Private Equity Killed My Thrift Store

Gol dang it. On top of everything else going on in the world, they had to go and close my thrift store?!

The Georgia Avenue Thrift in Washington, D.C.’s Brightwood neighborhood was one of my happy places for more than 20 years. Nothing gave me a reality-escaping retail rush like the killer deals I scored in that store. And for many of us bargain hunters, the Georgia Thrift was also a community space.

On one visit in January 2009, I was trying on dress shoes when another shopper asked if I was going somewhere fancy. After I said I’d gotten a ticket to an Obama inaugural ball, she and two other women excitedly helped me select the perfect pair of sparkly heels. I felt like Cinderella — only with nice step-sisters.

Another time I went with a friend who got into a conversation with a shopper who’d just lost her home. Before we left, my friend was able to buy the woman a whole new wardrobe for about half the price of a pair of Lululemon yoga pants.

The store had just two mirrors, so customers often crowded around them, offering fashion feedback while waiting their turns. Sorta like the judges on Project Runway, except without any of the snide criticism.

A typical recent scene: A woman was looking skeptically at her reflection after trying on an ankle-length coat appliqued with green, gold, and purple geometric shapes and huge padded shoulders.

“Ooooh, girl, you gotta buy that right now. Right. Now!”

“You let that drop and I’m gonna grab it!”

When’s the last time you got reactions like that in a firsthand store?

Now this happy place has become yet another casualty of the private equity industry. Beach Point Capital, headquartered in Santa Monica, California, with offices in New York, London, and Dublin, is the majority owner of Arizona-based thrift store chain Brightmore Brands. Brightmore has been gobbling up other chains, including Prime Thrift, which had operated the Georgia Avenue store since 1971.

Private equity firms are known for buying companies — often using significant debt — and then slashing costs to maximize profits before reselling the assets for a quick buck. They are perhaps most notorious for the harmful effects of these tactics on nursing homes. That’s a growth sector because of our booming elderly population. Thrift store demand, on the other hand, is driven by Gen Z.

A Capital One bank survey found that 83 percent of consumers in the 14-29 age bracket have either purchased or are interested in buying secondhand apparel — a rate 11 percent higher than the average for all age groups.

ThredUp and other online resellers account for a growing share of secondhand sales. But a remarkable 34 percent of Gen Zers surveyed said they always shop at thrift stores. Among all age groups, visits to brick and mortar thrift stores were up 39.5 percent in the second quarter of 2025 over the same quarter in 2019.

Young thrifters are no doubt looking to save money, but environmental concerns could also be a factor. Buying used versus new clothing reduces carbon emissions by 25 percent on average.

Of Prime Thrift’s dozen outlets, why did the Georgia Avenue store wind up among those on the private equity chopping block? Although representatives for Brightmore and Beach Point have declined media requests for comment, the building is undeniably in crummy condition. When it rained, staff had to position buckets to catch drops coming through the ceiling.

Even so, it’s hard to believe the store wasn’t generating enough revenue to cover basic repairs. Their inventory came from donations and it always seemed busy, with no comparable secondhand competitors anywhere nearby. But even if my thrift store was turning a profit, the margins were likely too narrow to satisfy private equity pressures.

In addition to the Georgia Avenue location, Brightmore is closing at least two of Prime Thrift’s Maryland outlets and cutting jobs in others.

The news of the Georgia Avenue Thrift closing elicited much lamenting on social media. One particularly despondent commenter likened the loss to the burning of the Library of Alexandria, a tragic accident in 48 B.C. Egypt that destroyed precious scrolls of the ancient world.

With a heavy heart, I made my last trip to the store after they’d marked everything half off. My final bargain haul: two blouses, two jackets, and a dress for $17.

When I checked out I asked the cashier how long she’d been working there. “Veinte años.” Twenty years. A history perhaps not quite as long nor as significant as the Library of Alexandria’s. And yet this was a valued community space that is now lost — not to an accidental fire but to intentional corporate greed.