I first started thrifting when I was 15 years old. I was a punk kid who loved Vogue and hated the automatons in my high school, all of which shopped at the same 4 stores in the tiny complex we called a “mall” in Northern British Columbia. I no longer remember why I even set foot in our local Value Village (might have been Riot Grrrl or might have been my fledgling anti-consumerism) but I started going regularly. And I thrifted everything: vintage boy’s vests, “old man” checkered pants, plastic earrings, colorful wrap skirts and jackets in carpet patterns with sparkly (and itchy) stitching. I found Hello Kitty pillow cases and plastic children’s lunchboxes with old 80’s super-heroes decals, half peeled off and faded. Nothing remains of those early days but a vintage navy wool vest with a chain link pattern and an unbinding love for the hunt.