Inquire the Unexpected Correlations
Oct 08, 2025
The Thrift Sticker Shock
ThredUp is my online thrift go-to, but in the past year my order count went down almost 80%. I only noticed this after encounter a video about how thrift store are being “ruined”. And I finally put my finger on the reason my order went straight down - the price! A Madewell white t in excellent condition somehow costs $39.99 there, while Nordstrom Rack is selling the same one for $37 after promo code, brand new. This is obviously not the only thing, and I’m usually not the only witness, why, does actual second-hand pieces now cost more than brand-new ones?
Depop Hustling the Poor
Looking at the Consumer Price Index (CPI) and youth underemployment rates against thrift store price guides and low end fast fashion import volumes, the trend says: As general inflation worsens, thrift store prices outpace it, making "used" clothes more expensive than buying brand-new fast fashion.
On the obvious side, the rise of the side-hustling reseller might have contributed to it. During economic downturns and periods of high youth underemployment, thousands of Gen Z-ers flood thrift stores to source vintage items to flip online.
Armed with smartphones and a prayer, these resellers scour the racks like piranhas to post listings like:
“Y2K Grunge Core Vintage Distressed Tee (has grease stains, adds character) — $75 (Firm, I know what I have).”
Goodwill and Salvation Army corporate offices caught onto this. Realizing their inventory was being severely undervalued, they decided to cut out the middleman. They raised prices, relying on artificial intelligence and Google Lens to price check donations.
The result? A polyester shirt that donated for free is suddenly priced at $18.99 because some algorithm saw a similar logo on eBay.
The Unhelpful Fast-Fashion Pivot
This creates a ridiculous, unhelpful paradox. The poorest segments of the population—the people thrift stores were originally built to serve—are now completely priced out of buying used clothing.
Instead, they are forced to buy brand-new, chemical-scented synthetic shirts from Shein or Temu because a brand-new top shipped directly from a factory in China costs $4.50(well, that might not be true for long), while a stained, pre-owned equivalent at Goodwill costs $15.
This might be getting old but started to feel like my tagline - Next time you see a teenager filming a "thrift haul" TikTok in the aisles of a charity shop, realize you are witnessing the gentrification of donated sweatpants. The economy is so broken that buying second hand is now a middle-class privilege.
Sep 21, 2025
Gorpcore Burnout Index
I was standing in line at the Starbucks on Westlake in Seattle, that’s when I saw it: a guy in a pristine, neon Arc'teryx Alpha SV jacket. It was 55 degrees and lightly drizzling—standard Seattle stuff—but that jacket is built to survive a blizzard on K2. He adjusted his storm-hood, grabbed his oat milk latte, and walked straight into an Amazon office tower.
This isn't the first time. I've seen Salomon speed-hiking shoes on carpeted office floors, and Patagonia duffels meant for base camps being used as gym bags. Why do city dwellers spend $800 on mountaineering gear just to sit in a cubicle?
Surviving the AC
In recent years, high-end technical outdoor brands have quietly replaced traditional streetwear in metropolitan centers.
When I cross-reference Google Trends for Arc'teryx and Salomon against urban economic data—like skyrocketing rent-to-income ratios, 60-hour work weeks, and rising burnout rates—I found a bizarre correlation: Sales of high-performance climbing gear among city dwellers spike as metropolitan rent rises and average vacation days shrink, ironically.
The Wearable Coping Mechanism
Why? It’s not about the weather. It’s a form of psychological survivalist escapism.
As housing costs trap young professionals in tiny apartments and endless Slack threads, they are starved for the outdoors. The gear features are completely wasted, but the psychological payoff is huge:
The K2-rated storm-hood: Perfect for blocking out the harsh glare of fluorescent office lights and the drafts of aggressive office AC.
The Salomon trail-runners: Designed to grip wet rocks, now safely navigating the slippery tiled floor of the corporate cafeteria.
The Patagonia backpack: Built for alpine expeditions, currently carrying a MacBook, a charger, and a single, sad Tupperware container of yesterday's salad.
Wearing it signals to the world—and to the wearer themselves: "I am an active, free human who could escape this city and survive a storm at any moment."
The Illusion of Freedom
In reality, the closest that jacket will ever get to a mountain is a weekend trip to a suburban Target. But in a world where you're priced out of buying a home and trapped in Microsoft Excel, wearing the gear of an alpine explorer is the easiest way to buy back a piece of your soul.
Next time you see someone in a full climbing kit on the subway, don't ask what peak they're summiting. They're just trying to survive the 9:30 AM status update.
July 11, 2025
The Balenciaga "Trash Bag" Paradox
I was walking pass The Bravern in Bellevue, that’s when I saw it, a young pair stepping out of a lambo dressing in the opposite of opulence, or, obviously expensive but somehow painful to watch. Ok, now, this isn’t the first time, so I started to dig - why the rich pay to look poor during economic bubbles? Correlation or just my imagination?
As it turns out, it's not just my imagination. There is a wild, almost comical correlation between how frothy the economy is and how desperately the ultra-wealthy want to look like they’ve hit rock bottom.
The peak of "ironic luxury"
A few years ago, fashion houses started releasing items that looked like actual garbage, but with price tags that could cover a month of rent in Seattle. The Balenciaga Trash Pouch - A calfskin drawstring bag designed to look exactly like a standard Hefty trash bag, retail price? $1,790. The Balenciaga Paris Sneaker - A limited-run sneaker that came pre-destroyed—shredded, dirty, and looking like it had been run over by a lawnmower, retail price? $1,850. Luxury Crocs & Safety Pin Jewelry - Everyday, mundane, or low-status items suddenly rebranded and sold for thousands.
During the height of the craze, search volumes for these "ugly fashion" items were through the roof, and the resale market was thriving. People weren't just buying them; they were bragging about them.
The Macroeconomic Backdrop
Between 2020 and early 2022, we were living in the golden era of the Zero Interest Rate Policy. The Federal Reserve kept interest rates at rock bottom, the S&P 500 was scaling new peaks weekly, and the total cryptocurrency market cap ballooned to a staggering $3 trillion.
Money was practically free. Overnight crypto millionaires, early-stage tech founders, and venture capitalists were swimming in liquidity.
The Causal Explanation - "Wisdom Flex"?
If you map the demand for these ironic, pre-destroyed luxury items against the S&P 500 and Fed interest rates, a weird pattern emerges: The demand for intentionally "ugly" or low-status aesthetic items peaks right before a major market correction, then instantly drops to near-zero when the market crashes.
As soon as the Fed started aggressively hiking rates in 2022, tech stocks tanked, crypto crashed, and the hype for $1,800 trash bags evaporated. Suddenly, the resale value of ironic luxury plummeted, and the internet stopped talking about pre-dirtied sneakers.
It all comes down to how status signaling works when money is too easy to make. In a hyper-inflated economic bubble, wealth is abundant. Because so many people suddenly have access to capital, traditional "clean" luxury items—like a classic Chanel handbag, a Louis Vuitton monogrammed belt, or a shiny pair of Gucci loafers—lose their signaling power. When the entry-level software engineer and the local real estate agent are both wearing the same designer logos, those logos stop indicating true elite status.
To flex in a room full of newly rich people, the super-rich have to shift the goalposts. They turn to ironic signaling. By buying a bag that looks like literal garbage for $1,800, they are performing a high-society flex: "I have so much money, and my status is so secure, that I can afford to play-dress as poor. I can waste thousands of dollars on a literal joke."
When the Music Stops
But irony is a luxury of the comfortable. When the bubble bursts, the Fed hikes rates, and portfolios lose 30% of their value overnight, the psychological safety net disappears. Playing-dress as poor stops being a funny flex when actual economic anxiety creeps in.
Almost overnight, the wealthy abandon the trash bags and dirtied sneakers. They retreat to conservative, "quiet luxury"—brands like Loro Piana, Brunello Cucinelli, and The Row. They trade the loud, ironic jokes for beige cashmere, structured coats, and zero visible logos. They go back to protecting their social status rather than mocking it.
So, the next time you see someone wearing a garbage bag that costs more than your car payment, don't just laugh. Check your stock portfolio. The top might be closer than you think.