will be exactly aligned with their ethics 100 percent of the time, and that’s normal. Excellence isn’t sustainable—stability is.

The positives of ethical thrifting are transparent from an environmental perspective—it lowers carbon footprints, chemical pollution, water waste, and prevents an uprise in landfill waste. While the underlying message beneath this type of shopping is salient, the key is to walk the walk, not just talk the talk, especially as thrifting has skyrocketed in popularity among Gen Z and Millennials and is now preached as a form of social currency and eco-consciousness.

For example, if you’re a dude raving about thrifting with the hipster mustache/matcha latte combo carrying a copy of Men Explain Things to Me, you’re bound to be met with a “get a load of this guy.”

I say this from the perspective of a walking cliche: I have bangs and listen to Norah Jones. Before the uptick in thrift-traction, I was tormented for the unfamiliar “emo” way I was dressed, only to then be complimented on my rings years later by the same people who scoffed at my Sleater-Kinney shirt. That said, I’m not going to stop the way I present myself because it’s popular in the present, similar to how I never ceased to be comfortable in my skin in the past.

At the end of the day, thrifting can still be ethical, even if it’s just a baby step toward a more sustainable life. It’s easy to get your Patagonia pants in a twist when debating morals, but the facts all point toward the positive impacts that thrifting has on the planet, regardless of why you do it.

In today’s world, we’re all ready to judge each other for one thing or another. I propose that we—as consumers, as thrifters, as people—should welcome all with open arms, with no sense of judgment.

There are already enough clothes in the world for everyone to share, and more than enough people in the world to make it a better place through small choices.

Tess Tarchak-Hiss is a senior at Traverse City West Senior High. She explores the world around her by writing at her dining room table while listening to Wiz Khalifa.