So here's what I learned about the clothing I purchase for my kids. Basically, it's not good enough for anyone else to want it.
I confess, I sort of knew this already. I have two boys, and they have a host of boy cousins, which means that a) many of the clothes they wear are handed down through multiple owners, and b) all of the clothes have been worn by boys. Buying a lot of high-end, big label clothing for school-aged boys would be akin to just removing money from your pocket, tearing it up, and throwing it in the trash. The sensible course of action is to invest in a lot of durable, everyday play clothes, nothing so expensive that you will find yourself constantly nagging them about keeping it nice, or crying a little when it comes home with a massive hole in it and you have to throw it out. So the items of clothing that are still in storage at my house are the few pieces that made it through both kids and somehow managed to escape destruction. That is their accomplishment. They are not dainty princesses. They are the weathered veterans of multiple boyhoods--a bit the worse for wear, but survivors, nevertheless.
However, in the routine panic that now follows bill-paying, as my mind searched feverishly for ways to replace some of the life-sustaining funds I had just depleted, I had the crazy idea that maybe I could make some money by reselling some of the kids' clothes. So I went through the storage bins and began the hunt for items that might make the cut. After rejecting a massive number of things on the basis of being faded, pilled, or "out of date," I selected what I thought were my most likely prospects and began the process of grooming them for submission. I laundered, removed lint, straightened straps, and even ironed quite a few. (During the ironing process, my older son wandered into the kitchen and exclaimed, "Hey, we haven't done this for a long time! I remember it from when I was little!" So that should tell you something right there.) Then I packed them up in a laundry basket--"neatly folded," as per consignment shop instructions--and hauled them off for judgement.
I have to say, even though I know that resale standards are justifiably high, and I realized that a lot of my offerings might be rejected, I was surprised at how...er...discerning...the screening process was. Some things that were purposely manufactured to look faded were cut because they looked faded. Others didn't make the cut because the fabric might look a little "knotty." (And no, even though it was pointed out to me, I still don't really know exactly what that means.) Microscopic spills or stains were found on many, all small enough that they required bending over, squinting, and lots of saying, "See? Riiight...there. Do you see it?" In one case, the offending stain couldn't even be found when it was time to show it to me, and other store employees had to be called in to try to help locate it; eventually it was settled with the pronouncement that it was "probably right about here, just a little discoloration." I was allowed to bring in 30 pieces for consignment--I left with 15 still in my possession.
This experience left me with a bizarre and unexpected feeling of personal rejection. It was somehow very like not being accepted to Mensa. I was momentarily determined to find my way into the exclusive resale club come hell or high water. On the way home I actually found myself considering several irrational plans for future consignment triumph. Such as, "Maybe when I get home I'll go through the boys' dressers and take out anything that looks nice right now." Which is insane, because what are they supposed to wear then? Or, "Maybe I should just work a little harder to buy them some more expensive stuff." Which would not only be ridiculous based on the factors enumerated above, but would also kind of undermine the goal of making money off of consignment. So after thinking about it from every possible angle, I came to two inescapable conclusions. The first is, don't be ridiculous--who cares if your kids' clothes were affordable, practical, and well-worn, but just can't make it through one more incarnation? This is not some kind of weird personal invalidation. The second is that you cannot actually make money by consigning your kids' clothing. If you think you're doing so, you should go back and check your math. You may be able to recoup a bit of what you have invested in it, and that's not all bad--as a stay-at-home mom, I lived daily by the mantra that "the money I save us is the money I make us." However, while every little bit of thrift undoubtedly helps in the overall scheme of things, unless you've got some really nice stuff that you didn't initially pay anything for, it's not a money maker.
So Money-Making Scheme #1 was not the windfall one might have hoped for, but I'm fine with it. The $8 I'm probably going to make will still put a little more gas in the tank or a meal on the table, and I can definitely be grateful for that. I'm not even going to go pull all the remaining baby clothes out of storage and go back in there to roll the dice one more time. Probably.
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