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A review by dorhastings
Secondhand: Travels in the New Global Garage Sale by Adam Minter
adventurous
informative
reflective
medium-paced
4.5
I decided to read this book for a reading challenge on The Storygraph, but it generally piqued my interest because I am always a little curious about reducing clutter and waste. And the book was immediately available on Libby, so win-win.
Minter is very clear about the origins of this book. For one, he is a columnist for Bloomberg Opinion and specializes in China (as of the book's publication, he lives in Malaysia), technology, and the environment, so this seemed like his natural territory. He also wrote Junkyard Planet: Travels in the Billion-Dollar Trash Trade, and I think the response to his book (which is overall pretty good) made him want to continue writing about the issue. Finally, he's upfront about how he had to figure out what to do with all of his mother's belongings when she passed away, and a good portion of the early chapters explore related issues.
In this book, Minter explores what happens to our stuff when we're done with it. Not when we trash it, but (generally) when we donate it. He spends a significant amount of time walking around and speaking with employees of Goodwill and exploring some of the history. He goes to Japan to learn more about people whose entire job (and certification) is to help older citizens get rid of some of their things. You can see Minter's attachment to technology when he goes to Ghana to see where old cars, televisions, computers, and mobile phones go for their second lives. In talking about secondhand goods, he explores how the quality of goods (be they clothing, furniture, or washing machines) has gone way down. Companies don't have a lot of incentive to sell more durable and long-lasting products, not when folks are involved in fast fashion and don't seem to care as much about the quality of their clothing. He talks about countries that ban imported secondhand products to increase domestic sales (but secondhand gets in anyway). He also explores how often what we donate goes to communities well outside of our own. And Minter talks about how much we care about our stuff. The sentimental value we connect to the things that we have, such that we are disappointed when others don't see the value of our stuff, or certainly not enough to keep it for themselves. It reminds me a little of watching shows like Pawn Stars, where folks learn that the actual value of their beloved item is lower than they'd hope, but they're also not willing to part with the item when they receive so little in exchange.
The process is made even more difficult by changing tastes. The fine china and antiques appreciated by Americans born in the middle of the twentieth century aren't in much demand from the younger generations. "People just don't want it. But seniors want people to want it," Freeman says. "'Oh, my kids will take it.' No, they won't." It's not their identity.
Minter has many arguments to make in this book, but the good news (I think?) is that he 's not exactly shaking his finger at his audience for the error in their ways. I think there's an unspoken argument that it would ideally be better to shell out for higher quality products (for economic and for environmental reasons). His larger argument is that the secondhand market is a really good thing, in terms of both the environment as well as globalization. The environmental benefits are obvious. But the more controversial argument he is making has to do with the secondhand good that end up in "developing countries." Minter has no patience for developed nations who outlaw secondhand exporting to particular countries. Such policies are nothing short of racist (since those countries tend to be African). His other argument is that companies should be in the business of making high-quality products. It may not seem immediately financially beneficial, unless you take into consideration that it can actually make them competitive, but it's certainly environmentally beneficial. There is also, of course, the idea of not banning the import of secondhand goods, especially to particular countries.
Whether acknowledged or not, debates over whether certain countries and peoples can import or export "waste" are, at their core, debates over whether certain racial groups should have access to material goods, and whether they should be required to use and dispose of them in ways that richer, usually white countries prescribe.
--
Since the COVID-19 pandemic, I've been sort of obsessed with the idea of a more minimalist lifestyle. Not entirely, mind you. A literal mouse found its way into my house and did a small amount of destruction, but it caused me to go through literally every item I owned. It made me realize there are things that I have that I haven't seen in decades. I'd already gone through my clothing and made a rule to not buy another piece of clothing if I wasn't willing to donate something I wasn't really wearing. I had an additional reason as well: I knew that eventually I'd be moving out, possibly very far away, to live with my partner, and I couldn't take all this stuff with me. Keeping clothing has not been a major issue of mine, and I hate clothes shopping anyway. It's all the other stuff. Especially books. It made me feel a bit shameful to have some old furniture that I bought on impulse and didn't take very good care of, and now I still have it but its impractical and I'll never use it. It makes me happy to think I can eventually donate it (when I can find the time, goodness). More timely: I thought about this today, as I was helping my partner's brother and family move into their new house, and there are mountains of things, some of which is still going in the trash. We were offered lots of stuff, including kitchen utensils, and we demurred, given our very small kitchen. I will admit that I was tempted by a baking sheet. Holiday baking is coming up soon, I reasoned. I have a baking sheet; I could certainly use a second one. And then I remembered that my partner has this weird metal sheet thing (so no raised edges) that would probably just be find for cookies, since they don't slide off the side, and eventually agreed with my partner. Trying to hold off on the impulsive buying or acquiring of stuff. It's so easy to say yes. But then we'd have to pack it all up to move next year. And what if we move again?
And books. Ahh, books. I've actually really focused on my book consumption. I donated dozens of books, and even inspired my mom to do the same (to my dad's absolute horror). And every year, I would pull down every book I own and reassess. I still have books piled up in front of my bookcase, but they are books I want to read and then give back to their owners or donate. I very, very rarely purchase physical books anymore. I just don't have the space. But even now, as I think about my bookcase, I know there are books there that I'll never reread. Yes, it's nice to have nice things, and it's nice to have a bookcase full of books. But it does make me think: why am I keeping some of them? It has inspired me to use the library (just got my library card for my new area!) and have been using Libby like crazy. I've also been a big fan of ebooks and audiobooks, but although the clutter is not there, I still think about how much I want to spend on them. I digress.
I say this knowing that I am in good company. In the book's afterword, Minter talks about his wife, Christine, and her love of books. They kept quite a few, but physical books did not live very long in their apartment (tropical heat and humidity). As a result of traveling with her husband while he conducted his research, she started donating and selling some of her books. "The method I use for myself is, imagine myself dead and all my stuff chucked."
I call Christine's method Preemptive Morbid Decluttering (PMDC), and I think there's probably a short, morbid-advice bestseller to be written about it. The idea isn't entirely original to Christine, of course. I've met numerous cleanout professionals in the United States and Japan who have their own variations on it (some are mentioned in these pages). Years spent cleaning up the messes of others instill in them a powerful desire to avoid placing that same material curse on their relatives (and the cleanout professionals those relatives might hire). If readers come to this book in search of advice--as in real-world, what-can-I-actually-do advice--Preemptive Morbid Decluttering is the best I've got.
I needed the clothes I bought recently, I tell myself. Because I'm living in a state with an actual winter season. And yes, I bought a holiday tree, and some autumn and Christmas ornaments, and a nutcracker. And I needed a new lunchbag, and two Yetis (for hot and cold drinks) and an electric kettle for my office. And these things make me happy (and warm). And I'm still very, very tempted to purchase pricy storage containers (I am a leftover fiend). But I guess the moral of the story, for me, for now, is to not always immediately say yes, to make sure everything has a purpose, even (and especially) if that purpose is to, via Marie Kondo, spark joy.
Minter is very clear about the origins of this book. For one, he is a columnist for Bloomberg Opinion and specializes in China (as of the book's publication, he lives in Malaysia), technology, and the environment, so this seemed like his natural territory. He also wrote Junkyard Planet: Travels in the Billion-Dollar Trash Trade, and I think the response to his book (which is overall pretty good) made him want to continue writing about the issue. Finally, he's upfront about how he had to figure out what to do with all of his mother's belongings when she passed away, and a good portion of the early chapters explore related issues.
In this book, Minter explores what happens to our stuff when we're done with it. Not when we trash it, but (generally) when we donate it. He spends a significant amount of time walking around and speaking with employees of Goodwill and exploring some of the history. He goes to Japan to learn more about people whose entire job (and certification) is to help older citizens get rid of some of their things. You can see Minter's attachment to technology when he goes to Ghana to see where old cars, televisions, computers, and mobile phones go for their second lives. In talking about secondhand goods, he explores how the quality of goods (be they clothing, furniture, or washing machines) has gone way down. Companies don't have a lot of incentive to sell more durable and long-lasting products, not when folks are involved in fast fashion and don't seem to care as much about the quality of their clothing. He talks about countries that ban imported secondhand products to increase domestic sales (but secondhand gets in anyway). He also explores how often what we donate goes to communities well outside of our own. And Minter talks about how much we care about our stuff. The sentimental value we connect to the things that we have, such that we are disappointed when others don't see the value of our stuff, or certainly not enough to keep it for themselves. It reminds me a little of watching shows like Pawn Stars, where folks learn that the actual value of their beloved item is lower than they'd hope, but they're also not willing to part with the item when they receive so little in exchange.
The process is made even more difficult by changing tastes. The fine china and antiques appreciated by Americans born in the middle of the twentieth century aren't in much demand from the younger generations. "People just don't want it. But seniors want people to want it," Freeman says. "'Oh, my kids will take it.' No, they won't." It's not their identity.
Minter has many arguments to make in this book, but the good news (I think?) is that he 's not exactly shaking his finger at his audience for the error in their ways. I think there's an unspoken argument that it would ideally be better to shell out for higher quality products (for economic and for environmental reasons). His larger argument is that the secondhand market is a really good thing, in terms of both the environment as well as globalization. The environmental benefits are obvious. But the more controversial argument he is making has to do with the secondhand good that end up in "developing countries." Minter has no patience for developed nations who outlaw secondhand exporting to particular countries. Such policies are nothing short of racist (since those countries tend to be African). His other argument is that companies should be in the business of making high-quality products. It may not seem immediately financially beneficial, unless you take into consideration that it can actually make them competitive, but it's certainly environmentally beneficial. There is also, of course, the idea of not banning the import of secondhand goods, especially to particular countries.
Whether acknowledged or not, debates over whether certain countries and peoples can import or export "waste" are, at their core, debates over whether certain racial groups should have access to material goods, and whether they should be required to use and dispose of them in ways that richer, usually white countries prescribe.
--
Since the COVID-19 pandemic, I've been sort of obsessed with the idea of a more minimalist lifestyle. Not entirely, mind you. A literal mouse found its way into my house and did a small amount of destruction, but it caused me to go through literally every item I owned. It made me realize there are things that I have that I haven't seen in decades. I'd already gone through my clothing and made a rule to not buy another piece of clothing if I wasn't willing to donate something I wasn't really wearing. I had an additional reason as well: I knew that eventually I'd be moving out, possibly very far away, to live with my partner, and I couldn't take all this stuff with me. Keeping clothing has not been a major issue of mine, and I hate clothes shopping anyway. It's all the other stuff. Especially books. It made me feel a bit shameful to have some old furniture that I bought on impulse and didn't take very good care of, and now I still have it but its impractical and I'll never use it. It makes me happy to think I can eventually donate it (when I can find the time, goodness). More timely: I thought about this today, as I was helping my partner's brother and family move into their new house, and there are mountains of things, some of which is still going in the trash. We were offered lots of stuff, including kitchen utensils, and we demurred, given our very small kitchen. I will admit that I was tempted by a baking sheet. Holiday baking is coming up soon, I reasoned. I have a baking sheet; I could certainly use a second one. And then I remembered that my partner has this weird metal sheet thing (so no raised edges) that would probably just be find for cookies, since they don't slide off the side, and eventually agreed with my partner. Trying to hold off on the impulsive buying or acquiring of stuff. It's so easy to say yes. But then we'd have to pack it all up to move next year. And what if we move again?
And books. Ahh, books. I've actually really focused on my book consumption. I donated dozens of books, and even inspired my mom to do the same (to my dad's absolute horror). And every year, I would pull down every book I own and reassess. I still have books piled up in front of my bookcase, but they are books I want to read and then give back to their owners or donate. I very, very rarely purchase physical books anymore. I just don't have the space. But even now, as I think about my bookcase, I know there are books there that I'll never reread. Yes, it's nice to have nice things, and it's nice to have a bookcase full of books. But it does make me think: why am I keeping some of them? It has inspired me to use the library (just got my library card for my new area!) and have been using Libby like crazy. I've also been a big fan of ebooks and audiobooks, but although the clutter is not there, I still think about how much I want to spend on them. I digress.
I say this knowing that I am in good company. In the book's afterword, Minter talks about his wife, Christine, and her love of books. They kept quite a few, but physical books did not live very long in their apartment (tropical heat and humidity). As a result of traveling with her husband while he conducted his research, she started donating and selling some of her books. "The method I use for myself is, imagine myself dead and all my stuff chucked."
I call Christine's method Preemptive Morbid Decluttering (PMDC), and I think there's probably a short, morbid-advice bestseller to be written about it. The idea isn't entirely original to Christine, of course. I've met numerous cleanout professionals in the United States and Japan who have their own variations on it (some are mentioned in these pages). Years spent cleaning up the messes of others instill in them a powerful desire to avoid placing that same material curse on their relatives (and the cleanout professionals those relatives might hire). If readers come to this book in search of advice--as in real-world, what-can-I-actually-do advice--Preemptive Morbid Decluttering is the best I've got.
I needed the clothes I bought recently, I tell myself. Because I'm living in a state with an actual winter season. And yes, I bought a holiday tree, and some autumn and Christmas ornaments, and a nutcracker. And I needed a new lunchbag, and two Yetis (for hot and cold drinks) and an electric kettle for my office. And these things make me happy (and warm). And I'm still very, very tempted to purchase pricy storage containers (I am a leftover fiend). But I guess the moral of the story, for me, for now, is to not always immediately say yes, to make sure everything has a purpose, even (and especially) if that purpose is to, via Marie Kondo, spark joy.