With the climate change conference taking place in Paris we thought we’d dedicate the articles this week to the theme of “reduce, reuse, recycle” and so first up Jo Bailey has a canny way of getting clothes for free and helping save the planet at the same time!
The very first clothes swap I went to was in a not-so-affluent suburb of a wonderful little city named Newcastle upon Tyne in the north of England. Pre-clothes swap fear and anxiety is a real thing. I, for one, never really have any idea what to expect. Will I have to display items and therefore potentially justify my overly-impulsive charity shop buys? Will other participants judge me for the bizarre and downright odd clothing-purchase decisions I have made? Should I take only labelled clothes? Vintage clothes? Can I really take this cut-off American eagle t-shirt I have only ever worn when lounging about hungover and waiting for the Sunday wine-shakes to end? Difficult decisions are ahead.
The first clothes swap I went to in Heaton was brilliant. I took my friend and other lifelong hoarder and lover of odd vintage dresses with me. Turns out we just dumped our clothes on a huge table and got to browse the items of others. It’s a whole new experience. I’ve never been very good at or comfortable with shopping. I have never mastered the art of shopping like a real, rational person who knows what size bra size they should actually buy. I am the awkward one who picks up odd items and giggles profusely at them as I try desperately to decide which side of the original/downright disgusting, yet VERY thin, line they lay.
A word of warning: This is NOT an appropriate way to ‘shop’ at a clothes swap; mainly because the previous wearers of the garments are in the room. At my first clothes swap, I remember distinctively doing the ‘which-side-of-the-ugly/amazingly-original-line-does-this-exuberant-neon-floral-swimsuit-lie’ debate discreetly in my head when a 70 year old lady came up behind me and whispered – “I used to look bloody gorgeous in that.” Amazing. Everything, from people to tiny towns to pairs of holey socks, becomes more valuable when you hear its history. At a clothes swap, each garment has lived. You hear their stories; whether you want them or not. I took the swimsuit and not only rocked it at the beach in Spain and swimming pools in Paris, but also occasionally wore it as festival wear in France. I continued the tradition of looking bloody gorgeous in its oversized floral print until the very fabric it was made of wore out entirely.
To my surprise, my friend ended up going home with most of the things I had brought with me. I had never offered them to her because we differ in proportion by at least two sizes. But, at a clothes swap, much like in a high street sale, your potential clothing size range expands a lot. I guess I’d normally buy size 12 clothes but since most of my clothes are bought in charity shops, vintage stores or acquired at clothes swaps, I can definitely fit in sizes varying from size 6 to 24. It’s a serious case of mind over matter. It’s free. You can always squeeze or eat more dessert as required.
Clothes swap number two occurred in yet another not-so-affluent suburb of yet another wonderful yet not-so-little city of Paris. My friend and I were in desperate need of shrinking our material possessions into a suitcase each by the end of the summer. I suggested a clothes swap. My friend was intrigued yet hesitant to take items she could sell at a flea market. Luckily for the Parisian population, I decided that due to a combination of the impregnability of French bureaucracy and other logistical hiccups, a vide grenier* was not really an option for me.
Two years ago, I had an irrational penchant for buying floral formal shirts because I was in a state of total denial about the shambles that is the graduate job market. I therefore had many fabulous tops that I had never worn. I took them all. On arrival, the organiser explained that normally everybody places their clothes on a huge table in the middle and from then on in, it’s pretty much a free-for-all. In theory, we launch it, taking the same number of items that we had put in. After sorting out the goodies into piles of dresses, shirts, accessories and so on, we waited until everyone had arrived and then went wild.
I say wild, but I was with another English girl and a Swede, so everything was highly polite. Lots of “Oooh, that’s gorgeous” about clothes we would never wear, because the previous owners were there, protected by a degree of anonymity due to the pile-and-go method we had followed. I was very British and reserved for a while until everyone got stuck in. What surprised me most about this clothes swap was the genuine excitement I got from the joyful beams of those who had found clothes I have never, ever worn or outgrown. It was like I’d given all the ridiculous blouses I purchased Toy Story-like personalities. Now they all get new leases of life.
Clothes swapping is highly therapeutic in ways I would never have imagined. The process affirms that you were not temporarily mad when you bought that overly lacy number you have subsequently never worn. I personally acquired an amazing bright red skin-tight Lycra playsuit at the clothes swap in Paris. The lady who had previously owned it told me that although she thought it was fabulous, she hated the way it hugged her midriff. When I tried it on, I loved it instantly. This is exactly how slow fashion should work.
Maybe I shop bizarrely, but whenever I browse vintage shops, it amuses me to have the previous owner in mind. For some reason, it is always the same lady. Whether it be for an 80s playsuit, denim cut-off shorts, or a prairie dress, I always picture an aging 70 year old who, because of the curse of middle aged spread, cannot fit into her favourite investment any more. Clothes swaps are much more fun. You meet the previous owner. This satisfies the curious hunger of creeps like me.
For those with a fear of letting go, I can safely say that I have no memories of specific items that I have swapped or given away at any such event I have attended. When something constantly exists in your space, it becomes a passive part of your everyday life. A dreary object you see every day, but never use. Once it’s gone, you’ll struggle to remember its very pattern. Clothes are made to be shared. To be fun. To be creative. That fabulous floral jacket and those sparkly pants are not living up to their full fun-making potential by hanging sadly in your closet.
So, go do. Go to your first ever clothes swap. Take things you stupidly thought fell on the good side of the cool/downright ugly line, and therefore never wore, because someone else will love it. When an item arrives into the clutches of its third owner and it’s still looking fiiiiiiine, you know you’ve done a good deed for this little planet of ours. You have nothing to lose. In fact, you have only wardrobe and head space to gain.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a slinky red bodycon playsuit to pour myself into…
By Jo Bailey https://godojo.wordpress.com/
How To Host Your Own Clothes Swap Party
Search online for public events near you (troc tes fringues en français) or even better set up your own!
1. Decide on the date of your swap party and invite everyone that you think would have some cool clothes/be interested. The best way of doing this is with a Facebook event. Make sure that you tell your friends what it’s all about.
2. Make the rules. There’s loads of different ways you can do this. Piles of clothes divided by values. Tickets. The simplest way is a simple 1:1 rule. If you bring 5 items you can take 5 maximum. Make sure the things you being are clean and in good condition. They’re items you’re bored with, not that need to be recycled in the clothing donation boxes (not yet anyway).
3. Music, food, drink. You know the drill. An event like this is a good Sunday champagne brunch thing.
4. Have a place where people can try things on. The bathroom will do. Or if you’re not shy then just in front of everyone.
5. Most importantly. All the leftover clothes must be donated to charity or recycled.
