I spend a lot of time at thrift stores. They’re like shoppable museums. Each item is a discarded piece of someone’s life. Childhood toys, art projects, old photos, and souvenirs all come to die at stores like Goodwill. I’ve always wondered about the past lives of thrift store junk and why they were given away.
Sometimes, the answer is more cut and dried. Broken dishes, clothes that don’t fit, technology that’s out of date, trendy shoes that went out of style.
Other times, items jump out at me as something that, at least at some point, had sentimental value. A water bottle covered in stickers, a cassette tape of love songs, and a collection of seashells are all examples of items included in this project. I wonder about the people who owned these objects and about where they are now. Did someone collect all those stickers to show off their interests and beliefs? Who did someone compile those love songs for? Did someone, somewhere, walk along the beach hunting for the prettiest shells?
The items we choose to get rid of say a lot about who we are, maybe more so than the items we surround ourselves with. They show where we’ve been. They show what we value or no longer value.
Thrift stores also often receive the property of people who have died. Objects that spent a lifetime being part of someone’s home now sit scattered on shelves, plastered with neon pink price stickers.
For this project, I wanted to answer the question: What thrift store items that seem personal reflect about the area they’re found in?
I focused on searching for items that stood out as sentimental, shopping only within the bounds of Athens County. I focused on items that weren’t solely utilitarian. I looked for objects that were purely decorative or evoked some sort of personal sentiment, like the water bottle (utilitarian) covered in stickers with different messages (personal).
In my search for items, I also observed the behavior of shoppers and how they looked around the store. I noticed that people, first and foremost, gravitated to name-brand items or other pieces known to be expensive. Their initial incline to them seemed to have less to do with their use for it and more to do with their need for a good find, to call their friend over and say “this is Nike!” or “Do you know how much this costs new?”
Donators seemed rushed, pulling their car up to the donation center and unloading bulging trash bags. Perhaps they had been meaning to declutter, and finally had enough. Maybe their jeans were too small. Maybe they had read a Marie Kondo book.
In pursuit of my question, I can’t say I’ve found a concrete answer about what the items reflect about Athens. That might take years and thousands of items, or it may just be undefinable. However, I feel like I’ve made some observations about human nature and our relationship with our stuff. I would like to continue this project gradually throughout my time in Athens to get more accurate data.
