Should I Sell Them at Consignment Stores? No.

This is part of Stewie's Guide to Ruthlessly Declutter Your Clothes Today.

Growing up, I spent a lot of time at my Grandparents’ house. When I arrived, Grandpa Bill would say, “Hey, there, tiger.” And Grandma Francine would proclaim in a high voice, “It’s schnookie-doo!”

I have no idea where Grandma’s nickname for me came from, but it’s something I’ll never forget.

I’ll also never forget about what I learned from Grandma’s frugality. She was frugal in a way that wasn’t just about money; it was about pride, about resourcefulness, about never wasting what could still serve a purpose.

She scoured the grocery store for the best deals, cooked every meal from scratch, and when it came time to buy a new church dress, she didn’t just pick one up at the nearest store. No, she made an event of it—visiting different discount retailers, weighing her options, making sure she was getting the most for her money. And she always looked beautiful in those dresses. I imagine they were some of the nicest things she owned.

But even the best-loved things don’t last forever.

When her dresses had seen their time, Grandma Francine would gather them, pack them carefully, and drive thirty minutes to a consignment shop. She’d chat with the owner—an old friend, which made the trip as much about connection as anything else—and she’d leave the dresses behind, hoping they’d find a new home.

In the end, though, the money she made barely covered the cost of gas. The trip wasn’t really about profit—it was a ritual, a habit, a way of holding onto something familiar.

Looking back, I wonder: was it worth it?

I’ve talked to many people about consignment, and the answer always seems to be the same. It’s a hassle. A time sink. A well-intentioned effort that rarely pays off. And yet, so many of us keep trying.

Why?

Maybe it’s the lingering hope that our things still have value. Maybe it’s the tiny thrill of making a few bucks on something we no longer need. Or maybe it’s just hard to let go.

I used to think consignment was a smart way to clear out a closet while earning a little extra cash. But when you really break it down, it starts to feel like a part-time job—one that pays in pocket change.

Think about it: how much time do you spend sorting clothes, driving to the store, waiting to see if anything sells? And for what—ten dollars? Maybe twenty?

If your time is worth at least $15 an hour, would you still do it?

And that’s assuming the clothes even sell. Often, they don’t. And then you’re left with a pile of rejected items and the same question you started with: what now?

I’ll never forget the day Grandma Francine came home with a dress the consignment owner had turned away. “Soiled,” the owner had said.

Grandma spent the evening scrubbing out a tiny grease spot, determined to make it good enough to sell. She took it back the next week. Another trip, more gas, more effort.

And for what?

I think about that dress sometimes. How it wasn’t really about the money. How she wasn’t just trying to sell an old garment—she was trying to make it worth something again.

I get it. I’ve done the same thing in different ways. I’ve held onto things longer than I should have. I’ve tried to squeeze value out of what no longer serves me. I’ve resisted the truth that sometimes, the best thing to do is simply let go.

There’s something freeing about making peace with that. About realizing that not everything needs to be resold, repurposed, or justified. Sometimes, the real gift is in the release—the space you create, the energy you reclaim.

A Better Question

So maybe the best question isn’t, “Is this worth consigning?”

Maybe the question is, “Is this worth holding onto?”

And if the answer is no, then let it go. Without guilt, without hesitation. Not everything needs a second life to have had a good first one.

And you? You have better things ahead.

Next steps…