If you asked a teenager a decade ago about the hottest brands, they might have rattled off names like Dior, Gucci or Dolce & Gabbana—high-end labels signifying wealth, prestige, and a mainstream definition of “cool.” Those were the universal markers of success and style. But over time, an undercurrent of change emerged.
Counter culture hit hard back in 2012 when Macklemore & Ryan Lewis’s “Thrift Shop,” challenged the assumption that following the crowd or wearing designer labels was the only way to belong and be recognised. Instead, it celebrated secondhand finds, personal expression, and the authenticity of making something your own. In that cultural shift, we find a compelling metaphor for the transformation quietly unfolding in education.
Traditionally, schools have served up a menu of what was considered “premium” learning—standardized curricula, rigid benchmarks, and neatly packaged pathways that promised a predictable outcome. These systems were the educational equivalent of the designer storefronts, inviting students and families to trust in the established brands. If you excelled at math from the same tried-and-true accredited test like everyone else, if your essays lined up perfectly with an instructor’s rubric, you were set. This was our educational “Gucci”: polished, vetted, and stamped with establishment approval.
Yet for many learners, something felt amiss. These one-size-fits-all approaches rarely acknowledged individual passion or purpose, or allowed for the kind of messy, iterative growth that can’t be measured on a standardized test. We began to crave a sense of self in their learning—the chance to choose their own adventure, to connect with their work at a deeper level, and to leave our unique imprint on the world.
Enter the “thrift shop” movement of education.
Just as shoppers find meaning in browsing consignment racks, piecing together an outfit that expresses their individuality, students and educators are rediscovering that learning is not about the label on the front of a book, but about what you do with what’s inside. In education, this shift often takes the form of Project-Based Learning (PBL), experiential curricula, portfolio assessments, and interdisciplinary projects that engage the world beyond the classroom walls. Think of it as rummaging through the intellectual equivalent of a thrift store rack—a place where old ideas can be repurposed, global citizenship can be stitched together from local culture, and creativity thrives without a “brand name.”
In a recent interview, Macklemore (Ben Haggerty) reflected on the process of making art and returning to the origins of creativity. His new work, titled simply “Ben,” signals a step back from the polished, industry-driven persona and toward something more personal and authentic.
It’s a deliberate peeling away of layers, an attempt to rediscover the heart and soul of why he began making music in the first place. “I wanted to get back to the origin of why we started in the first place,” he said, acknowledging the difference between the music and the “music business.” In many ways, the educational world is wrestling with the same tension—between authentic learning and the “business” of education.
Just as Macklemore recognized that artistry begins where authenticity meets vulnerability, the best learning experiences start where students can embrace their curiosity, confront challenges, and shape knowledge rather than simply absorb it. This process resonates with what’s happening in progressive classrooms: teachers are stepping away from the scripted lessons designed to produce uniform results and instead guiding students toward inquiry, experimentation, and reflection. It’s the equivalent of giving students that camera, that editing software, that creative freedom—like Macklemore did with his seven-year-old daughter directing a music video—letting them craft their own narratives and learn from the process.
In thrifting, we see families gather across generations—children, parents, grandparents—each with their own reason for browsing the racks. The older generation might relish a trip down memory lane, the younger might seek a budget-friendly style, and yet another might be driven by environmental values. Similarly, in education, multiple generations—parents, teachers, learners—are beginning to value different aspects of the experience. Parents question the value of rigid instruction and look for models that foster adaptability, resilience, and empathy. Young people see a world in flux—cultural changes, technological advances, and global challenges—and crave the tools to navigate complexity.
Educators reimagine their role not just as deliverers of content, but as facilitators of meaningful exploration.
This is the essence of the shift. No longer is the gold standard to look like everyone else, to move lockstep through a canon of instruction designed for the industrial age. Instead, we celebrate the handpicked, the reimagined, the recycled idea that gets transformed into something new. Education, like a thrifted item that finds new life and value in a different context, becomes richer when we allow learners to bring their identities, struggles, and passions into the process.
Macklemore reminds us that when you “pop some tags” at a thrift store, you’re doing more than shopping—you’re participating in a cultural critique. You’re asking why the system must be as it is, what value resides in the old and unexpected, and how you can subvert expectations to find your own path. So too in education, the act of deviating from brand-name curricula and franchised learning experiences is an assertion of agency and imagination. It’s about trusting that each student’s journey can yield something genuinely new—just as meaningful, just as rigorous, but infinitely more personal.
In the end, the “thrift shop” approach to education isn’t about abandoning quality; it’s about redefining it. Just as a vintage find can be more meaningful than a mass-produced luxury item, a student’s hands-on, personalized project can offer insights that no standard test could ever measure. The world is changing, and in the spirit of Macklemore’s music, education is shedding its old assumptions and stepping into a place where difference, authenticity, and personal connection matter more than the label on the front.
So, here’s to the shift—the embrace of thrift-like ingenuity in our classrooms. Here’s to teachers and students rummaging through ideas, trying on new approaches, and learning to see value where others might not.
Here’s to the counterculture of education.
