Lawrence.com

Children of the '80s may be the last to remember a time when second-hand clothing was less than rad.

For them, junior high fashion was about Pepe denim, crisp and new from The Buckle. Or, for the less fortunate, it was about generic Wal-Mart jeans crafted to look like Pepe. Or Z. Cavaricci. Mossimo. Girbaud. Whatever the brand, most kids wanted gleaming, status-affirming, designer labels on their asses.

Then grunge happened. The children who coveted their older siblings' Guess sweatshirts grew into high schoolers who searched Salvation Army bins for the perfect flannel. It was the '90s, and they wore nameless, baggy jeans on their asses. The trend was to be non-trendy, and the best non-trends were found at second-hand stores - where only poor folks once treaded.

More than a decade later, though, it looks like second-hand shopping wasn't just a trend. Or a non-trend. Once Generations X and Y declared it socially acceptable to don used attire, the levees broke under the weight of the middle class, and a river of used, flared corduroys poured forth. Lawrence, like much of America, has been swimming in it ever since. And somewhere in the flood are the hip, the thrifty and the downright poor.

Penny pinchers

The term "second-hand" is a complicated one, encompassing resale, consignment, vintage and thrift stores.

For those strapped for cash, resale stores are a popular means of making money or buying on the cheap. Stores such as Arizona Trading Company specialize in recycling stylish clothing that's in good shape - shoppers bring in their used items for cash or in-store credit. But that's only if their offering passes muster with the store's notoriously stringent "buyers."

It's those picky buying practices that have created a large following - a second location opened in Kansas City's Westport area in 1998, and the Lawrence location recently expanded to house a larger inventory.

"We have the kind of clothing people actually want to buy," says owner Jennifer Sievers, who opened ATC some 14 years ago. While the eclectic racks include many styles of clothing, including some vintage pieces, name brands like American Eagle and Express are a heavy presence in the store. The objective, Sievers says, is to connect customers with the fashions they desire - be they mainstream or alternative.

"It's not consumer retail - it's a lot more interesting than that," Sievers says. "Some people come in every day, looking for something special. It's such an amazing thing when you can give someone that feeling - they find something they want and can actually afford."

The people who can afford clothes at Arizona may be on tight budgets, but they're not the people who once drove the used clothing market. Former ATC employee Haylee Nair says that second-hand shopping is now a middle-class phenomenon.

"There's a trendy set of people who like to wear vintage, and sorority girls who need cowboy outfits for theme parties," Nair says of the ATC clientele she observed. She points out that the University of Kansas brings students from wealthy families into the Lawrence mix. "A lot of the people who live here go and buy new things from Abercrombie. Then Arizona basically gets stuff rich kids are tired of." Those clothes, in turn, make it just one rung lower on the socioeconomic ladder.

For example, an almost-new sweater that retailed for $80 might sell for $30 at ATC, Nair says. "A welfare mom is probably not going to pay $30 for a used sweater." She says those who are forced to seek used clothing for economic reasons shop elsewhere.

Penniless

The economically disadvantaged may find used clothing less accessible than ever, with the closings of the Salvation Army Thrift Store last July and long-time fixture Plymouth Thrift Shop in 2001.

A Goodwill store opened in 2002, but its South Iowa location may be relatively inaccessible to Lawrencians without cars. The Goodwill seems to be riding the middle-class wave nonetheless - it now includes a "retro right now" clothing rack and a shelf of kitschy "employee's picks." And it's hard not to notice that the cashiers are young and exuding a certain cool.

Linda Lassen, who helps operate the community-assistance mecca Penn House, says that closings and accessibility issues have increased demand on services like hers, which can hardly accommodate need in the area. Penn House has pooled resources with other not-for-profits to prepare for the holiday season, she says.

"I see more people every day that I've never seen before," says Lassen, who has worked at Penn House since a few months after it opened in 1969. The original, cramped Penn House building was torn down and replaced with a larger structure in 1980. "We're almost ready to outgrow this one."

One of Penn House's regular customers, who asks to remain anonymous, says that finding suitable clothing - and thus blending in with society - is a paramount concern for poor people. She says the United Way-sponsored organization met not only physical but social needs by providing free clothes for her and the five-year-old grandson she has raised.

"You're identified by your clothing," says the woman, who was homeless five years ago. "This has given us self-esteem to enter the community. Because of this place, I can dress my child in clothes that are equal to his peers'. I was proud when I took him to preschool, because he looked so... typical."

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