This First Person column is the experience of Jennifer LoveGrove, who lives in Toronto. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
When I got home from work, there were packages piled at my door. My partner was on his way to my place. There wasn’t time to open them, to try on the new outfits, to post another thrift haul on Instagram. Worse, I couldn’t admit I’d bought something else — something surely perfect this time! — despite all the neglected outfits bursting from my closet. Cringing, I shoved the packages under the couch and out of sight.
That’s when I knew I had a problem, one more embarrassing than dangerous. It happened gradually, while wearing ratty sweatpants, during the years between the pandemic and turning 50. I had become addicted to shopping.
I’ve been a thrifter for as long as I can remember. I grew up in …