Thrifting emerged in the late 19th and early 20th centuries as a response to industrialization and urbanization. Today, many characterize it as one of the easiest counterweights to overconsumption. Long before sustainable fashion became a buzz phrase, secondhand stores and donation networks formed a parallel clothing economy—part necessity, part community infrastructure, and part subculture. 

Now, thrifting offers a simple moral equation, a choice individuals can make without waiting for policy change or corporate reform: //Buy used instead of new, and keep clothing in circulation longer.// 

The concept aligns with how circular fashion is often described—by keeping clothes on the rack through practices like resale, repair, and reuse, fewer resources are wasted making brand-new replacement items. In that sense, thrifting becomes a genuine harm-reduction strategy as it diverts clothing from landfills and can reduce demand for new production. Yet, in recent years, the belief that thrifting alone can resolve the harms of fast fashion has grown far more complicated. 

WHEN CIRCULARITY HITS THE WALL

Fashion production accounts for 10 per cent of total global carbon emissions—roughly equivalent to the emissions of the European Union—and around 85 per cent of textiles end up in landfills each year. Thrifting, then, appears to offer a plausible solution. In practice, however, thrift shops receive more donations than they can sell through traditional or secondhand retail avenues, pushing large volumes of clothing into secondary channels beyond standard resale. Discussion surrounding circular fashion often emphasizes consumer behaviour while overlooking the fashion industry’s routine overproduction and disposal of unsold stock. 

A 2025 study by Loughborough University challenged the economic logic behind many circular business models, arguing they tend to generate lower profit margins compared to selling new garments—meaning that if circular models actually reduce new production, fashion revenues would shrink. And if they merely operate alongside continued production, the environmental gains are likely to be negligible. The study further argues that a shift toward lower-margin circular models could lead to more precarious employment in second-hand clothing sorting and recycling, due to stagnant wages and worsening working conditions. Even at its most efficient, circularity cannot fully counter a production model built on excess—nor can it unsettle the society’s pressure to constantly consume.

Thrift shopping can meaningfully reduce harm compared to buying new—but it does not, on its own, undo an overconsumption mindset, nor does it erase the barriers that shape who can shop sustainably. The question then isn’t whether thrifting is ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ but when it functions as a genuine alternative to new consumption—and when it becomes a greener-looking version of the same cycle. 

MONTREAL’S THRIFT ECONOMY

Montreal’s wide secondhand landscape reflects a similar dynamic. On one end are donation-based chains that still function, for many shoppers, as a baseline source of clothing: Predictable locations, broad inventory turnover, and the expectation of lower prices. On the other end are curated vintage and resale shops, where stock is handpicked, trends are named and merchandised, and secondhand is sold not as a cheaper alternative, but as a cultivated aesthetic. In a city where personal style is part of everyday identity, especially among students, thrifting has become both a practice and a performance: A way to stretch budgets, signal values, and participate in a distinctly //Montreal// fashion culture.  

Students and organizers working within the thrifting ecosystem describe sustainability as something that is both widely embraced and unevenly lived. In an interview with //The Tribune//, Selena Menez Nielsen, U2 Arts and director of communications of P[h]assion McGill—a student-led nonprofit that organizes fashion-based fundraisers for AIDS Community Care Montreal—highlighted the different opinions shaping the thrifting discourse.

Nielsen shared that she has seen strong interest in thrifting and secondhand shopping—an enthusiasm she read as part of a broader shift in awareness around sustainability among students. However, she also cautioned that it can be vulnerable to the same dynamics that drive mainstream fashion, such as trend cycles, social validation, and volume. 

“Within the thrift pop-up, I think a lot of people were receptive to the idea that […] we were promoting sustainability through [thrifting],” said Nielsen. “And a lot of people, especially right now, are really receptive to thrifting, and also like purchasing second-hand clothing.”

The interest in shopping second-hand, she said, does not automatically mean people are consuming less. Nielsen described an online environment in which thrifting is celebrated even as people keep buying in high volume. 

“It’s more so the consumption aspect,” Nielsen said. “If you’re buying copious amounts of garments, even if [they’re] thrifted, it kind of defeats the purpose of thrifting.”

In Montreal, those questions not only show up in shopping habits but also in cost. Alina Lu, a U4 management student and co-president of P[h]assion McGill, said that she has noticed the prices of second-hand clothing rising. 

“It’s almost like a vicious cycle where people now see thrifting as a trend,” Lu said. “Then they’ll go to thrift stores, and then thrift stores see this as an opportunity to drive their prices up. I definitely think there is a bit of privilege in curated thrifting and being able to thrift as a choice and not as a need.”

At the same time, Lu cautioned against gatekeeping secondhand shopping and sustainability, arguing that the issue is not who thrifts, but how people participate in the practice and shape the market around it. 

“There shouldn’t be a limit or a restriction on who gets to thrift. I think that’s also wrong,” Lu said. “When people are buying bins or reselling at exorbitant prices online, that I think is deserved criticism. But, if we’re criticizing and limiting who gets to thrift, that’s not helping the cause at all.”

IS PROFIT THE POINT?

As curated vintage shops multiply and online reselling becomes more visible, thrifting is no longer just framed as a sustainable practice, but also as a market. For some shoppers, that shift has turned secondhand into an ethical debate: If the clothing was donated, what counts as fair pricing and who is entitled to make money from it?

In an interview with //The Tribune//, Emile Nault, a manager at ThriftStop, said that criticism often targets resellers and scalpers specifically—people who buy secondhand items and list them again at higher prices. But Nault rejected the idea that reselling is inherently unethical, arguing that this practice can keep more items in circulation than would otherwise be possible. 

“Some people think it’s unethical for some people to make money through [reselling], because they think that they steal the clothing and [resell] for more money,” Nault said. “But I think that, in fact, they are just saving more pieces of clothing than what was possible [….] The more people there are to give a second life to any type of goods, the more beneficial it is to the planet.”

Laurette Dubé, Professor Emerita in the Desautels Department of Marketing, made a similar argument, pushing back against what she described as a reflexive moral hierarchy between commercial and non-commercial models. Dubé called the idea that “making money is wrong” a long-standing myth, and argued that revenue alone does not determine whether a secondhand outlet is ethical or harmful. For Dubé, the ethical question is less about whether there is monetary profit and more about what access a store creates—who it serves, what rate it prices at, and how it fits into the surrounding community. 

“Look at what [the stores] do,” she said in an interview with //The Tribune//. “[Look at] the type of clothes [and] the pricing they have. You can also look at their embedding within their neighbourhood and their community. That’s where I think you can have differentiating criteria that are relevant, […] because the NGO […] also needs resources.” 

Dubé also emphasized that the relationship between fast fashion and thrifting should be understood as part of the same lifecycle. She described an “ecosystem” of clothing, where the more garments are produced, the more important it becomes to reuse before disposing of them. In this ecosystem, reuse is materially better than treating clothing as disposable inventory. 

“This ecosystem perspective is possibly something that is not understood and thought through enough,” Dubé said. “Fast fashion and thrift stores, for me, should go together in some way. The more you produce, the more you want to reuse before [disposing].”

THE ACCESS GAP

Even when secondhand options exist, the shopping process itself can be a barrier. In-store thrifting is often built around browsing, physical sorting, and trying items on—steps that can be difficult for people with limited mobility or other access needs. 

Danika Zandboer, a Concordia Master’s student in Studio Arts, said the practical realities of thrifting actively shape her experience and how much she buys. 

“Functionally, it’s hard [to overconsume] because there’s a bit more of a digging component to finding stuff,” Zandboer said. “So, at least for me, I feel more intentional [when thrifting].”  

Zandboer also pointed to the physical demands that are built into the same process that makes shopping intentional. 

“Thrifting requires, generally speaking, more of a physical presence in this space to try things on,” she said. “Although that’s not necessarily true, because there are [places] where you can buy things online. But since [the items] are one of a kind, and there’s less regulation about listings, it maybe does make it a bit harder.”

An Aalborg University study on secondhand consumption suggests that barriers aren’t only about willingness; they are often practical, embodied, and unevenly distributed. A later study on secondhand purchasing across product categories found that consumers describe distinct barriers that shape whether they buy secondhand at all, including concerns about trust, hygiene perceptions, and the transaction process. For people living with disabilities, the act of acquiring clothing itself can create barriers to everyday participation and daily life. 

For other shoppers, the barrier is not only about physical limitations or transportation, but the way secondhand spaces interact with mental health. In an interview with //The Tribune//, Hanbyeol Kim, U3 Arts, described contamination fears linked to Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that can make thrifting difficult and escalate anxiety—even when shopping secondhand aligns with her values. 

“Sometimes, if I’m in a thrift store, all of a sudden I start thinking, ‘Oh my God, who were the people that had these clothes, [did they] wash them properly? And then I get really stressed out and [need to] leave,” they said. “If I’m seeing a few things like stains that don’t just look like paint, I think, ‘You know what, I’d rather just buy something brand new from a store.’” 

For Kim, the sustainable choice isn’t a simple moral decision—it can be shaped by stress responses and accessibility needs that don’t disappear in a thrift aisle. Taken alongside time, mobility, and pricing barriers, her experience highlights that buying secondhand is not equally accessible for everyone. 

NOT A CURE BUT A PRACTICE

Ultimately, thrifting isn’t a cure-all, and it cannot bear the full weight of fast fashion and habitual overconsumption. But it still remains one of the most materially meaningful interventions available at the consumer level, reducing harm in a system that depends on replacement—even when it’s not equally available to everyone. 

Montreal has already built a fashion identity around discovery, reinvention, and secondhand fashion statements. If thrifting is going to last beyond trend cycles, it has to move from novelty to routine—with fewer purchases overall, not just different ones. And this shift starts with ordinary questions: Why am I buying this? How long will I wear it? What am I replacing—or am I just adding? Thrifting matters most when it becomes a default starting point for consuming less, wearing clothes longer, and recognizing when you already have enough. Secondhand alone cannot solve the problem that follows us into every aisle: //more//.