Aon siopa, dhá siopa, trí – Siopaella
Image via Nubry.com Y’all will remember my ongoing struggles with controlling my wardrobe. EBay was my most recent drug of choice; you recoup some losses, and you declutter, which is definitely a win-win. But it’s also time-consuming, and since going …
Image via Nubry.com
Y’all will remember my ongoing struggles with controlling my wardrobe. EBay was my most recent drug of choice; you recoup some losses, and you declutter, which is definitely a win-win. But it’s also time-consuming, and since going fully freelance at the start of November (meaning I now work from home, from 9am until about midnight, the joys!) I just don’t have all that much free time, or at least I don’t have that much free time that I want to spend lugging bags to the Post Office to send to some woman in Russia who really wants to own my leather coat.
So I decided to try a different tack! Uber stylist Annmarie O’Connor had been tweeting and Facebooking about her experiences with Siopaella, a consignment store in Temple Bar, and it seemed like an interesting route to go down. For the uninitiated, a consignment store is basically a shop that will take your lightly worn clothes and resell them, with you pocketing a percentage (in this case 40%) of the final sale value. This may not seem like a lot, but in my case it was enough to make it more worthwhile than spending two hours per item eBaying things. (If you’re not sure if it’s worth your while, I’d recommend working out your hourly “rate”: how much do you get paid for a day? If your hourly rate works out at more than the 60% Siopaella is taking, you’re better off consigning! If it doesn’t, then do it yourself – you’ll make more eBaying, if you’re smart and know how to set reserves!)
So I got in touch with Siopaella and told them what I had: a lot of Cos, some DVF, a few Topshop, French Connection, Oasis and Coast pieces. A Zara skirt I’d bought in the sale and worn once; a Topshop skirt with the tag still on; an Asos sequined sweater that I loved when I bought but grew more and more afraid of, the longer it lay in my cupboard. An Anthropologie dress I’d never quite managed to shrink my tits into. A vintage kimono I bought on eBay and never wore, because it made me look like a crazy, curly-haired bag lady. A pair of amazing cobalt blue heels that crippled me whenever I looked at them.
And they sold. Man, did they sell! Not everything, mind you – but enough to make me think it’s really worth my while decluttering. And my wardrobes have decreased from five to three – I seriously got rid of so. Much. Stuff. And I feel so cleansed! No longer do I have items in my wardrobe that I look at and wonder when I last wore them – no longer do I have tags hanging, forlornly, from brand-new dresses or too-small skirts. My clothes don’t make me feel guilty / fat / un-exciting any more. And that, my friends, can only be a good thing.
If you get the title reference, congratulations! You have a bird brain like me, and have been unfortunate enough to hear the world’s WORST song at least once.