The wonders of "frip"

I have a new addiction, and its name is frip. Frip, short for friperie (the French word for “used clothes”) has suddenly become an all-consuming passion of mine. “Frip” is the word for the stalls, found in markets all over Madagascar, that sell used clothing and home linens. It’s big business here because most people can’t afford new clothes or bedding, but it’s a boon for fashion-starved Peace Corps volunteers because you can sometimes find amazing things. All of the items that end up in frip stalls are donated clothing, a lot of which gets sent overseas when they don’t sell at a Goodwill-type store. This is where all those free promotional t-shirts go to die (i.e. “Mayor Richard Daley’s Chicago Fun Run ’97!”). But Madagascar actually gets most of its frip from Europe, so you can often find some really amazing, stylish stuff. Frip vendors buy bundles of it sight unseen, by the kilo, so they have no idea what they’re getting, and so the best part of frip shopping is digging through piles and finding a diamond in the rough.

When I first got to Madagascar a lot of current volunteers raved glowingly about the wonders of frip shopping-- we even heard legend of Marc Jacobs boots bought at a frip stall in Tana—but I wasn’t particularly interested in it. After all, I didn’t need any clothes, and I wasn’t that excited by the prospect of digging around for stuff. But something happened last week, and suddenly my eyes opened to the wonders that can be found in the frip stalls. I was walking around Farafangana, my banking town, with my friend Erica. We strolled past the frip stalls and I just happened to glance at one that featured colorful tablecloths and home linens. I spotted a gorgeous piece of printed fabric—white, with blue and brown birds and flowers—and I went for a closer look. It was clean, very high quality, and in perfect condition expect for a small hole that had been already carefully stitched up. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the selvage (the edge of the fabric) indicated that the print was called “Hirondelles” and that it was printed by hand in France. Something about this fabric caught my eye, so I bought it, and yesterday I stitched it up into lovely curtains for my bedroom.

That piece of fabric started my frip addiction because it opened my eyes to some of the amazing finds that are out there. Since then I have found some more great French stuff: gorgeous embroidered hand towels (with only one tiny stain), a St James striped t-shirt (these retail in the US for over $100), a pretty floral dress from Promod, 2 cute tank tops, a pair of cool blue houndstooth chef pants that wouldn’t look out of place going to brunch in Brooklyn, and a Tintin pillowcase! Plus, a beautiful printed silk wrap skirt from Nepal. All of these things cost between 1,000 Ariary and 3,000 Ariary (50 cents to $1.50). I had to stop myself from buying an Asterix & Obelix duvet cover because a) they were asking 7,000 Ariary and refused to budget on the price, and b) I would really be just buying it for novelty, not practicality.

I’m not sure why I was indifferent to frip shopping for so long—after all, I absolutely love hunting for cool finds in used clothing stores back home in the US. One thing I noticed is that it’s more fun to do it with other people, and so when a couple of fellow volunteers came to visit my site last week, it finally gave me the impetus to explore the frip stalls in my town.

For Malagasy people, frip shopping is less about being fashionable and more about just buying clothing for cheap. So you see people walking around wearing the most random t-shirts, most of them printed with some sort of English writing, and they more often than not have no clue what they are wearing. It can create funny moments when you see someone wearing a shirt from your hometown high school sports team (this happened to a friend of mine), and you try to explain it to the person.  Side note: there’s an episode of “How to Make it in America” when they’re looking for a ton of cheap t-shirts to screenprint on, and the main guy (cute one, forget his name) befriends a girl who works at Beacon’s Closet, who shows him a dock where literal tons of unsold old t-shirts are being prepped to get sent overseas. I think of that episode whenever I see a frip seller unpacking mounds of random American castoff t-shirts. So if you’ve ever wondered what happens to that shirt you donate to Goodwill that they never sell, now you know.