I didn't start shopping secondhand because it was sustainable or trendy or because someone convinced me it was the right thing to do. I started because we didn't have much money, and my mom found a way to make that fun.

Growing up in Bridgeport, browsing was how we spent time together. We'd go to Consignment Originals on Black Rock Turnpike for clothes. My mom had a good eye and knew how to find things. There was a shop on North Avenue that had home goods, toys, and books. That one was mine. Books were a quarter each. When we went, my mom would give each of us a dollar. Four books for a dollar. I was always hoping for Goosebumps. I always came home happy.

If we were driving somewhere and saw a tag sale sign, we turned around. Every time. No discussion. That was just the rule.

Most of what we owned was secondhand, and this was long before thrifting was cool. There was no aesthetic around it, no one making it feel intentional. It was just how we lived. We were resourceful because we had to be, and my mom made it feel like an adventure instead of a limitation. I've carried that my whole life.

What I learned without knowing I was learning it was that old things are often better than new things. The clothes held up. The books were real books. The furniture was solid. You could feel the difference. Nothing was designed to last eighteen months and get thrown away. Things were made to be kept, and they had been. That's how they ended up at a tag sale in the first place.

I'm grateful for it now in a way I couldn't explain when I was young. Not just the practical things, like knowing how to spot quality or see past surface wear. But the values underneath it. Don't be wasteful. Don't buy things you don't need. If something already exists and it's good, use it.

Thrifting is fashionable now, which is mostly a good thing. More people buying secondhand means less waste and more appreciation for things that were actually made well. But I'll admit it's a little strange to watch something born out of necessity become a trend. The tag sales and consignment shops of my childhood weren't a lifestyle choice. They were just Tuesday.

What I hope doesn't get lost is the actual point. It's not the aesthetic or the thrill of the find. It's the idea that things have value beyond their newness. That keeping something going is better than replacing it. That a quarter book read a hundred times is worth more than something bought and never opened.

Loom is a direct line from those Saturday mornings with my mom. Every piece I bring in, I'm thinking about what makes it worth keeping. The quality of the material, the craft behind it, whether it's the kind of thing someone will still have in twenty years. That's not a business philosophy I developed. It's just how I was raised.