Letting It Go, Listing It Right: Def Jam, Mouse Pee, and the Fur Coat Era

I’ve been unpacking boxes I swore I wouldn’t move again. The ones that carried old versions of me from St. Louis to West Lafayette: stagehand crew tees, fur coats, memories I didn’t ask for. It’s winter, which means it’s the right time to list, and—if I’m honest—to let go.

I’ve also been staring at a listing I put up recently: a vintage 1987 Def Jam Tour local crew t-shirt. I priced it high—$550—and part of me still wonders if that’s too low.

The shirt that taught me everything about pricing

Front and center right now is that vintage 1987 Def Jam local crew tee. There are no comps anywhere.

The backstory is specific: in 2011, I moved in with my then-boyfriend. He’d been a stagehand in the late ’80s and ’90s and was about to toss three drawers full of work tees to make room for me. I jumped on them to resell. It was the same stretch of time I got pulled into DonnaLand, diving through 22 tons of vintage on the top floor of the Lemp warehouse.

I didn’t know what I was doing, which is how I made my most painful mistake: I listed his Eric B. & Rakim tour tee way too low.

I actually just found the old eBay feedback from that sale. I remembered it selling for maybe $700, but last night I found the old feedback and had to laugh/cry:

“great, thanks!” — Eric B & Rakim Still Paid in Full T-Shirt VERY RARE 1988 vintage — $255.58

I bet they were thankful. At the time, I thought it was great money. Then I learned that pristine examples were selling for around $1,700. I watched as the buyer flipped my item for a massive profit because I hadn’t done the research. That wasn’t just ignorance; it was me undervaluing both the item and myself.

So, the Def Jam tee stays at $550. I’m not making the $1444.42 mistake again.

The Stagehand Collection (and the Mouse War)

That Def Jam shirt—and the Eric B. & Rakim one—came from that same stash of tees my ex was planning to throw in the trash.

Our relationship was… complicated. By the time it ended, I was burned out, my business was failing because I was underpricing everything (and myself), and the t-shirts had been stored in plastic bags in a house that developed a terrible mouse infestation.

That demoralized me for a long time. It felt too overwhelming to even deal with them. But I hauled those shirts through two different moves, then all the way to Indiana. I finally followed a tutorial, did a heavy OxyClean soak, and prayed for the best. I got the mouse stains out, though some have tiny holes—battle scars from a time I’d rather forget.

I don’t need 50 reminders of an ex-boyfriend’s career that I was never a part of. I’m ready to let them go to collectors who will actually cherish them.

The Fur Coat “Armor”

Then there are the furs.

If you scroll through the shop, you’ll see I have a lot of them. And to understand why, we have to go back to 2009.

I had just left an abusive relationship. I walked away with my cockatoo, Boo, and whatever I could fit into a small duffel bag. I left everything else behind—including a beautiful rabbit fur coat I had been given by an online friend in the Netherlands. It was stolen by my ex, and I had to leave it to save myself.

That winter was the first time I felt the real, biting chill of poverty. I had a job and an apartment, but absolutely no money for a coat. I remember having to swallow my pride and ask a wealthy friend for money just to buy a cheap jacket from TJ Maxx. Humiliating and cold – literally.

So when I fell into vintage barely two years later, furs became talismans: warmth after cold, luxury after scarcity. It was a very logical reaction to the poverty I’d too recently experienced (trauma operates on its own timeline, similar to grief).

The furs were warmth. Luxury. Safety. They were armor against the cold I felt in 2009. I collected them maniacally—from estate sales, from grandmas, from DonnaLand. I used them as props for glamour photography, rolling models around in them because they felt like excess and abundance.

Finding Out Who I Am (And Who I Am Not)

I dragged these boxes of furs from my old photography studio (which was basically a cinderblock parking lot, but at least it was mouse-free) to house after house.

I held onto them because I had this fear that I would be cold again, and also this fantasy that I would become a “mender.” I thought I would learn to restore them, craft with the cutters, and breathe new life into them. I watched YouTube tutorials. I tried.

But sometimes, you find out who you are by discovering who you are not.

I am not a seamstress. I am not a leather or fabric crafter. I respect the people who can take a damaged pelt and turn it into art, but that is not me. I am a digital marketer and artist. I am a systems builder. Maybe I am a writer.

Metabolizing the Inventory

As I unpack here in West Lafayette, reclaiming my space and getting my systems in order, I realized I am finally ready to move this inventory. Not just to make sales, but to metabolize the past.

So, I’m clearing the space.

I’m keeping a seal fur (because I love it, and it replaces the one I lost) and maybe one nice mink. The rest? They are leaving.

It is time to turn these items—the t-shirts saved from a trash can in 2011 and the coats collected as trauma armor—into something good. I’m ready for other people to make new memories with them.

The Drop:

The Stagehand Tees: These are rare, and I’m pricing them according to their scarcity (and my past lessons).
The Furs and Coats: Honestly? Make me an offer. The ones that need mending or aren’t perfect just need to go to new homes. I’m ready to let the energy go.

I’m stepping into 2026 with a lighter closet and a lighter spirit. Thanks for helping me clear the way.