From Strangers to Partners — Building a Charity Together

On one of my first dates with Melanie, she did something that no other sugar baby had ever done before. We were dressed up in nice clothes to go to a cocktail bar downtown. She had just gone to the salon that day to get her hair done. She was a total stunner.

I had arranged for my daytime driver to work a few extra hours to take us to and from the date so that I could enjoy a few drinks and not worry about it. And that also gave us time in the back to chat and get those first date jitters out of the way before we got to the bar. I thought that Melanie was as invested as I was in our conversation. She was being flirty and coy. But suddenly, she grabbed my knee and pointed to something behind my head on the other side of the street.

“Oh my god,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “They’re actually open! We have to stop!”

I whipped my head around to see what she was looking at, but all I could see was a dingy-looking thrift store. When I turned back around, Melanie was already leaning forward to tell the driver to turn the car around and park on the opposite curb.

“You can’t be serious right now,” I told her, ready to be mad. But there was something very endearing about the excitement and earnestness in her eyes. She was serious, alright, and we were either canceling this date, or I was going with her. I chose to go with her.

What Melanie was so excited about was something that in the world of secondhand clothes they call “the bins.” It’s honestly the worst of the worst stuff. The stained, torn scraps of clothing that can’t be resold as is so it’s basically given away by the pound. The place smelled weird and was full of people, all but diving into the huge bins of clothing, looking for anything salvageable.

I put my hand gently on Melanie’s shoulder (I would have grabbed her hand, but she was already putting on a pair of hygienic gloves that she had had in her purse) and asked her if this was really necessary.

She didn’t seem phased by my hesitation.

“Okay, look,” she said. “I sew in my free time. Hats, scarves, blankets, baby clothes. All for donation. I don’t have the money to buy new fabric, and ethically I’d rather not buy new fabric anyway, so I come to places like this to find perfectly good clothes that can be repurposed for other things.”

I was touched, but also still trying to wrap my head around why we were here instead of in a dimly lit jazz club downtown.

“The bins are always closed on my days off, so I hardly get to come here. Just give me twenty minutes, and I promise we’ll get back to our date. I know this is weird. But you might even have some fun if you open your mind a little.”

Maybe a different kind of guy would have left her there, but I was in awe of this woman dressed in a cocktail dress and heels, digging through discarded clothes like it was the most normal thing in the world. As she started to find things that she could use, I found myself also poking around and pointing out things that she might take. In fact, the twenty minutes flew by, and I was enjoying myself.

Melanie walked out of there with a full trash bag of clothing. And she was beaming. I couldn’t believe that she hadn’t even broken a sweat. She looked like she had just done her hair and makeup, and we slipped back into the conversation in the car as if nothing had happened (don’t worry, we put the clothes in the trunk.)

Again, maybe another sugar daddy would have pretended that weird thing didn’t just happen, but I was fascinated to learn more about what Melanie would do with what she had found. She explained the cleaning and sanitization process, and then how she would turn the clothing into workable scraps. Then it was time for the sewing machine. And when she had a wearable garment, she would go to the local women’s shelter near her house and donate the clothing.

The pictures she showed me were unbelievable. Melanie was creating one-of-a-kind pieces that looked like they could easily be at home on a runway. And I know. I was a runway and fashion photographer before I got into the publishing world.

Melanie was sitting on a potential goldmine, and she didn’t even know it.

Well, it turns out she did know it. And she just didn’t see it that way. When I asked her why she didn’t turn this into a business, she wrinkled her brow and said, “You don’t know how often I get that question. But I’m not interested in turning this into a job. That’s how you lose all love of the craft. I’ve sold some pieces in the past, and it felt totally soulless. I’d much rather make clothes for people who need them than have my work sit in some rich person’s closet…no offense.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence after that, and I think Melanie felt bad.

“If anything,” in a softer tone, “I’d like to start teaching other people how to do this. I think that would be something that I would enjoy. There’s so much clothing just thrown away, and so many people who can’t afford to buy even secondhand clothing in good condition. But once you have the machine or have access to a machine, you can buy clothing scraps for pennies and make whatever you want.”

“Hmm, the sewing machine is the barrier, then.” I mused. Melanie nodded.

We had talked about clothing and recycling for the entirety of our cocktail hour. And in the back of my mind, a plan was forming. But I didn’t want to say anything until I had learned enough about Melanie’s craft and goals to make it a surprise.

It took several more dates, and another few trips to the bins (during which occasion, I was given my own pair of gloves), for me to learn everything that I needed to know to pitch my charity idea to Melanie. We talked about what her dream charity would look like and what she would need to make it a reality (like a van to transport materials and portable sewing machines). On my own, I had already started contacting local shelters and teen programs in the area to gauge interest in sewing lessons. I bought a van and outfitted it for storage. And on our next date, I parked what I was calling the Scrapmobile in front of a craft store and went to pick up Melanie.

She thought we were going to go play tennis, but her face lit up when we made the detour into the parking lot of the craft store.

I parked alongside the Scrapmobile and handed her the keys. She looked utterly confused but excited.

As she opened the back of the van, she said, “I would make a joke about you kidnapping me with craft supplies, but I’m too excited to see what you’ve been up to.”

Then she became speechless. Inside were storage bins for her fabric scraps and sewing supplies, and a mounted calendar where she could keep track of upcoming sewing events at shelters around town.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” she finally said.

“It’s not 100% done. We have to go inside and buy five portable sewing machines. Then, you’ll be ready to start your charity, for real.”

Over the next few years, I helped Melanie go through the fits and starts of creating the charity she envisioned. Eventually, she got to a place where she was visiting five non-profits a month and leading paid workshops for experienced sewers to learn her recycling techniques (the profits went towards buying sewing machines for non-profits so that her students could have access to a sewing machine even when she wasn’t there).

It wasn’t easy for Melanie to juggle a full-time job and her new charity, so I also mentored her in negotiating for a higher-paying position that required fewer hours. Once she started the new job, she never missed a weekly trip to the bins again. And although I didn’t always get my hands dirty with her on those days, I always made sure to pick her up afterwards to go out to eat.

On the first anniversary of the charity, Melanie gifted me with a custom-made jacket that was exactly my size and style.

I promised her that this one wouldn’t just sit in some rich guy’s closet.