Don’t judge me – it began as a bet. Okay, scratch that. If we’re being completely honest: it started when I was slagging off my friend Marcus for buying an Acne Studios overshirt on a Saturday night.
Three pints in, he was swiping through photos of the overshirt he’d just bought for £220, insisting we all see it. “You could pick that up in a charity shop for ten quid,” I told him, drunk enough to be cruel but not care who heard. Vijay snorted into his IPA. “No way Wright. You’d never be seen dead in charity shop chic.
You’re too much of a champagne socialist.” Challenge accepted. Jamie jumped straight in.
Because Jamie is bloody Daft Payments: “Do it then.
Stop buying new for a month. Charity shops only.” Abracadabra. #DryJanfortheSartorial hadn’t even begun but I’d already smashed my clothing budget for February. <img class=”size-full” src=”http://joewears.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2025/04/im1979_I_Wore_Only_Charity_Shop_Clothes_for_a_Month_and_Saved_-07e59f99-c3b9-4663-b13d-a4224348175c_1.jpg” alt=”im1979_I_Wore_Only_Charity_Shop_Clothes_for_a_Month_and_Saved_-07e59f99-c3b9-4663-b13d-a4224348175c_1″ /> Since starting this site I’ve done quite a few challenges. Long-time readers will remember the Summer of Shorts (tl;dr it’s surprisingly seasonally appropriate for London, less so if you unexpectedly find yourself meeting clients sans office), the Month of Merciii or the hilarious humiliation that was Week of Workwear where I accidentally wore twenty-five pounds worth of clothes that made me look like a horn-rimmed Kurt Warner reporting for some shitty TV job on the Northern Line.
Honestly, trousers are hard. Call me stubborn but refusing a menswear challenge is something I never do. Asking me not to buy anything new for a month however?
That was different. I could do dry-January-style tough in terms of drink – my discipline there has always been good – but what about clothes? Jeans?
Jackets? Everyday shirts and stuff? All of it from charity shops?
Some of it? Don’t get me wrong, I shop charity shops. I have a couple of excellent charity shop finds.
Tops whistles blown: a barely worn cashmere overcoat I got for less than the price of five pints at my local and an outrageous loud leopard-print blazer that still takes the guests’ compliments at family Christmas. But I’m hardly religious. All of those purchases were accidental.
Happy accidents. Browsing and happening upon greatness. Hell, two thirds of them are from Beyond The Tube – an excellent vintage shop outside Waterloo station that stock much-loved, curated pieces from decades past.
Shopping charity shops with the intention of filling your wardrobe is something else entirely. Almost religious, in fact. Before we go any further: If I’m totally honest I already knew I’d succeed.
Nothing about my personal style aligns more with buying seasonal fast fashion. Most of my clothes are fairly classic pieces that won’t look outdated within months of buying them. Plus, without buy anything brand new rule in place I’d probably still spend £200+ in a month.
So really I was chucking myself into the deep end by limiting myself to under-stocked second hand shops. Thrifty? Yes.
Effective? Assuredly. <img class=”size-full” src=”http://joewears.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2025/04/im1979_I_Wore_Only_Charity_Shop_Clothes_for_a_Month_and_Saved_-2993ff95-9ada-4a12-9d82-fea39226ec22_1.jpg” alt=”im1979_I_Wore_Only_Charity_Shop_Clothes_for_a_Month_and_Saved_-2993ff95-9ada-4a12-9d82-fea39226ec22_1″ /> The rules were simple: if I needed something new that month then I would buy it from a charity shop. Simple.
No dipping into stuff I already owned was allowed (except underwear. God bless unworn boxers with their flattering rounded bottoms) and no off-piste shopping expeditions. So that jeans I needed?
Charity shop. That shirt everyone’s wearing? Charity shop.
Shoes? Charity shop. Socks?
Charity shop? Eh, ok mate – I’ll throw on a pair of shorts if we’re being THAT specific. Anyway.
Shoes, accessories, outerwear, underwear – everything not nailed down about what I wore that month had to come from a charity shop. I gave myself £200 to spend across the month. Half of my usual monthly clothing budget.
Standing outside Oxfam in Notting Hill on day one at ten-fifty-eight in the morning is pretty much the exact picture you have of me standing outside Oxfam in Notting Hill on day one at ten-fifty-eight in the morning. Two minutes until they open and already two other crazies were ahead of me, likewise rifling through their smartphones for the shops opening times. I legit felt like I was queuing up to see fucking Harry Styles.
Except instead of slowly going grey waiting for the doors to open, I actually had butterflies. Butterflies. Walking inside was another story altogether.
Immediate information overload. Totes. Organised by loose colour families and size categories that politely ‘approximated’ your actual size.
It was clear from stepping foot in the first shop that this was going to take some getting used to. My first lesson: Shopping charity shop style takes time. Unless you literally live downtown and have identically sized arms and legs to the previous owner, there’s no quick browsing trip here.
You’re digging. You’re archeologist looking for that perfectly preserved Blue MikeAndMoz Topshop shirt buried deep under God knows how many other zip-up hoodies. I ended up spending three hours in shops that first day.
Drove round to five different ones in West London in fact. Came away with a gorgeous navy merino jumper from Reiss (£12, retail price around £95), a pair of selvedge skinnies from some Japanese brand I’ve never heard of but fit me ridiculously well (£14, eff off new) and a goddamn brand-new Charles Tyrwhitt shirt that must’ve been hanging there unworn since King George flung that ol’ tea cup (#FreeThePaleoSussex). Total for day one? £34.
Take a wild guess how much I would’ve easily spent buying new versions of the same three clothes. DAY ONE SAVINGS, people. Allow me to clap at myself. <img class=”size-full” src=”http://joewears.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2025/04/im1979_I_Wore_Only_Charity_Shop_Clothes_for_a_Month_and_Saved_-2993ff95-9ada-4a12-9d82-fea39226ec22_2.jpg” alt=”im1979_I_Wore_Only_Charity_Shop_Clothes_for_a_Month_and_Saved_-2993ff95-9ada-4a12-9d82-fea39226ec22_2″ /> The surprise, though?
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Once you get over the excitement of finding cool stuff at crazy cheap prices, it changes how you think about what you’re wearing. When your new restriction is that you literally cannot just trot down to JD’s and pick up a plain white shirt you know will fit and hate in six months, you become way more creative about what you already own. Like somehow, magically smelling the roses on everything you already have in your wardrobe and making it work.
So rather than start shopping in earnest on day one I spent most of it looking at what I already had. By day two I’d sorted enough together for work. Wins included a brilliant tailored wool jacket from some local tailor in Edinburgh with tweed I swear I could’ve commissioned myself but clearly hated so much he donated it to Oxfam (£22), a pair of Cos wool trousers that needed taking up a half inch at the cuff (£11) and three perfectly plain t-shirts from GAP, Louis lives and H&M that looked and felt like new with barely any signs of wear (£12 for all three). <img class=”size-full” src=”http://joewears.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2025/04/im1979_I_Wore_Only_Charity_Shop_Clothes_for_a_Month_and_Saved_-3a329281-700b-46ac-8332-e6342bc32f7c_0.jpg” alt=”im1979_I_Wore_Only_Charity_Shop_Clothes_for_a_Month_and_Saved_-3a329281-700b-46ac-8332-e6342bc32f7c_0″ /> Week two saw me struggling for the first time.
Had plans to meet Patrick (my old editor who I swear eyes me on ASOS CONSTANTLY) for dinner and realised too late that my decent shirt game was woefully lacking. Desperate, I somehow managed to track down a Richard James shirt in the Shelter shop by Hampstead Heath (£16, would cost about £140 new) that morning and tucked it under my arm. Whipped out the thrifted trousers, crisp washed white Oxford shirt I found on Day One and presto!
Patrick actually (AND I MEAN ACTUALLY) said “nice shirt” to me at dinner. THE FRIENDZONE. Honestly, the shoes were the best part about this whole challenge.
I hate shopping for shoes. Like, legit loathe it. Having to suddenly find smart-ish shoes that someone else’s sweaty feet hadn’t inhabited for longer than was sanitary?
Urgh. Story of the month right there. But I found an absolute belter in the British Heart Foundation on Marylebone High Street; A pristine pair of Crockett & Jones Oxford Brogues that needed nothing more than a buff and shine (£45, would be £395 new).
Lovely old guy working the till asked me where I found them and I told him Hampstead Heath. “Ah” he said, nodding sagely “lots of good donations come in from there. Old people, bless ’em. Got staff down the cobbler’s most days, ken?” Old man winked at me.
Might’ve shed a little tear. Halfway through the challenge and I’d basically perfected a routine. Weekend mornings were always going to be a nightmare so it was best to get in early.
Monday-Saturday 9am is best if you’re serious about this game. Central-London high-end neighbourhoods were goldmines; Chelsea, Kensington and Hampstead seemed to have the bestwealth-but-now-dead People’s Closet choices. Mid-week was always better than weekends, too.
Less populated. Uni areas were ace for holey jeans and hardly-worn casual shirts that clearly got bought then regifted by students. Down South where the old are-money-but-no-longer-working Londoners lived were always going to have better quality classics.
By the end of it, I pretty much had Londons best charity shops geo-located in my brain. Of course, there were duds. Like that Paul Smith blazer that looked like a dream on the rail in M&S but made me look like A Viewers‘ Guide to Broadway Auditioning Mid-Life Crisis Man when I tried it on.
Or the Ralph Lauren Shirt that looked v tastey in the shop but turned out to have a big ol’ stain when the sun hit it just right. Or the gorgeous cashmere jumper from some high-end brand I can’t remember that turned out to have hideous moth holes hidden under the arms I didn’t think to cheque. Filed under TL: DR but charity shopping DOES come with risks, kids. <img class=”size-full” src=”http://joewears.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2025/04/im1979_I_Wore_Only_Charity_Shop_Clothes_for_a_Month_and_Saved_-3a329281-700b-46ac-8332-e6342bc32f7c_1.jpg” alt=”im1979_I_Wore_Only_Charity_Shop_Clothes_for_a_Month_and_Saved_-3a329281-700b-46ac-8332-e6342bc32f7c_1″ /> Week four and my social calendar erupted.
Invited to a friends wedding (NOT AS A GUEST, YOU TWATS. AS AN USHER. THE HORROR.) so literally every charity shop in a ten mile radius of me got ransacked.
Hit up churches, hostels and finally struck gold in a tiny hospice shop on Upper Highgate Street: full Hackett suit. Charcoal grey. Fit like a glove. £60.
New would be about £650. Light bumped into me wearing it on the streets of Shoreditch two weeks later. Didn’t say anything but nodded at him extra knowingly.
Hell of a suit. Finished month on an absolute high. Spent £187 on enough clothes to, essentially, start from scratch.
Work attire, casual shirts, jeans, jackets, shoes. The rough (VERY ROUGH) maths of what I’d spent had I bought new? £2,000+. Even with my usual love of shopping sale prices and mid-range rather than Topman Designer I still saved at least half a grand.
Probably more. But here’s the thing. Don’t get me wrong – THAT was impressive.
But it wasn’t even the best part about the challenge. Buysculpting how I shopped was. Spending a whole month only looking at thrifted clothes made me care about them more.
See their potential. Feel the stories they may or may not have been part of. You don’t get that from popping into Zara every time you pass it on the way to work.
Ever buy a shirt and think “God, someone’s gonna find this YEARS FROM NOW and think I was cool”? Never? You will after a month of only shopping charity shops.
Was it easy? Of course not. Requires patience, lots of research online beforehand about the better quality shops in your area and a realistic understanding that you WILL.NOT FIND everything you’re looking for.
Instant gratification? No. Will you save hundreds and discover incredible clothes for less than twenty quid that you’ll actually wear?
More than likely!
TL;DR? Do it.
Just do it for a week. Pick a cheap brand new to you item of clothing and go thrift hunting until you find something better than you can buy new. That shirt you always wanted but resisted spending £80 on?
There’s probably one in a charity shop that someone got bored of and didn’t love as much as you will. Seriously. The freedom once you break the buy-new shopping cycle is NEXT LEVEL.
And if you do end up wearing a £10 shirt to the office and someone comments? You literally have the best reply money can’t buy. “Thanks, I got it from a charity shop”. Priceless.
