Incidental sustainability? Notes from a thrift store in Germany

This article introduces Fairkauf, a charitable thrift store, in Stuttgart, Germany and analyzes its work and participation in alternative economies of reuse, repair, repurposing, sharing, and care, and the store's contributions to ecological and social sustainability. Thrift stores are contemporary responses to overproduction, hyper-consumption, social inequality, and ecological degradation. This article provides a nuanced ethnographic description of a thrift store. Such stores are often overlooked, yet they play a crucial role in individual and urban sustainability efforts. They are spaces of incidental sustainability that do not loudly advertise their work, but quietly help thrifters pursue more ecological lifestyles and help cities divert huge quantities of materials from landfills and incinerators. Thrift stores' labor connects thrifters to activities and networks of often similarly hidden sustainability efforts by ordinary people across the world. Theoretically, I engage the role of thrift stores in alternative economies that contribute to more ecologically and socially sustainable lifeworlds and futures.

Germany, second-hand cultures, Stuttgart, sustainability, thrift stores

Recent years have witnessed a trend toward second-hand clothes and second-hand shopping at large. Well-established charitable thrift stores, new commercial vintage stores, and second-hand online platforms attract growing numbers of customers. Thrift is cool. Thrift is affordable. Thrift is ecological. Individuals who are critical of ever faster and more wasteful cycles of consumption reconsider their participation in dominant hyper-consumer cultures and explore more ecological ways to get clothes, dishes, and other goods. With small individual steps, numerous people seek to, at least minimally, slow down the degradation of our planet, one thrifted T-shirt or plate at a time. They ask

Petra Kuppinger, Critique of Anthropology, Monmouth College, 700 E Broadway, Monmouth, IL 61462, USA.
Email: petra@monm.edu

questions about more sustainable ways to obtain necessities beyond channels of capitalist consumerism with its rapid and destructive processes of extraction, production, sale, short use, and quick end in landfills or incinerators. Consumers explore practices of extended use, shared use, ideas of mending, reusing, repurposing, or recycling. While their efforts are well-intentioned, can thrifty dishes, upcycled shirts, or fixed toasters really change the world? Can thrifting help to initiate and build more sustainable lifeworlds and economies, and help 'save' the planet, or are they feel-good practices of a few, mostly privileged, individuals? Can such acts create tangible change since they occur within the dominant economy and its ecologically destructive dynamics? What is the (transformative) potential of small practices situated in alternative economies of reuse, repair, repurposing, sharing, and care, and, more specifically, the role of thrift stores in the quest for a more sustainable future?

This article introduces Fairkauf, a charitable thrift store, in the southern German state capital of Stuttgart, and examines its work, material and social contributions, and participation in alternative economies of reuse, repair, repurposing, sharing, and care.¹ I describe the store, workers and customers, aspects of the store's daily work, and analyze the store's contributions to ecological and social sustainability. Theoretically, I engage the role of thrift stores in alternative economies that contribute to more ecologically and socially sustainable futures. Thrift stores represent a long tradition of economies and cultures of frugality. They are robust contemporary responses to overproduction, hyper-consumption, social inequality, and ecological degradation. Charitable thrift stores represent non-capitalist exchanges. Relatively little attention has been paid in scholarly debates to the work and social and ecological contributions of charitable thrift stores. This article provides a nuanced ethnographic understanding of thrift stores which are often overlooked as smelly warehouse-type enterprises tucked away in marginal spaces. Yet they play a crucial role in individual and urban sustainability efforts. They are spaces of incidental sustainability that do not loudly toot their own horn, but quietly help thrifters pursue more ecological lifestyles and help cities divert huge quantities of materials goods from landfills and incinerators. Unlike other recent 'hip' ventures and projects, charitable thrift stores rarely advertise their ecological contributions and do not get much recognition for their remarkable work. Their daily labor is performed quietly below the radar of the hip and the powerful.

Capitalist hyper-consumerism is less than a century old, and even in the thoroughly capitalist Global North there remain many stubborn survivals of earlier cultures of frugality, repair, sharing, and care (Isenhour and Berry, 2020). Talking to older people in Europe or the United States about sustainable lifestyles, one hears remarks like: 'we always did this' or 'we fixed things' or 'we wore hand-me downs'. Many people continue to buy only what they really need, mend their clothes, cut old T-shirts into cleaning rags, save nails, rubber bands, or pieces of paper and wood for future use, share tomatoes from their garden with relatives and friends, pick up garbage in the street, and take care of the needs of others. Frugality and practices of repair, reuse, and care are not things of a distant

past but continue to be practiced across the globe (Spelman, 2002; Strebel et al., 2019). They represent non-capitalist practices and remain ‘common sense’ for many (Gibson-Graham, 2008; Isenhour and Reno, 2019).

Well into the 19th century most people owned little and threw almost nothing away. Material items were used, reused, recirculated, and repurposed until they had little use left in them or had literally vanished. The few pieces of trash people might have had, like odd pieces of metal, were collected by small traders and resold, repurposed, or recycled (Miller, 2000; Pellow, 2004). Little went to waste. This economy of reuse predominated into the early 20th century (Lapolla, 2009 [1935]; Melosi, 2004). Shoemakers did not just make shoes, they repaired shoes; tailors mended clothes, and carpenters fixed cabinets.

Starting in the early 20th century, a growing number of households could afford to buy new clothes, furniture, or dishes before older items were used up. They sold some things to second-hand dealers, passed them down to those in need, and increasingly simply tossed items. These unused, old, or now unwanted objects were redefined as garbage to be quickly moved out of sight so that people could buy more stuff without thinking about the discarded items (Martinez, 2017; Nagle, 2013; Rogers, 2006). Processes of reuse, repurpose, and repair decreased, but never disappeared, among the new modern middle class (Strasser, 2000). Simultaneously, consumers were told (by an ever-larger marketing industry) that the use of old, worn-out, or second-hand items was a sign of poverty or being old-fashioned. The trade in used goods dwindled, but never disappeared. Lower-income groups were (partially) excluded from emerging consumer economies and often had no choice but to buy used items or wear hand-me-downs. Some individuals stubbornly refused to let go of their frugal practices (Berry et al., 2018).

Parallel to material changes and the marginalization of older circular, frugal, and non-capitalist practices, a cultural shift occurred, and notions of need were replaced by ideas about unlimited consumption and the improvement of self and status via consumption (Roscoe and Isenhour, 2021). Before World War II, most people in the United States or Europe only owned what they really needed, for example, only a few clothes. They prudently used, took care of, and mended these possessions. They reused, repurposed, or downcycled textiles (and other possessions). Sunday clothes were remade into work clothes or children’s clothes. At the end of a textile’s lifespan, it could be used as a cleaning rag or doormat until it literally disappeared, being worn away or torn to shreds. Starting in the 1970s, and gaining momentum in the following decades, people started to own ever more clothing. Individuals who a few decades earlier might have owned a Sunday outfit and three or four other outfits, now own endless clothes in general, and special outfits for various activities and occasions (Cline, 2013). While in the past a winter coat lasted for decades or almost a lifetime, ever faster fashion cycles now dictated the purchase of a coat every few years. Sewing and mending skills almost disappeared. Hand-me-downs or second-hand clothing were shunned (Thomas, 2019).

The post-World War II era was marked by endless new products that were supposed to make consumers’ lives more convenient and mark individuals via their possessions as ‘modern’ and successful in a new era. Households acquired TVs, washers, dryers, fridges, freezers, vacuum cleaners, coffee makers, or microwave ovens. They bought plastic food containers, plastic toys for every stage of children’s lives, home decorations, VHS, CD, or

DVD players, computers, and more clothes. Unused and outdated items were discarded without much thought about where they went and what damage they might do to people, animals, and the planet (Humes, 2013; Sun, 2014). Without doubt, new products have made life more convenient, and few people want to return to washing clothes by hand or living without a fridge. But questions of how we can make more mindful and sustainable use of things, and repair, repurpose or share them are urgent in the face of mountains or garbage and dramatic environmental degradation.

In the 1990s, with rapid globalization and ever faster globalized production processes that rely on massive labor exploitation, fashion cycles (and other products' lifespans) became ever shorter. Today, fast fashion chains rely on the constant arrivals of new collections to ensure that consumers visit stores weekly or even more often (Thomas, 2019). Short fast fashion cycles and their low-quality textiles dramatically decrease the lifespan of clothes (Cline, 2013). Concerns about horrendous and vastly exploitative working conditions in global textile industries, the ecological and social effects of cotton production, and massive textile waste and garbage and its export to the Global South have put second-hand shopping and thrift stores centerstage for a growing number of people (Brooks, 2019; Morgan, 2015; Hansen, 2000).

Second-hand cultures and economies have long existed beneath the radar of the social sciences. Nicky Gregson and Louise Crewe's Second-hand Cultures (2003) is a classic work that examines the British landscape of charity and retro/vintage shops in the 1990s. On the most basic level, the authors insist that 'second-hand worlds matter' (2003: 1). They examine the spaces and practices of this economic field and how value is defined and created in second-hand markets. They illustrate how second-hand exchanges create spaces and encounters that are 'radically different from first hand spaces' (2003: 4) and demonstrate the multi-layered nature of second-hand economies that harbor the 'potential for critique, resistance even', and reflect movements of ethical, green or sustainable consumption (2003: 10).²

Thrift stores are rooted in traditions of ragpickers and bone or metal collectors who travelled rural and urban streets salvaging materials (Miller, 2000). Old-style garbage pickers or collectors and small second-hand dealers kept cities cleaner, diverted materials from dumps, and created jobs for people who could not otherwise find work (Lapolia, 2009 [1935]). But their work was dangerous and precarious. Thrift stores rooted in this tradition date back to the turn of the 20th century. In the United States, the Salvation Army opened its first thrift store in 1897 and Goodwill followed in 1902 (Le Zotte, 2017: 19). These stores, and soon church or other charitable thrift stores, operated on the margins of society, catering to the poor and stubbornly frugal. They employed those deemed otherwise 'unemployable' or were run by volunteers. They professionalized the second-hand trade (away from the hands of small-time ragpickers) and infused their work with their ideas and mission of 'uplifting' and reforming the poor for the urban labor market. Stores supported soup kitchens, homeless shelters, or other social projects with their proceeds (Le Zotte, 2017).

Given different names (thrift store, charity shop, opportunity/op-shop) in different countries, thrift stores accept donations from consumers, sort, re-value, and resell them (Gregson and Crewe, 2003; Larsen, 2019). Larger ventures are often located on urban fringes or in commercial districts that provide sizeable premises at lower rents. Charitable thrift stores operate beyond the urban limelight and work in unattractive spaces where they handle huge quantities of consumer waste (Isenhour and Berry, 2020; Minter, 2019).

Today, charitable thrift stores are part of alternative economies where people (re-)circulate goods, mend items, recycle or upcycle objects, and try to make the best use of things, keep them out of landfills, share things, and create social links between community members (Isenhour and Reno, 2019; Lehner et al., 2020; Martínez, 2017; Minter, 2019; Seo and Kim, 2019). Thrift stores are situated in larger second-hand economies that include related practices like garage or yard sales (North America), flea markets (continental Europe), or car boot sales (UK), swapping events, and commercial and cooperative internet platforms (Ebay, Facebook) for resale and sharing (e.g. Berry et al., 2018; Crewe and Gregson 1998; Murphy, 2017). Current second-hand circuits and cultures creatively combine notions of frugality and good use with practices critical of hyper-consumption, and the quest for more sustainable futures. They seek to reinvent meaning into things and respect into their use (Appadurai 1986). Garage or yard sales neatly illustrate transformations in recent decades.

Gretchen Herrmann (2018) dates the emergence of garage sales in the United States to the 1960s, resulting from explosive material production and consumption. People started to clean out homes to make room for new purchases. Herrmann and Soiffer (1984) note that, by the 1980s, garage sales represented a 'cultural style, a quasi-ideological rejection of consumerism' (1984: 411) for some shoppers who valued the 'recycling of goods' (1984: 413) and its environmental impact (1984: 415) at a time when few people thought in such terms. With piles of stuff and hoping to make some money, people turned to selling obsolete purchases, while having fun or even building relationships with their neighbors (Crawford, 2014; Herrmann, 2006). With vast quantities of goods acquired by many in the 1970s, and the quest to constantly get rid of things to buy more, by the 1980s garage sales were an established part of 'mainstream American life' (Crawford, 2014: 26). But they could not solve the problem of overstuffed homes.

Overwhelmed by stuff and not inclined to do their own garage sales (or having stuff left after sales), many people lug their excess belongings to Salvation Army, Goodwill, local church, and other charitable stores (Gregson et al., 2007; Le Zotte, 2017; Minter, 2019). With time, occasional church rummage sales turned into permanent stores and more thrift stores opened. Commercial consignment stores promise a small profit for those who bring their clothes to be resold. Yet much of the second-hand landscape operates outside the capitalist market and provides work for some and access to affordable goods to others; it extends the lifespan of things, enables the sharing of items, and creates cooperative communities (Bohlin, 2018; Herrmann, 2006). For many customers or participants, thrift stores, repair cafés, clothes-swapping parties, or tool-sharing cooperatives are part of a 'deliberative project of value transformation that challenges dominant paradigms and cultural constructions while building alternative social and physical structures from the "ruins of modernity"' (Crocker and Chivervalls quoted in Isenhour and Reno, 2019: 1).

They are critical elements in landscapes of alternative economies (Isenhour and Berry, 2020).

The vibrant landscape of thrift stores and related moments and spaces of reuse (flea markets, exchange networks), repair (repair cafés, home repairs), repurposing (upcycling practices), sharing (tools, own garden produce), and care (taking care and maintaining things, people, and relationships), raises questions about the effects of these practices, and whether they connect to larger fields of change and resistance (e.g. Berry and Isenhour, 2019; Geissendoerfer et al., 2017; Isenhour and Reno, 2019; Martinez, 2017; Matern, 2018; Schmid, 2019a). Are individual acts of doing good to people and the planet politically consequential and help create larger transformations?

Giuseppe Feola (2020: 242) reminds us that ‘culturally capitalism permeates and shapes’ much of our lives, identities, ‘relations beyond the economic sphere’ and provides the ‘imaginary of progress based on endless accumulation’. Contemporary society is dominated by capitalist ideas that suggest that most of life’s problems can be solved by buying the ‘right’ product or service, and that acts of individuals neither count nor make a difference. Capitalist reasoning deems non-commodified practices of reuse, repair, sharing, and care irrelevant, as they are not profitable or even hinder profit-making. While planting vegetables, cooking food, mending clothes, fixing furniture, gifting used items, cleaning houses, repurposing materials, raising children, or caring for the sick might be vaguely accounted for in the concept of reproduction of labor, their potential as resistance is underexplored.

To understand the power of individual practices, small projects, and group efforts, it is paramount to transcend discourses that insist on exclusive definitions of economic activities and that situate relevant activities in hierarchically ordered sites of production and exchange. Current debates about ‘degrowth, sustainable development, steady-state economy, postcapitalism, alternative economies, diverse economies, green economies, ecological modernization, and solidarity economy’ (Schmid, 2019b: 2) challenge this limited/limiting view of (worthwhile) economic activities and outline different ways of conceptualizing practices that support meaningful lives and foster social and ecological transformations (Hickel, 2020; Schmid, 2020).

Arguing from a feminist perspective, Katherine Gibson and Julie Graham (Gibson-Graham, 2006, 2008, 2014) challenge (Marxist) notions of a monolithic overpowering capitalism and illustrate the persistence and significance of non-commodified labor and exchanges that support individual and communal well-being. Often taking the form of unpaid female labor, such efforts include care work and practices of mending, cleaning, maintaining, or planting. This work and its practitioners are dispersed in households, gardens, basements, and garages, but their vast efforts account for billions of dollars in monetary terms which makes them powerful in terms of social dynamics (Gibson-Graham, 2008: 617). Gibson-Graham highlight the transformative potential of this work that is situated in anti-/postcapitalist landscapes and models future equitable economies. The power of this ordinary daily labor lies in its long-standing, robust, and widespread

presence across the globe, beyond the confines of what is defined as ‘the economy’. It is paramount to identify these ‘hidden’ activities and their spatialities.

Benedikt Schmid (2019b, 2020) speaks about ‘transformative geographies’, where people, places, and activities are actively remaking the world. He argues that it is vital to recognize practices at the microlevel as they connect to similar ones elsewhere and create networks that can initiate larger transformations. People not only repair things, they also buy second-hand items, upcycle clothes, ride bicycles, or plant vegetables. These practices unfold in small spaces where they connect people (Kuppinger, 2021a). In kitchens, living-rooms, gardens, alleys, markets, houses of worship, or parks, people connect to others, create more livable communities, experiment with new socialities, and challenge dominant norms (Nelson, 2021; Zaman, 2021). By way of individual connections, larger networks of exchange, cooperation, debate, and care emerge (Fessenden, 2021; Johansson, 2021). Because of their vast reach, these networks are powerful and can trigger further change. Small spaces count and are crucial to meaningful change (Kuppinger, 2021b). Transformative practices are rooted in spaces, and can spread from there ‘through “chains” of actions and practices’ (Schmid, 2019b: 8).

Across the planet, people’s work might not be intended to change the world, challenge capitalism, or resist consumer cultures, but it solidly enhances the well-being of individuals, communities, and the planet (Carr, 2022; Martínez and Laviolette, 2019; Millar, 2018; Schmid, 2020). Shannon Matern notes that people ‘care for things not because they produce value, but because they already have value’ (2018: 10). Smith and Jehlička (2013) analyze ‘food self-provisioning’ in Poland and Czechia, where people plant fruits and vegetables and some forage for berries and mushrooms in forests. They plant because they have always done so and prefer their produce because of its taste and organic nature. Produce is not only grown for the grower’s consumption but is shared with others. Gardens are places to relax and meet with family and friends. Smith and Jehlička argue that:

[p]eople who grow, consume and share their own food [...] associate the practices with joy, exuberance, generosity, care and skill. Theirs is not a fulfilment of environmental obligations, an attempt to achieve ‘resilience’, or a response to limits, but the daily practice of a satisfied life. (2013: 156)

These practices are deeply sustainable and represent alternative economies and non-commodified exchanges. Smith and Jehlička call these practices ‘quiet sustainability’ and argue that endless similar practices across the world indicate that the ‘journey to sustainability is less difficult than is sometimes presented’ and, indeed, that ‘large sections of humanity may already be on it without feeling the need to proclaim the fact loudly’ (2013: 156).

Elizabeth Spelman (2002) tells the story of Willie, a ‘crackerjack mechanic in rural upstate New York’, whose work was chronicled by Douglas Harper (1987). Willie knows how to fix just about any car, and repairs tractors, furnaces, and other equipment. Willie skillfully repairs whatever damage or wear and tear he encounters, relying on decades of experience and intuition, more than on manuals or fancy diagnostics. Applying his unique

knowledge, approach, and methods, Willie gets almost anything to work again. His solutions are unorthodox and not always aesthetically pleasing. They do not restore a car to its original state but to full function (sometimes better than before, as he takes liberties with the original engineering). Harper described Willie's practice in the 1980s, before debates on sustainability became pervasive, yet Willie represents mechanics across the world who stem the tide of failing vehicles/technologies and parts that wear out ever faster. Willie and his colleagues' maintenance and repair work extends objects' lifespans. They create workspaces and practices which, while embedded in the capitalist economy, also resist this economy's dictates. They perform extraordinary creative work and quietly contribute to a more sustainable world.

The everyday creativity and non-commodified work of ordinary people often aims at local goals but results in larger social and ecological contributions. Paul Milbourne (2010) examines a back-alley gating scheme in a marginalized quarter in metropolitan Manchester. When an alley was closed, one woman embellished her alley space with potted plants. Others quickly followed and added their plants in the same alley. Next, nearby alleys copied these small green oases which contributed to the regeneration of the quarter. Neighbors transformed uninviting alleys into friendly spaces where they socialized amid their new greenery. The initial act of improving one space drew in neighbors and residents in nearby alleys. Together they created a more sociable and greener environment. Milbourne (2010: 142) insists that 'vernacular forms of creativity [...] are contributing to the reinvention and, in some cases the regeneration' of neighborhoods, and the creation of 'new forms of sociality and conviviality'.

Adam Minter writes about technicians who repair electronics and recycle computer parts in Ghana (2019: 242) and Lara Houston (2019) reports on technicians in Uganda who fix mobile phones. Corwin and Gidwani (2021) introduce Printer Uncle, who, after retiring from government service in the 1990s, ran one of Delhi's first printer and cartridge repair shops. 'Repairing and refilling cartridges, Printer Uncle's shop significantly diminished the waste of these one-time printer accessories' (Corwin and Gidwani, 2021: 11). Polish gardeners, Willie, Printer Uncle, Ghanaian and Ugandan mechanics and technicians, and urban residents in Manchester do not know each other, but are all 'world-makers' (Gibson-Graham, 2008: 614), who quietly contribute to a more sustainable, livable, and equitable world. They do not advertise their work and practices but daily challenge the dominant reality of capitalism. Many more people, places, and practices are part of this powerful global web of world-making, refusal, and resistance. They ignore or reject aspects of capitalism, either because they have always lived that way or because they choose to join non-commodified circuits. Thrifting is one element in this web (Machado et al., 2019; Ta, 2017).

My research at Fairkauf is part of an ethnographic project that explores sustainable practices and alternative urban economies in Stuttgart. From September 2021 to August 2022, I conducted ethnographic fieldwork at Fairkauf, a food bank, and a Repair Café where I regularly worked as a volunteer and conducted surveys with customers and

interviews with administrators. I also worked with an unpackaged store and examined other places and projects in the city (e.g. flea markets). I worked once or twice a week at Fairkauf from October 2021 to August 2022. I have returned to work at Fairkauf in the winter break 2022/23 and the summer of 2023.

Fairkauf Stuttgart is one of hundreds of 'social department stores' (Sozialkaufhaus) in Germany (Empter, 2013). Since the 1980s many such enterprises have opened, offering donated used goods at affordable prices and providing work for mostly long-term unemployed individuals (Empter, 2013). Many such stores use the name of Fairkauf. Fairkauf Stuttgart is run by a Catholic charity.

Fairkauf Stuttgart occupies a liminal space. It is located on the vague borderline between the residential and industrial parts of an inner-city neighborhood. The store occupies a defunct industrial facility that includes a two-story former factory, storage/garage facilities, large yard, and parking lot. The premises face an urban highway on the one side and apartment buildings and a school complex on the other sides. Across the highway are industrial and commercial facilities. Fairkauf's main building includes areas for receiving donations (industrial ramp), stations for sorting donations (basement, first floor), storage space (second basement, garages), and a large sales floor of about 2000 square meters (first floor, basement). The building's second floor accommodates social service projects.

Donors can drive or walk up to the ramp from the parking lot. On many afternoons, donations are constant, and donors arrive within minutes of each other. One or two ramp workers receive, pre-sort, and channel arriving goods in the appropriate direction in the building. Upon sight or asking donors, workers repack items and put bags and boxes onto large carts designated for children's or adult clothes, toys, appliances, and other categories. Once full, these carts are brought to the respective sorting stations, where workers check every single item if it is good for sale. There are stations for household items, appliances, children's clothes, adult clothes, home textiles, books, electronics, or furniture. Once sorted, checked, tested (appliances, electronics), or fixed (furniture), items move to the sales floor.

Fairkauf is a busy place. On a regular day 20 to 30 people receive, sort, check, fix, and sell the endless stream of donations. About the same number of customers are in the store at any given time. The store employs a core of full-time administrators with professional expertise (textiles, woodwork) who oversee the sorting, pre-sales, pricing, and sale operations. They also organize the ever-fluctuating crew of workers and volunteers. Most workers are long-term unemployed individuals who work at Fairkauf in cooperation with the federal employment agency. Some workers fulfill assigned community service hours, and there are volunteers.⁵ In 2021/22 Fairkauf struggled with a chronic labor shortage; stations (e.g. children's clothing) were sometimes deserted and donations piled up. Fairkauf used to offer pick-up services for furniture and large appliances but has stopped them for lack of workers.

Clothes are the single most donated goods. Depending on quantities, and available workers at the two textile sorting stations (adults, children), ramp workers often carry sacks and boxes directly to these sorting areas. The adult clothes station is centered on a long T-shaped table (made for this purpose) using a unique design where, on the 8-foot stem of the T, bags and boxes are lined up. A worker for most of my time there, Vera, a middle-aged woman, sits at the top end of the table and empties bags or boxes on the large space (the top/bar of the T) in front of her. Vera sorts clothes by gender and type and, accordingly, puts them into two large bins at either side of her work space. Below the table, on shelves along the stem of the T, are boxes labelled for goods to be forwarded to other stations that landed on this table. Boxes are designated for children's clothes, home textiles, toys, small household items, seasonal clothing (Christmas, carnival, Trachten/ traditional clothes for beer festivals), scarves, hats, belts, or shoes. Ideally three people work at this busy station. Vera does the sorting. She is experienced and has a sharp eye for holes, stains, pilling, and other damage. Items that cannot be sold are put into plastic sacks for recycling; these are stored in a garage to be sold. Beyond identifying unfit items, Vera checks brands and quality to identify possibly higher priced items. Behind her is a box for items not in season to be stored in the basement.

Fairkauf has standard prices for clothing and other merchandise. In spring 2022, a T-shirt cost €2.50, shirts, sweaters, or cardigans were €4.50. Jeans or dresses were €7.50. If Vera finds upscale brands, she places items on a special rack where she or the textile supervisor attach higher prices and security devices to them. If Vera has two helpers, they put clothes on hangers and arrange them on the racks for men's clothing, women's shirts, women's jackets, women's skirts, and pants. Once a rack is full and approved (regarding pricing), it is taken to the sales floor. Clothes can make it from the ramp to the store in a few hours. Women's clothing outnumbers men's by a ratio of about 10:1.

Because Vera was sick for some time, I spent many afternoons at this sorting table, often alone, as workers were in short supply. Sometimes I did the sorting, valuing, hanging, and delivery to the sales floor alone. Sometimes I worked with others, and we often engaged in discussions about what should (not) be sold, and what could be sold at higher than standard prices. While stains, holes, and other damage clearly disqualify items, debates unfolded around what was totally out of style and hence impossible to sell. Would a 1990s shoulder-padded blazer find a new home with a 'cool' 20-year-old? Would a high-quality men's sports coat from the early 2000s find a new owner when fewer men wear such items? How many flimsy fast fashion blouses can a thrift store sell? When in doubt, or after a discussion, we mostly agreed to give pieces a chance in the store. The valuation process is complex as donated textiles (considered valueless by their donors) only gain value in the differently tuned perspectives of workers and customers. We did quick google searches to estimate an item's original price. A few clothes arrive unworn with price tags still attached. In a wealthy city like Stuttgart (world headquarters of Mercedes-Benz, Porsche, and Bosch) donated clothes include some high-end/luxury brands but most are predictable sacks stuffed with H&M, Zara, Mango, and other fast fashion brands.

In addition to the main textile sorting station, there are smaller ones, worked by part-time workers or volunteers. One worker sorts and cleans shoes. A volunteer comes once a

week to sort belts, hats, and scarves. One worker does home textiles as part of a larger portfolio. If there are enough workers, sorting and preparing clothes for sale is a well-oiled operation. The biggest problem is the constant lack of workers, and then donations pile up. In the worst case, when the flow of goods is severely interrupted, it shows in the store, as when there were visible gaps on racks in the children's section. Beyond these fixed sorting spaces, there is a flexible clothes station that is occasionally used for hanging pre-sorted, seasonal items from storage (summer, winter, carnival, Trachten).

Houseware is handled in a similarly elaborate system. Carts with donations arrive from the ramp in the basement where boxes are put on the end of another custom-made long table, where a worker stands on each side and examines items. Most dishes, glasses, kitchenware, and decorative items are sorted into shopping carts, brought to the sales floor, and sold at standard prices (50 cents for a glass or cup; €1 for plates, etc.). Under the sorting table are bins for recycling (glass, wood, metal, paper) and garbage (last resort). On the table, next to the sorting space, are several large containers where items that do not fall into standard categories are placed by the sorters according to prices they suggest (boxes are for 50 cents, and €1, €2, or €3). Helpers put the prices on these items and place them in carts for the store.

One worker exclusively sorts Christmas and other seasonal items throughout the year. Even the smallest intact items are recycled. For example, tiny Christmas knick-knacks are packed together in small plastic bags and priced at 50 cents. These bags are stored in the basement until the next season. There is a testing station for appliances and electronics and a station for wood- and metal-work (store shelves and racks are also made and repaired here).

Fairkauf tries to produce as little garbage as possible as they pay for every industrial-size container that is picked up (unusable clothes are sold to dealers who resell or shred them). While sustainability efforts are not the central purpose of Fairkauf, they are highlighted on the sales floor with small signs that announce that second-hand clothes equal sustainable practices or explain how much water is used in the production of a new T-shirt and how customers contribute to a better world by shopping at Fairkauf (Figure 1).

Customers come to Fairkauf for different reasons. They shop there because it is affordable. Some are (partially) excluded from the mainstream landscape of consumption. If approved by the city's social programs (welfare, and supplemental support for low-income individuals/families), many customers have the city's 'bonus card' (Bonuskarte), which entitles them to a 20 per cent discount in the store. This group includes low-income families, elderly individuals, refugees from Syria or Afghanistan, and, since February 2022, many Ukrainians. Others choose to shop there because of their ideas and values about reuse, repair, repurposing, sharing, and care.⁴ Working long hours on the sale floor (mostly cleaning up after customers), I had ample opportunity to observe and talk to customers.⁵

There are growing numbers of younger individuals (some from the nearby trade school, but the store has a citywide following) who shop for the cool, the thrifty, and possible vintage items.⁶ Proudly wearing their thrifty look of over-sized shirts or pants, or 1980s sweaters, they often come in groups and loudly search and discuss their finds.⁷ There are middle-aged women, some of them regulars, who come in search of items for

crafting, toys for their children or grand-children, clothes, or houseware ('love the flowerpots'). One woman noted: 'I come here regularly, there is always new stuff to look at, and why buy new?' One day, when I helped a woman in her 50s trying on jeans jackets, she said: 'I went to the mall with my husband last week and when I looked at clothes, I said to him: 'this is all too expensive. I get these things cheaper at Fairkauf.' She said she comes to Fairkauf often to buy things, but she also routinely drops off donations.⁸ 'Why pay more when you get the same things for less here. And if you no longer like it, you can always donate it again' Another middle-aged woman, who was filling her shopping-basket with kitchenware, explained: 'My daughter is moving out and I am getting things for her new household. There is so much stuff here, why go to a regular store?'

When asked about her thrifty purchases or buying habits, one woman in her forties explained she bought 'lots of different stuff. Often books and houseware because I try to avoid buying anything new.' A male customer in his twenties or thirties summed up such thoughts: 'Why buy new, when I can buy used?' (Warum neu, wenn ich gebraucht kaufen kann?). The 'why buy new?' note was mentioned frequently, along with the sense of thrill that comes with searching and finding small treasures, but also needed items. One well-dressed young woman noted that she had come to find a very colorful sweater at the

Source: Photo by the author.

beginning of the winter, and she walked out with a bright-orange sweater. There are upcycling thrifters who hover over picture frames or dishes, reimagine the clothes they are buying, or buy sheets and table-cloths to be upcycled into pajama pants, pillowcases, or other items (Figure 2). There are parents or grandparents who walk out with stacks of children's clothes and books.⁹ The store is a hunting ground for treasure seekers ('I love finding little treasures') and the curious ('I come here every week. One never knows what will be in the store'). One female customer in her forties summed up the value of Fairkauf as simply 'practical, social, useful' (praktisch, sozial, nützlich). Others remarked on the sustainable aspect of their purchases.

In late November, the store brings endless boxes of Christmas decorations from the basement, which fill tables and shelves with angels, Santa Clauses, nutcrackers, snowmen, and every conceivable ornament. When I talked to an administrator about this vast supply of Christmas stuff, he said: 'just wait for January, lots of it will come back. People use it for one season, return it, and buy something else next year.' While this is annoying for the store and takes up valuable storage space, it turns the store into a lending library for Christmas decoration and a place of more reuse and sharing ('things in motion', see Appelgren and Bohlin, 2015: 147). People buy, use, and then re-donate things. Some consciously use books, decorations, clothes, or dishes for some time and then donate them back to the thrift store because they are no longer needed (children's items) but still good.

For them thrift stores work as lending libraries. Some items might make several trips to the thrift store in their lifespan. They might acquire additional value and meaning in the process, as re-uses are inscribed in their materiality ('acquiring thick layers of inscriptions through their growth', Appelgren and Bohlin, 2015: 161).

One group of customers, the administration's least favorite, are traders who often arrive at opening time (administrator: 'I know many of them') and are always on the look-out for brand-name clothes and items that are worth more on the commercial second-hand market than the standard Fairkauf prices; hence the store's attempt to identify higher value items and to price them accordingly (see Hermann and Soiffer 1984: 410). There are 'buyers' who scout for larger traders or vintage stores and make frequent rounds of charitable stores for these enterprises, and smaller traders who resell items individually (mostly clothes) on eBay, other resale platforms, or flea markets. They reinsert things from this non-capitalist site into the capitalist market. They 'abuse' the labor of Fairkauf, which irks the store's administrators.

Fairkauf diverts tons of 'garbage' from incinerators every year. It cleans up some of consumerism's excesses, provides work for disadvantaged individuals in a non-competitive environment, and provides affordable quality items for those excluded from some mainstream consumption. It is a crucial hub for thrifters who reject hyper-consumption and who challenge or boycott aspects of the dominant economy; who want to contribute their small share to a more sustainable city and even minimally counter the degradation of the planet. Without doubt Fairkauf makes a tangible difference in Stuttgart.

Can all the thrifted shirts, dishes, books, or appliances make a 'global' difference? Their production and initial purchase were most likely part of the dominant capitalist economy and possibly the result of labor exploitation and environmental abuse. Nevertheless, it is important to explore these items' 'second' life in the context of second-hand cultures and a charitable thrift store. Gibson-Graham (2008: 628) suggest that, without 'condoning' detrimental exchanges and policies, 'we can explore social economies' that have come into existence because of, or despite, the capitalist reality and seek to challenge it. Gibson-Graham (2008: 628) insist on the need to name and support social and community experiments, no matter how small or powerless they are and possibly 'help them find ways to changing what they wish to change'.

For this analysis, we must take a step back and see the thrifted shirt and Fairkauf in the context of moments and places of alternative economies, where people across the world reuse, repair, repurpose, and share things, and take care of others, plants, animals, and the planet. In this global web of Polish gardeners, American mechanics, Ghanaian technicians, Indian printer specialists, or British alley residents, a thrifted shirt becomes more significant and constitutes one element in powerful non-commodified networks of doing good and protecting the planet. Whether practices are continuous with older ones (Polish gardeners), or more recent responses to issues of capitalist commodities (Willie), or unique strategies to improve local lives (Manchester alley residents), practitioners create a better world for themselves and others and (consciously or not) challenge existing

dominant economies, politics, and socialities. Thrifting dishes neatly connects to gifted tomatoes in Poland, potted plants in Manchester, and fixed printers in India. This global web of world-makers daily remakes moments and space, taking care of people and the planet.

Fairkauf and other charitable thrift stores clearly pose no threat to the dominant economy, indeed they clean up damage done by hyper-consumption. They are not revolutionary spaces. Yet they demonstrate that second-hand matters and that used items are good, affordable, and make a small difference to planetary life. Fairkauf is a pedagogical space that attracts new customers (often brought by friends) who might overcome prejudices about used goods, as one woman noted: 'I never thought I would wear second-hand clothes until I was gifted a thrifted blouse, now I am sold.' Some students from the nearby trade school first come with friends as lunch-break entertainment and then become regular customers. Fairkauf illustrates the possibility of different lives and invites people to join communities of thrifters and world-makers.

Taking a critical stance toward hyper-consumerism and expressing it with the purchase of second-hand goods is an important first step for many consumers, as they reflect on and develop critical ideas and practices, social or political steps, and lifestyle changes. Here, the purchase of a used shirt is more than one isolated act but initiates further thought, analysis, and debates with others about consumerism at large. As individuals rethink elements of their consumer practices, they recognize their complexity and implications. In the process, they might adopt vegetarian or vegan diets, mend clothes and other items, buy unpackaged groceries, reuse, and upcycle what they already own, organize clothes-swapping parties, or become involved in social, ecological, and political movements. The question is not about one thrifted item, but what further changes thrifting can produce in the long run. Thrifting is an 'easy' start and visible change.

Fairkauf is a vital hub in urban transformative economies, one of many spaces where robust daily work is done, and meaningful alternatives are outlined and lived. Thrift stores accommodate the quest for more sustainable lifestyles for customers because they provide the second-hand goods these individuals desire but cannot procure themselves. Thrift stores are crucial in the lifeworlds of those who seek to live more sustainably. They are one-stop places that offer many necessities of life.

Thrift stores are more than mundane displays of clothes, books, or toys; they represent powerful economies of reuse, repurposing, sharing and care that are becoming more mainstream and pervasive. They illustrate how good and useful discarded items are and encourage people to rethink consumer behaviors and outline different ways of consumption. One person wearing a second-hand shirt might not be relevant in the larger scheme of things. However, if thousands do so, it makes a difference and can induce meaningful transformations. Tons of textiles, shoes, or dishes are diverted from incinerators or landfill and this makes an ecological difference.

Thrift stores emerged as a function of capitalist consumerism. They help clean up capitalist messes and their wares reflect exploitative and environmentally destructive

production processes. There can be no romanticizing of thrift stores' larger context. However, it is still worthwhile to look at thrift stores' potential for change within larger webs of alternative economies, refusal, resilience, and resistance. This article showed how charitable thrift stores are part of local and global non-commodified practices and alternative economies. The latter might not show up in economic statistics and political reports but are vast and powerful fields of long-standing and more recent ordinary practices where people live and work to create better lives for themselves, others, animals, nature, and the planet.

Thrift stores help people to reinsert values and practices of frugality and reuse, repair, repurposing, sharing, and care into their lives and to initiate small but consequential social and cultural transformations where, to oversimplify things, the new and glittery becomes less attractive or prestigious, and the used or repaired are valued. In the process cultural notions of frugality and reuse move or return from their marginalized position into the mainstream and turn second-hand items into cultural and political badges of honor or value. One thrifter noted: 'in my circles, a gift has to be either home-made or thrifted; don't show up with a store-bought gift.' Here, people take pride in reused or crafted items (often using thrifted materials), as values shift from how much a product costs to making sure it is responsibly sourced, and care is indicated by way of crafting. This thrifter, like many others, sees second-hand purchases as political acts. For them thrift stores are not spaces of incidental sustainability but core hubs. Thrift stores connect thrifters to powerful global webs of ordinary world-makers like Willie, Ghanaian technicians, and Polish gardeners who tirelessly work to make the world a better place, and challenge the dominance of capitalism.

I am grateful to Fairkauf, its administrators, workers, and helpers, who made fieldwork there an amazing personal and professional experience. Thanks to Catherine Tucker, Yi Wu, and Lynne Milgram for being part of the project. I also want to thank the three anonymous reviewers, whose careful reading and suggestions greatly helped me to make this a better article. Thanks to Mima and Tala for great thrifting debates and experiences.

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Petra Kuppinger https://orcid.org/0000-0002-5777-8126

Petra Kuppinger is Professor of Anthropology at Monmouth College. She currently conducts research on urban sustainability in Stuttgart, Germany. Her publications include Faithfully Urban (2015) and Cities and Spaces (2023). She edited Emergent Spaces (2021) and co-edited Urban Life (2018). Her work has been published in City & Society; Culture and Religion; City and Community; Anthropological Quarterly; Social and Cultural Geography; Journal of Urban Affairs; Space and Culture; Contemporary Islam; Built Environment; The Geographical Review. She served as President of SUNTA (now CUAA – Critical Urban Anthropology Association) and as editor of City & Society. Currently she serves on the Executive Board of the American Anthropological Association.