In the olden times, housewives went shopping. Today, mothers in upper-middle-class Toronto engage in a complicated form of anti-materialism. I, the Wednesday Martin of all of this, pop-sociologically embedded in my own life, observing it all with an ironic detachment, as though my real life were happening somewhere else, do and don’t get it. Yes, a no-gifts policy for (outdoor) birthday parties during a neverending pandemic where it’s still tricky to go to a store seems correct. But is new stuff so terrible? It is, apparently. Tell that to my own two most recent personal purchases: the (great) Aritzia sweatpants, and the (unwearable) Etsy Hyacinth Bucket dress.
Where I live, nothing is wasted. Everything unused gets placed, bare minimum, at the front of a front yard, for the taking. And there are takers! To a point: there’s the neighbor whose breakdown involved collecting the neighborhood’s discarded items onto her yard, which went on until the police intervened (presumably about something unrelated, but the heap is no more). There aren’t always takers, but often. And I have been on both ends of this. Used furniture, toys, books (mainly children’s; my neighborhood does not have much in the way of compelling discarded grown-up reading material), clothes in various states, baby gear, and then items that are plainly someone’s garbage (think random empty jam jars) that they somehow, for reasons I cannot parse, think merit a “Free!” sign. (This seems to go with the really upscale houses.)
It can be confusing, though, what’s free. I let my daughter take something that was clearly in the free-stuff spot of a yard, and then, because I did not grow up with this custom (tall apartment buildings in Manhattan don’t have this tradition) second-guessed the whole walk whether that doll-stroller really was for the taking.
Then there’s the whole parallel world of potentially not garbage-bound discarded items to be found on Facebook. Some goes to Buy Nothing, which is indeed what it sounds like. (I have not-bought one item: a Union Jack apron.) Then there’s Buy Something, aka the Mom’s somethingorother. This has been recommended to me on multiple irl occasions, and the algorithm thinks I’m very interested in it. And I’m definitely somewhat interested: I’ve bought good children’s books, a Halloween costume, maybe other things I’m forgetting. But because I allow myself no other online excitement, I find myself studying it.
A common feature of the page is clothing for which the asking price used will meet or exceed any plausible original purchase price for the item. As in it will be some fast-fashion mall clothes for a 4-year-old, at $15 an item. That, or occasionally the prices asked are so low that it’s hard (or rather, sad) to imagine it being worth anyone’s effort to try to get $5 for a pair of used rainboots or whatever. This can’t all just be about minimalism or why try to get money for it? And it’s not easy money! I know because I once experimented with this as a way of getting rid of some old clothes (in a foolish early-pandemic moment) and sold exactly none of it.
The “why” then is simple: because life in Toronto is expensive. But because this is how the moms are trying to earn a few bucks (do Canadians use “bucks” or just “loonies”?), things are not priced all that advantageously. Better to just order from Joe Fresh, with their $25 shipping minimum. Or not: the ethos of don’t-buy-anything-new makes that environmentally sinful and gauche. Much better to spend $25 on Joe Fresh that someone else’s child has spent some time in. Also gauche: admitting that you need, or even imagine you need, an additional $25. Which parenting woes to share on the playground, and which to withhold? I feel 100 years old, so deeply into adulthood, but here, before me, is a whole new scene.
I am curious if the playground moms are aware of your stature as a much lauded writer?
Yea or nay, it must be an interesting dynamic.
And.
Union Jack Apron thirst traps, FTW!
I find the "buy nothing" phenom more baffling. I live in upper NW DC, and my wife will post stuff bordering on rubbish into the local "buy nothing" list, and, presto, it just disappears!! I can't figure out if this is essentially a giant trash-laundering ring, or if there really are people out there -- people who, given the neighborhood, an clearly afford to buy whatever they want -- who want a somewhat cracked, very kitschy bagel plate that we received as an unwanted gift ten years ago and has been collecting dust in our attic since.