Feelings of ‘stuffocation’ and a yearning for connection are feeding the share economy … along with the hunt for a perfect Halloween costume

On the trail of garage sale bargains: 'I see this as a political act. It’s taking our power back'

On the trail of garage sale bargains: 'I see this as a political act. It’s taking our power back'

Lindy Baker describes herself as “on a mission to minimise but determined not to throw things away”. She is enjoying the sunshine outside her Darlinghurst terrace on day two of her sale. Her front fence doubles duty as a clothes rack and a table displays bric-a-brac, kitchenalia and costume jewellery.

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Her motivations are political as well as practical. Baker is an Italian translator and artist who used to be a coordinator for the Sydney Democracy Network. “We need to find new ways of accessing and entering the share economy, because our current consumerist culture is weighing too heavily on the environment,” she says.

“I’m interested in how society can cut down on waste across the board, avoiding plastic packaging, recycling more. City of Sydney now picks up e-waste, so I’ve booked that in, and I’ve finally found a home for a massive pile of sewing fabric I’ve been hoarding.

“It’s a work in progress, a mindset. Even though a lot of my stuff was secondhand in the first place, I still have too much. A garage sale is one of a few different solutions.”

At the weekend more than 18,000 Australian households registered garage sales as part of the Garage Sale Trail. Some were driven by more than just the urge to purge and earn a bit of cash – they speak of environmental motivations, promoting the share economy and rebelling against the constant pressure to consume.

“We have to find ways to cycle clothes, furniture, objects, anything useful, through multiple owners,” Baker says.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Lizzy Logan holds a canister for sale at Lindy Baker’s Darlinghurst garage sale

She clearly has an eye for design, but she’s not much of an entrepreneur if these prices are anything to go by. A terracotta plate costs a buck. “It’s not about the money,” she says, pausing to sell a vintage silk scarf with hand-rolled edges and a striped straw hat for $14. “The unwritten rule we have on this street [is] that if there’s something decent in your house that you don’t want any more, you put it out the front for anyone to take.”

A yard sale is more social. “I do think there’s a community-building aspect,” Baker says. “I just met a woman who lives two doors down. She’s been here 15 years and I’ve been here five but we hadn’t spoken. She wanted to buy a cup – I gave it to her.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘They match your top.’ Lizzy Logan holds a canister for sale at Lindy Baker’s Darlinghurst garage sale stall

The day before Baker sold a hammer to another woman from the neighbourhood she hadn’t met previously. “She came back again today and bought a rug. We were chatting so long I invited her round for drinks. The unexpected joy of this has been the fun conversations. But isn’t that what people everywhere have always loved about shopping?”

It’s an experience you wouldn’t have in a mall, she notes. “I do see this as a political act. It’s taking our power back.”

A young woman in denim cutoffs and an embroidered white linen blouse stops to look at a set of five 1970s kitchen canisters illustrated with vegetables – $5 for the lot. She’s Lizzy Logan, a Legal Aid lawyer. What is it about the canisters? “I have stuff like this,” she says. “They would match well with my decor. My personal style and home reflect each other.”

“A friend salvaged them from a council clean-up,” Baker says. “You’d be amazed what people chuck out. Actually, they match your top.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Sydneysiders look through Darlinghurst stalls on Sunday

Logan bought the blouse for $15 at another garage sale on Saturday – “from these two older women, a travel writer and a food writer. They were selling books and clothes they’d picked up on their travels.” Logan has been thrifting since she was a teenager in Brisbane.

“I like the individuality of the pieces. I have quite a conservative, traditional career and thrifting is a creative outlet for me. But there’s also this other side of it – I feel strongly that we should use what’s already in existence.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest A pair of glittery Miu Miu mary-janes on sale at Darlinghurst public school

The best thing she ever found? “Classic Ferragamo court shoes from an op shop in Brisbane for about $20. Honestly, you can thrift anything.”

Nearby, 15 sellers have set up in Darlinghurst public school. One man smiles valiantly above a stash of DVDs – it looks as though Netflix has destroyed his market – but it’s mostly kids’ toys and approachable fashion here. Mostly.

Alex Riggs is selling some high-ticket items. She could probably get a better return on one of a growing number of high-end luxury resale sites, or the consignment store up the road. She agrees, but this was something they wanted to do as a family.

The DVD guy is her brother; her 13-year-old nephew has a stall too. “We all went to the climate strike together,” Riggs says. “It’s the younger generation who are leading this movement, they’re asking questions about environmental impact and ethics. It doesn’t just wash over these kids – they really take it on board.”

Her mother, Freida Riggs, is also here, selling clothes and accessories. “Fashion is about self-expression, not about status,” the retired academic says. “Who cares if you bought something new or not? What I care about is the shapes, colours, the stories behind clothes, and I don’t want to dress like a granny.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Cassy Cochrane with Freida Riggs and the necklace she bought from her

She sells a necklace for $15 to Cassy Cochrane, a drama teacher.

“It’s nice to see it go to someone who appreciates it, and to meet that person,” Freida says. “I do send clothes to charity, but you never know who gets them, do you?”

Cochrane is a vintage clothes collector. “I love clothes swaps,” she says. “I started doing them I was a student in New Zealand. We’d throw the tarp down on our back lawn in Wellington, everyone would bring their loot, it became a party. I still have them now that I’m 50. It’s awesome, what happens when you take money out of the equation.”

Thirteen-year-old Olivia Solomon says she and her friends swap their clothes and haunt op shops. ““This T-shirt I’ve got on cost $2 and it’s not mine anyway,” she says. “I can’t afford to buy fast fashion, but I wouldn’t really want to anyway.”

Olivia is looking for something to wear to a Halloween party and decides on a thrifted black velvet shift dress for $5. “Halloween is so gross with everyone buying plastic outfits from costume shops, and they’re not even that cheap. Some of them are $35.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘I bought it for a few dollars in an op shop, thinking maybe I could fit it, but it’s actually a child’s size’

“Why this dress? It fits me. I love the velvet, and I can wear it again. I’ll do my makeup white. I’m going as a goth.”

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The frock’s previous owner is Jess Taylor, a marine biologist: “I bought it for a few dollars in an op shop, thinking maybe I could fit it, but it’s actually a child’s size. I got it home and realised that’s never going to happen.”

Did she ever consider throwing it away? “What? No way. That’s wasteful. I’m all about conservation and looking after our natural world. I couldn’t throw something out if it had possible value for someone else. With clothes, it’s also about workmanship – someone had to sew that dress.

“Everything I’m wearing is secondhand, actually, except for my shoes. Consumer choices matter. Our choices feed the market, what we want becomes what’s available, so if we change what we want then the market will change. Although ultimately I think government regulation is the thing that will really save us.”