Minted from Vinted?

I’ve hit the crunch point of mat leave. That bit where, just as the baby wrangling feels slightly easier, the money doesn’t. My salary has dropped off, and I’m now trying to make it work on statutory pay and savings. Because of this, I’ve been looking around for other sources of income. 

Before I went on mat leave, I’d even written an ambitious list of options that included pitching local businesses to offer my services, and setting up some kind of mum’s membership club. I look at that list now and think ‘what the f**k?!’ I know some women manage these feats on mat leave. I’ve seen it. I’ve read about it. I’ve been pretty damn impressed by it but could I fucking do it myself?! It all felt a bit too much, yet I needed dosh. And so I turned to Vinted.

I’m a late comer to Vinted. I’ve lurked there for a while having set up an account a few years ago and immediately sold a pair of trainers that, to my astonishment, went within a day. To be fair, they were nearly new but heavily stained in mud as I’d worn them across a boggy field. Despite the initial success, I just couldn’t seem to get my act together to load any more items. 

What I did do was spend money on it. Everything from summer dresses, to baby clothes to shoes. I had some hits and loads of misses. But I marveled at how much you could buy for so little. It felt like the ultimate thrift or charity shop with all you wanted housed on a platform. It was eBay but somehow better.

What I also noticed during that time was the shifting attitude towards the platform. Everyone was talking about it still at work and in my social circle, but they also said it was increasingly hard to make money as a seller. I noticed that the days where newspaper articles would excitedly celebrate some seller who’d made thousands of pounds in a month and was surely about to quit their day job because of it had dwindled. Instead, the tone was increasingly negative, questioning whether anyone could make money on it at all as every buyer was determined to haggle over even the cheapest products. I’d had previous experience of that with eBay many years ago, and I remember the irritation of the endless quibbling from buyers over tiny imperfections. 

Despite all this, I felt like it was worth a punt again so uploaded three items, including some particularly garish wide-legged trousers. To my surprise I sold them all within a week. The catch? The trousers went for £3, which made me question a bit if it was even worth it. But somehow the process of selling seemed to have me hooked. The constant pings on my phone as another seller liked my stuff was weirdly addictive and made me check into the app again and again. 

I was sort of prepared for the aforementioned quibbling and haggling as buyers messaged for discounts, but sometimes it was exasperating – you want money off a £2 bra? Come on, mate. Or, another time, I put on a new skirt, with tags still attached, for £15 that had been £65 from a popular high street brand and perfect for the time of year. It got nearly 80 likes and yet everyone who messaged me wanted a discount. I suppose I would do the same.

Despite all the irritation, the app has got me addicted. Is it worth the effort? I don’t know. I haven’t even made a hundred quid from it yet so I’m not yet minted from Vinted, but I also know I’m hooked on it, and I’m not the only one as recent estimates suggest that it now has 18 million users just in the UK. It even crept into a groom’s speech at a recent wedding as he joked about how much his new wife loved it, maybe even more than him…!