Has thrifting lost its identity?
Ukay-ukay has been a haven for local consumers seeking low-budget vintage clothing—a curated aesthetic that most fashionable apparel stores couldn’t replicate. With just a few hundred pesos and a sharp sense of fashion, anyone can score rare and quality finds that are easy on the wallet.
Originating from the term “hukay,” which means to dig or to rummage, ukay-ukay reflects the act of searching through stacks of secondhand clothes to find rare and vintage items.
This culture began during the 1980s in Baguio City when the Salvation Army donated imported secondhand clothes to victims of calamities. The local vendors bought the items in bulk and sold them at lower prices. Over time, it gained popularity among Filipinos and became a cultural phenomenon, with people from all walks of life embracing the habit.
For years, these secondhand garments have captured the essence of fashion democracy, a welcoming spot for everyone who aspires to cultivate their fashion identity without conforming to mainstream trends or overspending their budget.
But as thrifting gains traction, the vibe of ukay-ukay culture has shifted as online thrift resellers capitalize on the trend, drifting from its original purpose. Once a low-cost fashion alternative, it’s now being rebranded as an overpriced, curated style that carries the same aesthetic, but now caters to an exclusive audience, with pieces promoted as “premium finds.”
Changing the game
The rise of Instagram thrift resellers gives ukay-ukay a new face, but with a twist. Items are marketed with either minimalist or aesthetic backgrounds, using captions with terms “vintage,” “preloved,” “imported pull,” “rare find,” and other enticing phrases that appeal to thrift consumers.
However, behind those unique marketing strategies lies an unsettling practice: marking up the items almost three times from their usual prices as secondhand, ukay-ukay pieces. This is often justified due to its rarity, quality, and increasing demand for vintage fashion—all of which are framed as “limited-edition finds” to cover up the premium pricing. But let’s be real, most of these can be found in your nearby ukay-ukay.
Adding to the hype, some resellers have also adapted bidding systems, making the reselling of thrifting into a competitive, rapid bidding war that jacks up the price even more—sometimes going for two or even three times the initial bid.
Because of this, some online communities are starting to push back. Members of the subreddit r/OffMyChestPh have also expressed their frustration over Instagram and Facebook shops reselling overpriced thrift clothes.
“Like girl, be honest, we all know that top came from a thrift store for like P50, but you’re selling it for P480 and calling it “premium” or “rare find”? Premium where? In Divisoria?” the creator of the Reddit thread posts.
“Seriously, I thought these were just like made-up posts. I saw these videos where the ukay (used clothes) were like 6k, 14k, 20k! It’s like it’s on purpose. Like they’re manipulating people’s minds. Crazy!” another Redditor shares.
What began as a sustainable approach to fashion consumption has shifted into a business model that benefits the shops, while placing burden on consumers searching for fair-priced, quality garments.
Gatekeeping
Thrift-savvy shoppers, who have relied on thrifting for years, are now experiencing the impact of these overpriced shops. As a result, scoring cheap thrift stores and rare finds becomes a challenge for regular thrifters. The fun of thrifting now comes at a higher cost, putting pressure on thrifters who only want to enjoy preloved gems without straining their budgets.
But then, another trend began to surface. Some experienced thrifters are gatekeeping thrift stores in areas like Cubao, Anonas, and Carriedo—keeping or hiding their favorite spots from the public to protect their hidden treasures.
Other X (formerly Twitter) users have also joined and encouraged the gatekeeping of thrift shops by posting: “Begging y’all to gatekeep ukay-ukays. Uunahan na naman tayo ng mga IG (Instagram) reseller.”
“Discovered this ukay somewhere in Makati and they’re selling great pieces for around 200 to 300 pesos per piece or less and I will gatekeep this for as long as I can,” another X user comments.
While some strongly support gatekeeping, others believe that thrift shops should remain accessible to all—preserving the spirit of inclusive thrifting despite growing exploitation by resellers.
“Stop gatekeeping ukays, you’re all annoying. Hindi ikakaganda ng ootd mo yung pag-gatekeep. Ang ukay ay para sa lahat. Kahit sabihin mong nagb-benefit yung mga gahamang ig resellers, mas marami pa rin ang mga taong bumibili nito because it’s something that they can afford,” another says.
The debate over gatekeeping thrift shops not only causes rifts among consumers, but also weakens the nature of thrifting and affects the operation of ukay-ukay stores. This shift strips away the thrift culture from its authentic and communal identity.
Reviving the culture
With the surge of overpriced secondhand pieces, ukay-ukay no longer feels like a sanctuary for sustainable and low-cost fashion. Resellers must be reminded that this culture was born out of economic necessity—to democratize style and dress well without spending a lot of money. Overpricing these items not only undermines the consumers, but also exploits the lifestyle deeply rooted in our culture.
The beauty of ukay-ukay lies within its accessibility for all, allowing people to express their style without constraining the budget, while empowering sustainability and creativity. It should not be a space for exclusivity and capitalist-driven motives that sabotage consumers.
So instead of gatekeeping, consumers can stop supporting overpriced resellers—a more practical step towards restoring the spirit of thrifting. It’s never too late for thrift shoppers to take ukay-ukay back to its roots not only as a trend, but as a practice centered on practicality and inclusivity.
