I have said for decades that our home is furnished in what is best described as “early auction.” I love antiques, dusty old things, and bargains. My hobbies include estate sales, yard sales, and thrift stores. To this plethora of wonder I have added an absolute addiction to the online sales platform that is Facebook Marketplace.
This online bazaar is the intersection of capitalism and chaos. Marketplace is part yard sale, part haunted museum, part group therapy for people who hoard mismatched Tupperware from 1979. If Amazon is like strolling through Target in your pajamas, shopping on Facebook Marketplace is like rooting through your neighbor’s garage — or garbage — while they’re still inside the house.
Sellers on Marketplace have a very loose relationship with photography. Instead of clear, well-lit images, you get something that looks like it was taken on a flip phone under a nightlight bulb. You’re supposed to decipher whether the blurry blob is a dresser or a ferret. I once saw a listing for a dining table where the actual table was only visible barely shown in the corner of the photo. Shopping for mirrors on Marketplace is definitely a “not safe for work” endeavor. The number of sellers who don’t realize that their reflection will be visible when they take the photo of what they are attempting to sell is alarming. The number of people who take photos of their mirrors in their birthday suits is more so.
Descriptions aren’t much better. Marketplace sellers like to use vague, cryptic wording that leaves you with more questions than answers. “Works good.” Works how? Is it a lamp? A toaster? A doorstop? Or “needs gone.” This does not exactly inspire confidence. Why does it need to be gone? Is it cursed? Is there an exorcism included?
Vintage
Pricing is its own comedic endeavor. Some people practically pay you to take things away: “antique cabinet, free if you can lift it without a hernia.” These people are the ones who keep hope alive. Others list IKEA furniture at Sotheby’s prices. On Marketplace you can find a futon — clearly salvaged from a frat house porch — listed at $450 because the seller claims it has “vintage vibes.” Another seller tries to convince us that their ancient coffee maker was “a solid heirloom appliance.” I understand the spirit behind “they don’t make them like that anymore.” Nonetheless, if your coffeemaker is old enough to get a learner’s permit, I’m going to have to pass.
And then—oh, the messages. I have reached out to sellers within minutes of their posting, offering full price, cash and immediate pickup. I receive back … silence. The seller disappears into the void. I can only assume that a key part of the process of being placed in Witness Protection is that participants are required to list an item for sale on Marketplace moments before the Feds take them into hiding.
Pickups are the final frontier. You either drive to meet with a stranger in the middle of nowhere—GPS signal gone, cell reception dead, mentally preparing for Dateline to feature your story (“Dying for a Bargain” tonight at 10 p.m.) or you agree to a “porch pickup.” Porch pickup is Marketplace’s trust exercise. Sellers leave the item out, and you leave money under a rock or porch mat. With the prevalence of cameras I always assume I am being recorded. I make a ridiculous performance of leaving the cash, broad gestures as I speak slowly and directly into the doorbell camera. I don’t want to end up on someone’s “neighborhood talk” page accused of stealing their porch prize.
And yet, despite all the chaos, we keep shopping there. Why? Occasionally, between the haunted dolls, overpriced particle board “antiques” circa 2004 and mystery items that “work good,” you can find treasure. Maybe it’s an Eastlake dresser for $50, a $2,000 chandelier for $75 or a brand-new treadmill from someone who realized after one week of a newfound commitment to fitness that jogging is a crime against humanity.
In the end, shopping on Facebook Marketplace isn’t merely about buying or selling. It’s about the stories, the absurdity, and often the very kind and fun people you can meet. We’ve met people I hated to lose touch with when buying their great-grandmother’s dining room set. We sent a sentimental seller photos of their family heirloom pier mirror upon being installed in GirlWonder’s home. They were thrilled to see it being appreciated again. Buying and selling is a strange little window into humanity. It’s about anthropology, patience, and the thrill of not knowing if your $20 nightstand comes with a complimentary ghost. Treat it like a jungle safari: keep your wits sharp, your wallet handy and always, always check for squirrels.
Good luck,shoppers. May your porch pickups be smooth, and your purchases demon-free.
