To raise some funds to buy even more clothes, I’ve decided to sell the old, outgrown and out of fashion things I have on FleaBay. Mum said it was OK so long as I ask before I put anything up for auction, so I began sorting through my clothes, deciding what I wanted to keep and what I might sell. Mum wouldn’t let me sell a few items that I really wanted to get rid of, but for the most part, she was happy. Now the work begins. Not only do I have to photograph every item, I have to create the listings and write the descriptions, and getting this right will determine if something sells or not. I’d done a lot of reading about successful FleaBay selling and according to the interweb, clothes sell better if they’re photographed being worn rather than on a hanger or laid flat. The more images the better, so front, side, back, close-up details and the label should be included. I modelled the first batch and Mum took the photographs… but they were all a bit crappy. If they weren’t blurred they were wonky, which means I’d have to spend ages straightening and cropping the images on my laptop. Mum blamed the camera and I blamed her, before asking my brother to help. His photos looked OK on the small camera screen, but “Oh Peter you’re as bad as Mum.” I whined as I looked at them on my large laptop screen. “Can’t you hold the camera still for one millisecond?!”
“I was.” he claimed, before blaming the camera.
I picked up the camera, told him to stand where I’d been standing and took a couple of pictures of him. Then I viewed them on the large laptop screen and showed him the difference between my ‘steady’ photographs and his shaky ones. We started again and whilst some of his pictures were perfectly sharp, too many weren’t. “This is going to take forever.” I sighed.
“Sorry, sis… I’m trying my best.” Peter claimed. “Why don’t you put the camera on your dresser and use the timer?”
“Because that’d take forever… I’d be waiting 30 seconds for each picture.”
“Yeah, true.” he sighed. “Well… I wish I could help but, if I can’t take a decent photograph there’s not much I can do.” He began to make his exit.
“Actually Peter… you could still help.” I said. I briefly explained how, but he flat refused. “Oh go on… your head won’t be on the photographs so no one would know who’s modelling them.” I pleaded.
“Well… your head’s on the pictures I took.”
“Yeah but I’d have cropped it off if I was going to use them… I don’t want pictures of me on FleaBay either… pleeeeaaassseee?” I pestered. “I’ll pay you.”
“How much?”
“Er… ten percent of whatever sells.”
“Fifteen.” he retorted.
“Deal.” I said. Little did he know that I’d have been willing to give him twenty or thirty percent, but if he’s happy with fifteen, then I’m over the moon.
Peter cast his eyes over the huge collection of cast off’s that I’d arranged either in orderly piles or hung on a rail; skirts, tops, frocks, jeans, jumpers, jackets, jeggings, leggings and shoes… lots and lots of shoes. “How long do you reckon this is going to take?” he asked.
“Well…” I began. Having a rough idea of how many items there are, multiplied by a couple of minutes to change into the next item. “About three or four hours I guess.” I said.
Peter seemed relieved at that. “I was thinking three or four days looking at this lot.” he replied. “It’d be quicker if I wear say jeans and a top then you’d get two pictures for the price of one.”
“Ooh that’s a good idea.” I exclaimed. “I’m sure some of the shoes would fit you so we could get three for the price of one.”
“Surely they’d be better photographed on their own.” Peter reckoned.
“Yeah maybe.” I agreed. “So…” I began after a short silence. “…where do you wanna start? Jeans dresses or skirts?” I asked.
“Jeans I guess.”
“Saving the best ’til last?” I jested.
“Putting the worst off for as long as possible.” he claimed. “How much do you reckon you’ll get for all of these anyway?” he asked.
I shrugged and said I wasn’t sure. “There’s around one-hundred and twenty items and the starting bid will be one pound, so if everything sells it’ll be at least £120… which means you’ll get at least £18.” I explained. “Not bad for a few hours’ work.” I added.
“Yeah I guess.” he half-heartedly replied as once again, his eyes meandered over the selection of clothes. “You’re not allowed to tell anyone though.” he gulped.