Disclosure, of course: I come from a thrifting family. Every Saturday morning was devoted to yard sales, church sales and a round of thrift stores. We shopped for what we needed, of course - the beginning of a new school year meant a visit to the really big SalVa in New Rochelle - but, as any thrift-shopper knows, it was also a treasure-hunt. Part of it was financial; my parents had been raised to thrift and saw no point in spending more when one could find the same clothes with a few hours' rummaging. But more than this was the spirit of adventure.

This was not all fun and games; I had my periods of yearning after Abercrombie and J. Crew, lord knows - and I do think my grandmother might have secretly wished her "shopping" could have been more than just looking though the sack of variegated sized her husband carted back triumphantly from the Naval Postgraduate thrift store. But these were skills that served me well.

There are, of course, two kinds of thrifters: those who shop for need, and those who shop for fun. And then the rest of us, who are somewhere in the middle, who may delight in the outrageous but will also wear it. It takes a while to get thrifting down. At first, many young people go through phases of such exhilaration at the proliferation of cheap, unique garments, that they exercise no restraint at all, putting together wild outfits for the sake of outrageousness, paying no attention to size, so excited at the existence of grotesque polyester dresses that it doesn't really occur to them that they don't really want to be wearing one. We have all been there; I'm thinking of my "40s housedresses" phase.

Over time, you learn where to go first (shoes and bags), how to run your hand down a rack of sweaters to feel for cashmere, how to change modestly under an enormous skirt, how to gauge what will fit, which smells will wash out (ie, not from velvet jackets) and that perspiration stains are forever. You learn what's worth reshaping or just safety-pinning and what will always just look cartoonishly big. You learn how rare a well-fitting pair of pants is, and that you'll never actually wear all those vintage aprons, except for maybe when you run a tag sale. You learn which friends not to shop with - those who are exactly your size - and who has the best eye. Obviously, you learn drop-off days and are there when the doors open.

This is a rite of passage for teenagers, a step towards independence and individuality and thrift. Sure, it's about creativity, but also involves very real lessons of economics and quality and the realities of others' lives, both those who have worn before and those who will wear again. There will always be those, of course, who are put off by used things - or at least require the laundering and sorting of a Crossroads or a vintage store. It's true that places like a warehouse in the Bronx, covered in piles of unwashed clothes, in which one rifled and paid by the pound (sadly, no more) are not for everyone. And I do draw the line at underwear (except in the case of a 50's bullet-bra in my size) But people who have not walked a mile in another's shoes, or sweater, or gas station overall (another common rookie temptation) have missed out on a lot. I'm glad that the kids quoted in the story are becoming bargain hunters. At the risk of upping the competitive ante, I hope it also means an upswing in what, in my day, we just called "shopping."

Losing Its Cool At The Mall [NY Times]

Related: National Thrift Store Directory [Official Site]

All of the items are from H&M.

First item: Sleeve-less mid-thigh length dress made from 100% silk (I know!) and retailing for $69.90. The simple design made me think it would do best as a Calvin Klein item.

Second item: High-waisted and below-the-knee skirt made from polyester and retailing for $49.90. I took a look at Anna's grab-bag of mid-90s designer labels and decided that this item could be pulled off as a Donna Karan piece.

Third item: Knit tank-top made from polyester and silk and retailing for $34.90. I could just imagine a wealthy northern Italian woman lounging around in this top, so Gucci for this one.

Fourth item: Sleeve-less polyester top with tie around the waist retailing for $29.90. This top seemed very much like something you would find in the window of some girly boutique that is featured in Lucky, thus Pamela Barish seemed like a good fit.

First stop: Tokio 7:
After mulling around for a few minutes, trying to get the attention of the staff while knee-deep in the most horrendous/fabulous collection of mid-90s designer items, I finally get someone to look at my offerings. The buyer, a Japanese man in his forties, runs down the consignment policy about 50 times which I pretty much ignore because, obviously, I'm not actually trying to sell this stuff. The "Pamela Barish" top is up first: he asks me who the designer is and then gets into a lengthy conversation with another saleswoman in Japanese. I start to sweat bullets, thinking that the jig is up, but he announces that he would sell the top for $60, the "Donna Karan" skirt for $180, and the "Gucci" top for $80. His eyebrows raise a couple times when looking at the "Calvin Klein" dress but he ultimately he gives me a number of $250. Wow!

Second stop: Cadillac's Castle:
Feeling confident that my items passed the taste test at Tokio 7, I head over to Cadillac's Castle with a spring in my step. There, my attention is drawn to a Proenza Schouler for Target dress on a rack selling for $45. (It retailed for $35). I also notice a few dusty Century 21 items (red dot on the tag!) selling for a couple hundred dollars. A salesclerk directs me to the buyer, a forties-ish woman with blue eyeliner and that I-used-to-party-with-Andy-Warhol-but-now-I-take-Pilates-classes-in-the-Village kind of look who smirks in self-satisfaction as she pulls the corners of the tags on all my items off with almost no effort — and those things took me 8 hours to sew on! — and tosses them back to me. The salesclerk looks on with a mixture of anger and horror. (Perhaps they learned their lesson after the last time we made a visit?) As I walk out of the store I hear the woman say loudly, "I mean come on, right?" I feel a bit shaken and defeated, but whatever. Onward and eastward!

Third Stop: Beacon's Closet:: Okay, so this Williamsburg store isn't exactly a "high-end consignment store," but they have a pretty large collection of designer items, so, when I heard my friend would be making an appearance with some goodies of her own to sell, I threw in my items with hers and tagged along. The rail-thin hipster girls that looked through our items toss out a majority of my friend's items, giving monotone excuses like "we already have too many tops in this size," but they take a majority of my friend's H&M and Forever 21 castoffs. Finally my items appear. One of the girls carefully inspects the back of the dress and skirt (checking for period stains, perhaps?) and then says she would sell the "Calvin Klein" for $39.95 and the "Donna Karan" for $18.95. After engaging in a small tug-o-war with the buyer when I try to retrieve the goods, she tells me she could sell the "Gucci" top for $19.95 and the "Pamela Barish" top for $12.95. Interestingly, even though Beacon's Closet's buyers are known for being snobby and a bit off-putting, they seem a lot more interested in the actual items than the labels. In fact, they offer more for one of my friend's H&M summer jackets than any of my "designer" pieces. Hrmph!)

The Final Tally:
• H&M dress (original price, $69.90) masquerading as Calvin Klein: 2 for 3 with a top price of $250.
• H&M knit tank top (original price, $34.90) masquerading as Gucci: 2 for 3 with a top price of $80.
• H&M blouse (original price $29.90) masquerading as Pamela Barish: 2 for 3 with a top price of $60.
• H&M skirt (original price $49.90) masquerading as Donna Karan: 2 for 3 with the a top price of $180.

Earlier: Label Whores Head To Tampa
Label Whores Hit The East Village