The British Red Cross charity shop in Kensington and Chelsea found itself with an unprecedented number of customers last week, after David and Victoria Beckham did a “shop drop” in aid of the survivors of Typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines (although I’m sure the canny volunteers will be holding some of the items back for “slow release”).
I won’t be making a special visit to that branch, since I suspect that Mrs Beckham’s clobber might come up a little tight on me, but it was a reminder that there is no greater happiness than purchasing your wardrobe from the local charity shop.
It is a pursuit that contains all the elements of ordinary shopping, but without any lingering sense of guilty self-loathing: the fat-free muffin of the retail world. First, there is the thrill of the hunt. Then, the moments of quickly dashed hope: lovely fabric, size 22. And at last, an item that – after the flailing exertions of the invariably tiny changing room – confirms its status as a bargain.
If you should weary of it, it can go back to be resold, and double its earnings for the good cause.
A garment discovered in a charity shop is so much more valuable than one bought in a high-street shop, because it has the enhanced element of happy accident, like your favourite song suddenly playing on the radio.
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