I remember being a little girl and desperately wishing I could be good at something. Wishing I had some sort of talent. Failed attempts at ballet, hip-hop dancing, piano lessons, and guitar lessons only exacerbated that longing. That feeling lingered like a droning hum in the background noise of my life well into high school and college...

It was only at 25 that I realized this yearning to be good at something was rooted in a lack of identity and the major imposter syndrome I experienced growing up as a first-generation Lithuanian who felt neither American enough nor Lithuanian enough. I’ve always felt as though I was halfway there—physically present with long ombre brown blondish hair and gray eyes, but internally hoping no one would point out that really—I didn’t belong there. In school, I never fully committed to anything, choosing journalism as my major in college only because English was the one subject I wasn’t “that bad at.”

The next series of events felt like a whirlwind, but they were pivotal—In 2017 I was hit by a car whilst walking in Chicago, broke my pelvis then healed it, all which led me to transfer to Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles. It was there, during one of my first thrifting trips, that I found an XOXO blue tie-dye bell-sleeve top. That single piece marked my first step into the world of vintage fashion. (I’m aware that XOXO isn’t even really vintage)

I sold passively on Depop until Covid hit. That’s when my mom and I, suddenly filled with free time, decided to do it together. We turned the basement into a vintage studio, and things really started to pick up. Whether it was the stimulus checks people were spending on the app or my mom’s and my elite taste in vintage clothes—or perhaps a combination of both—I knew I had stumbled upon something I could finally be good at: VINTAGE. My shining star!! My talent!!!

After my time on Depop fizzled out & the app kinda flopped (no offense, Depop), I began selling on Holy Thrift. After three years of annoying my boss (Hi Nada!), my groveling eventually landed me a spot on the leadership team. Now, I have the privilege of leading website development, managing our social media, dreaming up photoshoots where I act as stylist & photographer, and serving as the editor-in-chief of the blog—all while collaborating with a team I truly adore.

The road hasn’t exactly been clear—after all, the vintage resale industry isn’t widely respected (my dad still calls it a “hobby,” and reseller hate runs rampant online). But it has allowed me to do the thing I love the most: source, style, upcycle, photograph, and wear beautiful clothing from the past. Giving a piece of clothing another chance at life—another opportunity to become someone’s favorite—is at the heart of why I do what I do.

I suppose it makes sense, too. Ever since I learned about the Pacific Garbage Patch in Mr. Lange’s English class back in 2014, I’ve been deeply aware of just how much trouble our planet is in. It terrified me so much that I used to knock on wood every time the mere thought of a climate-change-induced apocalypse crossed my mind.

In a way, dedicating myself to secondhand clothing feels like my version of keeping up that knocking. Doing my part to keep clothing in circulation not only quells my impending-doom fears but also connects me to a community of like-minded young women who are equally passionate about good vintage and sustainability. (Shoutout to the Holy Thrift & Olio girls <3)

Now, I truly believe that what we wear is how we live. When you wake up in the morning and choose what to wear, are you putting on a physical future relic of late-stage capitalism, built on the blood, sweat, and tears of underpaid factory workers?

Let me tell you from experience—it feels so much better to wake up, open my closet doors to reveal my "secondhand" wardrobe that I built brick by brick, thrift by thrift, eBay purchase by eBay purchase, and transcend into a walking example of a second chance. (All while eating up these temu-shein-princess-oh-polly clones that haunt our deteriorating Earth).

Even in moments when I've felt completely lost, I knew that I could put on an incredible outfit, and somehow, the rest would sort itself out. When I first started reselling vintage, I was 22 years old. I recall being so harsh on myself—skin-picking as a form of self-mutilation (I’m better now) and constantly feeling like nothing I did was ever good enough.

Looking back at those early photos now, I’m struck by how impressive and inspiring they are considering who I was at the time (I use them as my screensaver these days). I’m deeply grateful to that past version of myself—even though she was often unkind to herself (and, as a result, to others)—for taking a leap of faith despite her self-doubts and inner demons.