Ed. note: I met Eesha about eight years ago when she moved to Bangor to work at the Bangor Daily News. We became fast friends, because she’s hilarious, whip-smart, multi-talented and fun to be around. She’s also a great writer, which you would know if you read the Maine Morning Star, where she’s a staff writer covering education and politics. I’m so glad she was game to write about her incredible skill at thrift shopping. She’s like a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out cute outfits and home decor. I’m honestly jealous. - Emily
It started around this time last year, when I needed a Halloween costume. I was strolling through the East End in Portland, having spent far too much money at LB Kitchen on a sandwich and coffee, brainstorming with my friend about our costumes. I live for Halloween, but the bits and bobs it takes to assemble the kind of overly elaborate, incredibly niche costume I aim for start to get expensive fast. You’re left with plastic waste to take care of for years to come.
Last year’s wishlist was pretty specific. My former musical theater kid friend, who was a Halloween agnostic, had agreed to dress up with me as Glinda and Elphaba from “Wicked.” I refused to swallow my pride and order cheap crap for both of us from Bezos’ online wasteland, We were going to have to get creative.
While walking past the cluster of blink-and-you’ll-miss-them little East End shops, a smiling sun flag caught my eye. We were outside a store named Ferdinand, operational at some of the most inconvenient times for working adults, as all the best thrift stores are. The door could barely open, bumping up against the racks of costumes inside. It was a Halloween bounty. A whole basket of witch hats. Capes in every fabric and texture imaginable. All secondhand, in their pre-Instagram-era Halloween glory. Not a single slutty costume interpretation of a female-dominated profession in sight.
Over the next 20 minutes, I found a black vintage silk dress with statement shoulders, a velvet witch hat and sweeping cloak perfect for Elphaba. Sarah found a beaded pink prom gown with a full tulle skirt. We also got face paint, a wig and, for good measure, I bought a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle suit. You never know when you might need it.
The sheer number of people who marveled at the accuracy and intricacy of those costumes on Halloween night convinced me to never again buy a costume new. And then I wondered: How far can this theory stretch? Can I get away with never having to buy anything I want new in Maine?
Let’s clarify before I lose most of you. I’m not talking about the things you need; dish sponges, all purpose cleaner, batteries. Although this year I’ve learned a shocking number of those can also be found unopened at your local thrift store. But for birthday cards to painting supplies, clothes of all kinds to books, candles and frames, I don’t remember the last time I set foot in a big box monstrosity.
Thrifting is particularly fun if you like to experiment with hobbies constantly. I found a new set of Pickleball paddles last year and bought them because they were colorful and only $10. Now I play weekly and I’m in multiple leagues. A few weeks ago, I decided I was going to teach myself to sew to make my own handmade overalls with custom vegetable patches, as one does while attending Maine’s crunchy Olympics; a.k.a., the Common Ground Country Fair. After making a list of everything I’d need, I decided to try to find it all in thrift stores: the actual sewing machine, an iron, an extension cord, a special zipper foot, and, of course, a wide array of fabric and thread.
Over a few weeks, I found all of it at various secondhand stores throughout the state. Not only did I spend a fraction of what I would have if I succumbed to the convenience of Michael’s, I got cotton rather than polyester fabrics and thread, an older, sturdier sewing machine, and endless tutorials from helpful employees at checkout counters around Maine.
It’s not just me. Thrifting is quintessentially Maine. When I first moved to Bangor, I joked that my rental apartment was stuck in the ’70s: no dishwasher, no laundry and no central air, all of which were a given in my previous apartments in cities outside the state. Living in Maine makes you love things that are slightly inconvenient but chock-full of charm. It also makes you get creative about solutions, since everything you want isn’t just sitting on the shelves of a mall nearby.
So when I needed a coffee table for my old apartment with its tin ceilings, I went looking at Goodwill in Bangor. It’s almost a decade later, and the list of my thrift finds over the last 10 years would astound even the most diligent collector.
The secret is simply where I live - and I don’t just mean Southern Maine. From Japanese-patterned plates in Presque Isle to a ceramic lamp with a scalloped shade in Kennebunkport, a Victorian cape in Portland, a handmade mirror from Peru in Brewer, an Italian oil painting in Ellsworth and the coolest pants made in Australia in Belfast, I’ve found gems hidden in plain sight in every corner of the state.
They often come with stories, too — about how the shop owners acquired those pieces or the history behind the store itself. In a world that prioritizes instant gratification, two-day shipping and micro-trends started by teenagers on TikTok, I love finding things that are old, carefully made and unique.
We’ve all read about how Maine is the oldest state in the country. It’s often said in a negative way, but when it comes to thrifting, it absolutely is a positive. At the risk of polluting this piece with a cliche, they truly just don’t make things like they used to.
I know thrifting is not Maine-specific. It’s about patience, knowing what you want, and being OK with leaving without a single item on your list but a basket full of things you never realized you needed. Maine is special when it comes to finding incredible clothes, books and furniture secondhand. It also doesn’t hurt that our stores are filled with vintage L.L.Bean.
I’ve thrifted in pretty much every major city I’ve lived in, and it just does not compare. In New York or Boston, the good thrift stores are often vastly overpriced. In Los Angeles and Miami, I’ve found mostly fast fashion. In D.C., you have to leave the actual city and drive 40 minutes to hit a good store.
But since moving back here, I’m proud to say most of my closet and half of my furniture are from Maine. Very little of it was made here, but most of it was curated, carried through generations and taken care of here. And when I wear a sweater or turn on a lamp with a fun story, it prompts me to think more fondly of this unique gem of a state. And then I go back to the place where I got said sweater or lamp and shop some more. Win-win.
The next time you’re driving through rural Maine and you see a yard sale sign, stop your car. Walk over. You, like me, may find a vintage Remington typewriter in perfect condition that a lovely old couple will let you have for $20 because you’re a journalist.
