Do Thrifted Clothes Ever Really Feel Like Yours?

There’s this one time I noticed my sister walking around the house wearing an unfamiliar oversized shirt. My sister likes wearing loose shirts but this one looked odd to me because it doesn’t feel or looked like it was hers and it’s also slightly worn out. I told her about it and she says that she thrifted it. We laughed about how it looked like she stole it from someone else’s closet.

After that, I stared at my closet and thought do the clothes I thrifted look like they belong to me?

It’s weird because I like the process of thrift shopping. I love the hunt and finding something nice or interesting. I even love making up backstories for the clothes. But also, sometimes I wear them and feel like I’m just borrowing someone else’s life in a way.

Seriously, whose jacket is this? Sometimes it feels like I’m cosplaying as the person who previously owned it.

When I solo traveled, it got even weirder and funny. Wearing thrifted clothes while exploring unfamiliar cities made me feel like I wasn’t alone. I’d wear a cardigan and suddenly I’d imagine a ghost of a young girl who previously owned it with me. Maybe she wore this it to lunch with her ex. Maybe she danced in it once. Or cried in it. And now it’s mine. Kind of. Sort of.

Late at night, I’d be lying on my bed thinking about the thrifted clothes in my luggage. Imagining their presence, scaring myself. Did I accidentally brought ghosts with me on the trip? Can I still call it a solo trip? They should make a horror movie about that 😆.

I know they’re just clothes. But thrifted stuff carries a history. It’s not the same as buying something new. New clothes feel empty like a fresh notebook. Thrifted ones feel like someone already wrote something on it.

I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think part of wearing thrifted clothes is accepting that they’ll never be fully “yours.” You just borrow them and give them a new story.

Some days, thrifted clothes feel like me. Like I chose it. Other days, it feels like it chose me, especially if it fits me just right.

And no, my thrifted clothes don’t always feel like mine. Yet here I am, wearing them anyway, trying to stitch them into my story.