Did you ever think there was nothing left to do with your chino shorts from J.Crew Factory that used to be salmon but are now a faded, dusty rose color at best? Or that there was no hope for all of those bodycon skirts you bought at Forever21 the afternoon before a party in college? I give you Poshmark, where Marie Kondo’s dreams could come true… if she ever got over the interface, the users and other “quirks” of the app.
My first exposure to the world of Poshmark came from a good friend who had been using the app to get rid of things in her wardrobe that didn’t get enough wear. For me, it was the perfect place to get rid of a Tory Burch tote bag I had impulsively bought before starting my first “adult job,” but now didn’t actually use. It’s all fun and easy; you clean out your closet, you make some cash and you can do it in between watching Instagram stories. But for some people, it’s more than a casual activity: it’s a way of life, and things can get weird. Here are some of the Poshers (people on the app) you’ll meet along the way.
I’m talking about girls who sell Lululemon, Chanel and Acne Studios bags for $10 or $15 a pop. Never mind that these things were clearly free with whatever they purchased, there are real live people who will haggle over these, ask about the condition (plastic? What are you looking for, here?) and get excited to pay for shipping on them. Ostensibly, these bags go into some kind of wild Chanel or MAC shrine the purchaser is building in her room. Should anyone really be feeding that kind of hobby?
There are some people who Posh for fun (or pocket change), and some who take it to the next level. Behold, people who color code their closet, or organize it by “type of item.” I’m not sure how to actually even do this, but I’m pretty sure it involves meticulously sharing every listing in a certain order so it lines up perfectly. People also do this by brand, which is just as labor-intensive. To these people, I say: I’m impressed, but also kind of concerned.
I’ve come across people who sell those sweatpants we all got at someone’s Bar Mitzvah. You know, the one with the person’s name and the date on them. Also, a little league jersey from your small town in Tennessee. These things are so oddly specific that I can’t imagine who other than the seller has use for them. There are also Poshers who sell used makeup or used swimsuits (the app technically frowns on selling these things, which does a whole lot of nothing). I can’t think of anything more troubling than buying “gently used” swim bottoms from someone on the other side of the country. Except for maybe buying her “only twice used” lip gloss, too.
There’s a difference between buying something that is missing a button or could use a dry clean and signing up for a full-on reconstruction project. I’m talking about a dress that has a straight-up hole in a conspicuous spot, shrunk in the wash a little, and a ton of piling. These things shouldn’t be on the app, they should be thrown out. Poshmark charges $6.49 for shipping, which means you’re asking people to pay AT LEAST $6 for unwearable clothing. Why?
Poshmark is a prime place to unload 2009 J.Crew or that Longchamp bag you don’t want anymore (someone told me these aren’t trendy anymore, and I’d like to take this opportunity to stand by my trusty Le Pliage tote). It is a less convenient place to sell that skirt you bought from a boutique on a family vacation way back when, because people aren’t going to be searching for that brand in the app. So lots of people tag things as “Madewell” when they most certainly aren’t selling something from that brand. I stumbled across a girl who was selling a Target leather tote bag as the Madewell Transport Tote. Sure, they clarify in the comments that the brand is just for exposure, but it’s still annoying, and sometimes, you just need to go to Goodwill instead.