You probably don’t “need” anything from Retail 101, not in the strictest sense of the word. But our forebears were hunter-gatherers, and some of us still feel the tug of instinct. Go into the wild, whispers the ancestral voice. Get things and keep them.
Every couple of months, the call of the wild brings me to this enormous warehouse in Shelton, hungry for bargains. Officially, Retail 101 is an ongoing sale of “first quality, irregulars, and returns” from “famous name brands.” The website doesn’t specify which brands, but anecdotally there’s a lot from URBN, a company whose portfolio includes Urban Outfitters, Free People, Anthropologie, and the clothing-subscription service Nuuly. I generally emerge from the warehouse after an hour or two, laden with somewhere between one and six dresses (my drug of choice), each costing no more than $29.99, and each boasting their original price tags with much bigger numbers.
Retail 101 is a bit of a misnomer; this is not entry-level shopping. Prerequisites for this experience include, but are not limited to: patience, stamina, an eagle eye, and the ability to discern an actual deal from a quick hit of consumer dopamine. Oh, and you’re going where the sun don’t shine, so take a friend. You want someone who can nimbly complement and counter your shopping inclinations: someone who will tell you, yes, you can pull off a Stevie Nicks-fringe shawl, but also someone who will tell you, lady, you already have enough nap dresses. My shopping friend had the brilliant suggestion that we wear leotards under our clothing (as was the custom among Filene’s Basement shoppers of ye olde 1900s). That way, if the dressing rooms (a dozen sheet-delineated cubicles in the very back corner) have long lines, one could discreetly try things on in the aisles, the friend’s eyes serving as a mirror.
Two sets of eyes are also better than one for spotting the gems.
Beneath the industrial lights of Retail 101, I have encountered dresses I tried on six months before at a warmly lit mall Anthropologie (a real pilgrimage, considering I have to go to Danbury, and yes, I know online shopping exists, but the ancestral voices do not acknowledge it). Anything Anthro is currently selling as a two-piece is likely to wash up on the shores of Retail 101 minus one of its pieces, which may be fine if you didn’t want your strappy dress attached to a sweater. The river of retail may flow upstream, too. More than once, I have spotted an item I already knew from Retail 101 in the window of a Chapel Street boutique.
As with many sale racks, you will have the most luck shopping for sizes at the far ends of the spectrum. This is a great place to dress someone for a middle school semi-formal or indulge a teenager’s (likely fleeting) passion for cowboy boots.
Caveat emptor: occasionally, items appear to have a little too much backstory. Be sure to check for signs that your potential dress attended a few parties before being returned to a clerk too meek or oblivious to challenge the party girl.
Secondhand clothing companies like therealreal.com and ThredUp will tell you how much carbon you are saving with every purchase, and if you’d like to pat yourself on the back, or at least assuage the guilt of a consumer binge, then, yes, when you buy clothing at Retail 101 you may be saving garments from the landfill. And congratulations; as one of the last exits on the fashion highway, you’re getting this stuff about as cheap as humanly possible.
It’s not just clothes. On my last trip, I spotted an Anthropologie daybed composed of rattan flamingos (original retail: $2,698), missing its original cushion but otherwise very seductive at $350. It is with reluctance I thank the shopping friend, who reminded me that such an item would fundamentally alter my porch decor, necessitating additional purchases. I do still think wistfully of an upholstered lamp (similar models retail for $898) which I did not purchase for $300 and which was no longer there two months later.
Many things sold at Retail 101 might reasonably be placed in, or adjacent to, the “need” category: lots of bedding, some pots and pans, baby clothes, men’s jackets, sneakers.
And then there’s the weird stuff. A Netflix-themed cookbook, a chocolate dude meant to be rendered into a warm drink (“The Perfect Man”) for Valentine’s Day, Billie Eilish Mad Libs, a humidifier shaped like Hello Kitty, and “Cheers,” a nippled champagne flute for babies (BPA free, in case that’s what worries you).
Given the chaos literally unfolding beneath its corrugated metal roof, Retail 101 actually has a lot of rules. They are only open Thursday through Sunday. Hours are subject to change and should be confirmed by phone. They don’t do returns or exchanges. The seven-item limit in the dressing rooms is strictly enforced. You can be kicked out for changing a price tag or taking too many pictures. Bulk buyers and resellers can only use one giant rolling bin at a time.
It turns out bulk buyers can be super-territorial about their one bin. On a recent visit, a lady with an exceptionally deep connection to her hunter-gatherer roots barked at me for making passing contact with hers. I suppose this was her territory. I quickly learned to make eye contact only with my designated friend. And her eyes said, yes, $19.99 was actually a good deal for a tags-on Anthropologie nap dress with a pastel fish print and no discernible irregularities, and while there wasn’t much summer left to enjoy it, I would be delighted next year, when I could do some hunting in my own closet.
Retail 101
20 Constitution Blvd., Shelton
Open Thursday–Sunday.
Hours are not posted online and, according to Google reviews, may vary, so it’s worth confirming before you go.
retail101.com →
Written and photographed by Sarah Harris Wallman.
