Second-hand wedding dresses,
The Bargain Box, Riddells Creek

There are things that are often said but which I will not say. I will not start a sentence with the words Women of my generation… or As a mother… or I know it's clichéd, but... because these phrases strike me as cheap groundwork. I will not use the word successful to describe a person, only his or her actions and accomplishments. And I will not invoke the phrase politically correct or  politically incorrect because a phrase that has been so lovingly adopted by both the avant-garde left and the ham-fisted right couldn’t possibly have any meaning left. Needless to say, I will not use the word pre-loved when all I really mean is used  or second-hand.



Top, $18.75

It’s not that the people working in op shops don’t know the value of things - after all, the only value inherent in an inanimate object is whatever we ascribe to it - it’s that their pricing doesn’t necessarily reflect that of the marketplace. I once saw a mug on sale at an op shop for $4. Considering how attractive the mug was, this didn’t strike me as particularly expensive until I turned it over and saw that its original price was  $2.99. And I know of one op shop where the ladies are so fond of Big W’s many styles of sequinned and beaded tops they sell them for $6-$8 while non-sparkly Ojay and Witchery tops sell for $3-$4. Quite often, these pricing discrepancies work in my favour. But the staff at the Salvos store in Kyneton clearly saw exactly the same value in this top as I did. Damn.

Barkins top, $6

Many of us are guilty of treating someone who doesn’t speak English or who is hard of hearing as if they're a bit stupid. Not on purpose, of course – it just sometimes slips out in a moment of frustration or impatience (some of you might be thinking “Cut out this us business, I never do it,” and I tip my hat to you).

At an op shop last week, the old dear behind the counter decided she’d had just about enough of the colleague who was putting out clothes in all the wrong places. As this colleague went to hang some more tops with the dresses the old dear exclaimed, “They’re tops! They’re tops!” and then added “You wear them over pants!” The colleague didn’t react but if she had, I dare say she would have been well within her rights to say, “I'm 70 years old. I know what tops are, Beryl.”

Top, $8

Since I only buy things second-hand, it would appear that I am not a supporter of the fashion industry. And it’s true that no emerging designers will be establishing themselves thanks to my custom: I simply don't buy the stuff. But I do appreciate the stuff, and in the decades to come, when the stuff has found its way into op shops and consignment stores and the designers themselves have long since given way to the next wave of new talent, I’ll be there.

Dress, $2

I hate labels. I refuse to wear anything with a label. Don’t get me wrong; I love designer clothing. I just have to cut the labels out first because I have dry skin and labels scratch like a son of a bitch.


Many clothing manufacturers cut the labels out of their surplus stock before donating them to op shops so as not to cannibalise or cheapen their own brand. Personally, I’d be a bit miffed if what I thought was a dress from a respectable, mid-range chain store turned out to be an item by one of those short, male fashion designers who seem to hate women. 

Dress, $4

When Jenette Brierley first started volunteering at the Arthritis Victoria Op Shop, she didn’t have arthritis. She does now, though. Not because arthritis is somehow catching, but because that first shift was some 20 years ago and the prevalence of arthritis increases with age. In fact, half the volunteers at the shop have arthritis. After all, the shop has been around for over 30 years and two of the founding volunteers are still behind the counter. But don’t think a bit of arthritis will stop the ladies climbing a stepladder to reach an item for you. As one volunteer put it when a customer offered to help, “We have insurance for this.”

Earl Jean top $29 

Some women will always derive the greatest satisfaction from being fashionably turned out. But even the well-heeled can reach saturation point. The breadth of their wardrobes can become unmanageable and the acquisition of new pieces can be accompanied by a prickling of the conscience. Hence the continued proliferation of designer fashion recycle boutiques in Melbourne’s poshest suburbs and most popular day trip destinations. The collections in these stores are often eclectic, reflecting the community which supplies the stock on a consignment basis. Not only do these stores make prestigious labels more affordable, they lend cachet to the odd chain store item that has passed muster with the proprietor. And they make hip labels strangely alluring to those who decided long ago not to try to be hip.

Ex drag show costume, $240

I used to buy vintage outfits all the time. Then I went from a size 8 to a size 12 over a number of years and was dismayed to find that most things from the 40s and 50s were now beyond my reach. So I’m very grateful to the trannies of days gone by who have made it possible for someone like me to still find a gown that fits in a vintage boutique.

Dress, $130

Some women flick through glossy magazines and lament the fact that they could never afford the new superbreed of designer bag, but I rejoice - it means a $200 Witchery bag couldn’t possibly be considered such a terrible splurge. But how do I feel when I come across an Alberta Ferretti dress that suits me and is my size and which costs less than a Witchery bag? Well, just plain lucky. Apparently this dress was marked down moments before I walked through the door but I was so captivated I would’ve forked out the initial price. And therein lies the danger of fashion recycle boutiques. It is all too easy to walk out with armloads of things, and so the only solution for me is not to walk in too often.