Perfectly Imperfect: How Thrifting Helped Me Ditch Perfectionism

Thrifting has become a mainstream phenomenon, fueled by environmental awareness and trendy movements like “underconsumption core.” But for me, I mastered thrifting long before it was the in thing—before it became the hipster fad of the 2000s that ironically snowballed into the trendy activity we know it as today.

In the ’90s, thrifting wasn’t a quirky hobby. As a kid with limited resources, it was the only way to stretch what little money I had. Little did I know that years later, my thrifting adventures would come full circle. Except this time, the life lessons far surpassed those of bargain shopping.

If someone called me a perfectionist today, I’d laughingly call it the understatement of the century. But there was a time when I would’ve flat-out denied it. I didn’t feel like a perfectionist because I never aspired to be “perfect.” I never framed myself or my identity around the word ‘perfect.’ Instead, my perfection was shrouded in the disguise of ‘good enough.’

The problem with good enough is that it’s entirely subjective and maddeningly unattainable. Perfectionism—masked as a relentless pursuit of adequacy—shaped how I approached everything, from art to shopping to life itself. But ironically, it was **thrifting—a world defined by flaws, cast-offs, and imperfection—**that slowly helped me let go of the need to measure up.

But before I could let go of perfectionism, I had to recognize it for what it really was. It wasn’t about striving for ‘perfect.’ It was about chasing a mirage of ‘good enough’—a lie I’d been telling myself for years.

Perfectionism in Disguise: The Lies of “Good Enough”

An objective look at my road to perfectionism reveals the path was paved on two fronts—the physical and the emotional.

Like most lies, perfectionism’s roots ran deep—planted by years of unspoken expectations and a constant desire to measure up. For me, that story begins at home.

Emotional Baggage: Chasing Praise That Never Comes

Turns out, even Marie Antoinette didn't get the approval she was hoping for. As for this chair and lamp? Still waiting for their royal recognition... but at least they’re mostly fabulous. #DIYDrama #AlmostThere #ThriftedButNotForgotten

I was raised in a predominantly single-parent household, with my dad acting as sole provider and caretaker. He wasn’t a man who established specific or otherwise measurable expectations, which meant I grew up desperate to meet unspoken standards.

Take academics, for example. There was never a set standard for academic achievement, so in an effort to make him proud and gain his praise, I worked diligently to bring home all As. Instead of being met with accolades for my accomplishment, his response centered heavily around “not good enough.” I still remember the sting of him saying, “That’s great, Megan, but why isn’t that A- an A?” And that was it.

Countless moments like this sum up my rise to perfectionism. There was no finish line, no objective standard to be measured against—just endlessly striving for the elusive, cunningly evasive ‘good enough’ that would never come.

As if emotional pressure wasn’t enough, my physical reality added another layer of complexity to my perfectionism. When even basic necessities came with strings attached, perfection took on a whole new meaning.

Functional, Frugal, and Totally Oblivious

Young me would’ve called these a steal—and honestly, 8.99 for like new Sam Edelman leather boots? Still can't believe I scored these! Functional, frugal, and totally oblivious to just how lucky I was. #ThriftFinds #FrugalFashionista

My dad’s approach to the physical world was rooted in utility and function, often coupled with a general lack of awareness.

For instance, in the mind of a man with a million other things to worry about, I was a girl who had a pair of perfectly functional snow pants. He was oblivious to the fact that a fifth grader probably can’t fit into the same snow pants they’ve been wearing since they were six. So in his reality, I had snow pants, but in my reality, I couldn’t even get them on. So every day at recess, I had to choose between not playing in the snow with everyone else or being cold and wet the rest of the day.

In his eyes, much of what children needed was frivolous and unnecessary. It wasn’t about neglect; he was a man who was overworked and carrying the burden of three little children and an estranged wife struggling with mental illness. Frivolous things, like new clothes or shoes, weren’t high on the list of priorities.

So by the time I turned twelve years old, I was pinching pennies, budgeting, and bargain shopping my way into pretty much everything except the food I ate.

I wasn’t like most kids going on back-to-school shopping trips or getting wardrobe refreshes at Christmas and birthdays. Whatever money I could scrounge up was what I had to spend on clothes and shoes. So whatever I dared to deem worthy of my money needed to be perfect, and it needed to stay that way—because it was all I had.

Together, the emotional and physical paths to perfectionism left me hyperaware of flaws and terrified of falling short of ‘good enough’—the impossibly subjective standard of unattainability.

That practicality and resourcefulness stuck with me, shaping how I saw the world—and how I shopped. Thrifting wasn’t just a choice; it was a necessity. But little did I know, it would later become the very thing that set me free.

Paint Police and DIY Drama: Surviving Toxic Thrifting Culture

Someone else's silver became my white masterpiece—because a little paint and patience can turn toxic thrifting into a treasure hunt. This mirror’s not the only thing living its best life. #DIYGlowUp #ThriftedTransformation #PerfectlyImperfect

As a kid, thrifting was my primary method of shopping because it was the most cost-effective way to stretch what little money I had. By the time I became a young adult, I transitioned to predominantly mainstream shopping—think TJ Maxx, HomeGoods, and the like. Still, I occasionally dabbled in the secondhand market for nostalgia’s sake.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that I transitioned almost exclusively back into the secondhand market. I attribute this shift to a few things. First, my fiancé and I decided to embrace a single-income household, which naturally resulted in a tighter budget. Second, I started to use a set of beautiful Haviland china that my dad started collecting for my mother while they were married. Third, Bridgerton hit Netflix, and suddenly I was reminded of how much I adore the old-world elegance of the Georgian and French Regency periods.

Inspired to create my own version of that old-world charm, I took to Pinterest and social media for inspiration. That’s where things got complicated. To my surprise, I stumbled onto what I can only describe as the toxic side of thrifting on Instagram.

I expected to find inspiration and endless creativity. Instead, I read countless comments written by strangers attacking others over their DIY choices and paint preferences.

The general consensus was that if a person painted ANYTHING, it was deemed tasteless garbage. They were further shamed for ‘ruining’ a piece that could have been appreciated as is by someone else. The most bizarre part of all? These internet trolls were shaming people over painting mass-produced, particleboard pieces—items with zero historical or collector value.

What’s more, I also stumbled upon a strangely hypocritical phenomenon. If someone painted a mirror or frame gold to achieve that trendy gilded look, they were met with praise. However, if someone dared to paint over a gold frame with any other color? Cue the outrage and relentless shaming.

Suddenly, I found myself second-guessing everything. As someone who grew up with a deep appreciation for antiques and the stories they hold, I felt paralyzed. I didn’t want to be “one of those people” who, according to the internet, ruins things.

After some serious internal back-and-forth debate and discussing my apprehension at length with my fiancé, I arrived at a compromise. I decided I would reserve my DIY projects for items that were already damaged or had their historical integrity compromised. After all, if I repaint a piece of furniture that someone else already painted, how could I possibly be the one who “ruined” it?

It was a mental loophole, sure. But at the time, it gave me permission to move forward.

Stop Chasing Perfect: Why Flaws Are the Real Treasure

Perfection is overrated—just ask my lamp duo! She’s flawless, he’s missing a hand, but together they light up the room (literally). Flaws really are the real treasure. #PerfectlyImperfect #ThriftedTreasures #FlawsAndAll

There’s a small part of me that wishes I could tell you I stopped looking for perfection because I realized I didn’t need it. That I had some beautiful epiphany where I let go of impossible standards. But that would be misleading.

Instead, I let the words of strangers echo in the back of my mind—a nagging reminder that, yet again, I failed to meet the standard of ‘good enough.’ Somehow, MY style and MY vision for MY home weren’t good enough for the perfect pieces. Instead, my preferences needed to be reserved for the flawed and unwanted. A realization that took a couple of years and a lot of self-reflection to admit.

In the meantime, I set out to curate a collection of broken, damaged, and otherwise flawed items to serve as the canvas for my many DIY projects. It should have come as no surprise that searching for imperfections in the world of secondhand cast-offs was an impossibly easy task. After all, thrift stores are where the broken pieces, bad paint jobs, and unfinished DIYs go to die.

Perfection is an illusion we chase in an inherently imperfect world. In setting aside the unrealistic expectation of perfection, I opened the door to beautifully flawed pieces—pieces I would have otherwise written off as too broken and too damaged. It laid the groundwork for a shift in perspective.

From Quitting to Creating: How Flaws Helped Me Finish Projects

Perfection? Overrated. This gallery wall? Flawed and fabulous! Turns out, embracing the quirks of secondhand DIYs is the secret to actually finishing projects—and loving the results. #FlawlessInItsFlaws #ThriftedTransformation"

My perfectionism didn’t just stop me from seeing beauty in flaws—it actually stopped me from finishing projects altogether.

So, when I first set out to curate my own version of that old-world elegance with my personal spin on it, I truly had no idea how it would go. I mean, if history tracked, the odds weren’t exactly in my favor. I had a tendency to abandon projects at the first sign of imperfection. A run in the spray paint? Project scrapped. A brushstroke out of place? Forget it.

That whole thing about “trusting the process”? Yeah, I didn’t have that.

But when I started working with items that were already flawed—furniture with chips, decor with dents, mirrors with scratches, frames with cracks—I felt the pressure start to lift. These items weren’t perfect to begin with, so the burden of ruining them disappeared. I no longer had to shoulder the impossible task of creating something flawless.

In fact, the flaws were so freeing that perfection gave way to creativity.

With each project, I learned something new: flaws aren’t obstacles; they’re opportunities. And soon, I started to see the beauty in imperfections themselves.

Perfectly Imperfect: Falling in Love With Flaws

Why fix what makes it fabulous? This ornate frame’s ‘missing pieces’ tell a story—and I’m all about that perfectly imperfect vibe. Flaws? More like personality! #ThriftedCharm #FlawsAndAll

I started to realize that things don’t have to be flawless to be perfect—they can be perfectly imperfect instead.

In the beginning, I attempted to correct and otherwise mask many of the imperfections. For a time, that internal desire to restore pieces to their once-perfect condition remained. However, upon the successful completion of a few projects, my perspective began to shift.

I spent hours combing through the chaos of thrift stores and scrolling through online auction listings. The more I salvaged the now-unwanted possessions of the deceased and breathed new life into the world’s cast-offs, the more I began to appreciate the story told through flaws and imperfections.

How many family photos did that cracked frame house over the years? How many people have been reflected in that mirror with the de-silvering glass? How many moves and furniture rearrangements did that little table withstand to have so many little nicks and scratches?

Like the scars on our skin, the imperfections and flaws of our most prized possessions tell the stories of our lives.

What started as an appreciation for thrifted treasures became a lesson in embracing the imperfections in myself. Letting go of perfection wasn’t just freeing—it was transformative.

Let It Go: How Thrifting Taught Me to Embrace Imperfections

Sometimes you just gotta let it go—like this gent’s sense of sight. Thrifting taught me to embrace imperfections, and this blindfolded masterpiece is proof that flaws make things way more fun. #PerfectlyImperfect #ThriftFlipMagic

It feels weird to sit here and say that thrifting has had such a profound impact on my life. But when I think back on the journey—

I remember all of those negative comments that got me here in the first place. They reminded me how much we as a society emphasize the material world over the personal. A society where it’s more socially acceptable to tear down a human being than it is to paint a piece of furniture.

So it stands to reason that as someone who struggled to achieve ‘good enough,’ I would find beauty in the flaws of the material world long before I could accept the same in myself.

And thrifting taught me something that perfectionism never could: that flaws tell stories. They reveal history, character, and resilience in ways that “perfect” never will. Over time, the broken and damaged pieces I found in thrift stores became reflections of my own imperfections, and I learned to see their beauty.

I realized that life—like those thrifted treasures—isn’t meant to be pristine. It’s meant to be lived in, worn out, and thoroughly enjoyed. As Hunter S. Thompson once said, “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, ‘Wow! What a ride!’”

Thrifting became more than a way to furnish my home or stretch a budget. It became a metaphor for embracing imperfection—in the material world, in my projects, and eventually in myself.

So, here’s the lesson I’ll leave you with: Stop setting impossibly high standards. Stop chasing perfect. Start embracing the messy, the flawed, and the broken. Because it’s in those imperfect moments and items that the real magic happens.

Now it’s your turn to embrace the perfectly imperfect! Share your most treasured thrifted find or your own DIY success story in the comments below. Let’s celebrate the beauty of flaws together—because the magic happens when we stop chasing perfect and start creating something uniquely ours. If you’re just getting started, check out the first blog in the Thrifting For Beginners series, Thrifting 101: Conquer Thrift Anxiety and Shop Like a Pro. Don’t forget to subscribe for more tips, stories, and inspiration for living beautifully on a budget!