Simone Reddington

Like many other people, I have become absolutely obsessed with charity shops during the last couple of years. In my teens and early twenties, I looked down my nose at the idea of buying clothes that I had already pre-judged as ‘for old people’ and that would automatically smell despite never actually looking in the shop and having access to a washing machine that would ensure the garments would be clean from their previous owners.  I instead shopped at Primark and online retailers such as Missguided, where I would buy clothes made by workers in exploitative sweat shops in Asia that made me look nearly identical to my peers that I would wear for a year at the most, before I wanted to switch up my looks to match the latest trends and would then discard to the nearest charity shop that I could find (2015-2019 me was such a basic little brat, I know). 

However, all that changed during lockdown.  As our high streets closed and our social lives halted, we all faced many uncomfortable truths about ourselves and the world around us.  One of the things I realised was that I didn’t actually need half the clothes that I owned in my wardrobe, and another was the ugly truth about the way I consumed my possessions.  The factories used to make our clothes were responsible for 10% of global carbon emissions in 2020 (McFall-Johnson, weforum.org.uk); that statistic does not include the environmental impact of manufacturing our gadgets, furniture etc.  As we are starting to see the devastating effects that climate change has on our planet, with the ongoing wildfires in Los Angeles as just one example, it is obvious that we can no longer expect to buy everything brand new.  I now buy most of my clothes and books from second-hand charity shops, one recent purchase being a copy of Lauren Bravo’s 2023 debut novel Preloved from Durham Oxfam.  

I was instantly drawn to the novel from reading the blurb as, not only do I like preloved shopping, Preloved’s protagonist is extremely relatable for young, single people such as myself.  To her family and friends, Gwen appears to be a successful and happily independent woman, with a stable career and living solo in London.  However, it is clear to the reader that she is navigating the same feelings of loneliness that is all too common in society today.  The friendships which she cultivated in her early twenties are becoming increasingly more difficult to maintain as work and family commitments prevent regular and spontaneous catchups.  When she is made redundant shortly after her thirty-eighth birthday, she finds herself with a lot more time on her hands and nobody to spend it with so starts to volunteer at her local charity shop.  It is there where she meets a variety of oddballs from all walks of life who force her to confront her past and reimagine what she wants her future to look like.  It sounds incredibly corny, but Bravo’s hilariously sarcastic tone ensures it does not feel like a Netflix Original movie. 

I also really liked the novel’s multiple narrative structure used by Bravo.  Gwen’s third-person narrative is split up by chapters that share the backstories of secondary characters, many of whom she does not meet, but their lives are intwined when their possessions end up in the charity shop and play important roles in the plot.  This device is very effective by showing why these items, most of which would be labelled as junk, are referred to by retailers as ‘preloved’. 

Preloved is a gorgeous, cozy book that is a perfect read for curling up with a blanket and a hot chocolate in January.  It will make you both want to clear out your house and ring your loved ones. Lovely, lovely stuff.