How I Stopped Throwing Away Bras and Netted an Extra $10K Per Year

I still remember the day I found the last box. We were two months into the move, unpacking slowly in that half-suspended state between newlywed bliss and post-pandemic exhaustion. Tucked behind a bin of faux florals and old throw pillows was the IKEA shoebox of bras I’d collected through every phase of my womanhood: lacey balconettes from my sorority days, practical nursing bras from my brief stint as a new mother, and the high-end seamless ones I wore in my final year as a speech pathologist.

I held one up and chuckled. My husband peeked in.

"That’s a lot of bras," he said, smirking.

"You have no idea."

He returned to hanging shelves, and I stood there, fingering the seams of my former life. There was something sacred in the softness of the fabric, the way the cups still held shape, like a ghost of the woman I used to be. And while I had no desire to return to the fluorescent-lit classrooms or to juggle insurance paperwork and IEPs, something about throwing them out felt wrong. Wasteful.

According to the Council for Textile Recycling, the average American throws away 81 pounds of clothing annually. Bras are almost never recycled properly, and over 90% of them end up in landfills. (CTR, 2022)

Back then, I had just started using Instagram again, mostly to keep up with the other wives in our church group. That’s when it happened. A DM request.

"Hey — not sure if you’ve ever sold used clothing online, but I saw your story about donating bras. Have you heard of Bratags? You might wanna check it out."

The profile pic was vague — a flower? A quote? I wasn’t even sure who sent it. But curiosity won.

Part I: The Tradwife Trap

When I married Ethan, I knew what I was signing up for. He made good money, wanted a family, and believed in traditional roles. At 29, I had a Master’s degree, student loans mostly paid off, and a job I liked enough. But something about his steadiness made me want to nest. To grow. I liked cooking. I liked routines. I liked him.

But I also liked my own bank account.

We didn’t fight about money. Not ever. But I noticed I asked before buying things I never used to—like a new vitamin serum or an app subscription. I wasn’t broke. I just wasn’t working. And that... messed with me.

I dabbled in selling kids’ clothes on Poshmark, flipped a couple of planters on Marketplace, even resold Target clearance on eBay. But nothing stuck. I didn’t want to spend all day sourcing or negotiating with strangers.

Then came Bratags.

I almost didn't click the link. Thank God I did.

(What I found wasn’t what I expected.)

Part II: The Bra Economy

When I first clicked on a bratags.com link, I braced myself. My thumb hovered over the link like it might bite. I’d been around the internet long enough to know how this usually goes—anonymous resale sites dressed up in empowerment language but loaded with sleaze the second you scroll. I half expected a pop-up, some grainy selfies, maybe a flashing banner ad with “DM me ;)” in Comic Sans. I was already preparing excuses in my head: It was just research. I didn’t sign up. I never clicked “confirm.” The shame pre-loaded, the way it always had when curiosity and taboo met in a browser tab.

But what greeted me wasn’t provocative at all. No bras in thumbnails. No pouty faces or soft-focus boudoir shots. Just a sparse, minimal design with muted tones and plain serif fonts. A few lines of copy. An invitation to apply. No listings. No scrolling. Just a quiet pitch: anonymous resale, private listings, model-controlled pricing. If you didn’t know better, you might mistake it for a design portfolio or a startup landing page.

It felt... restrained. Even deliberate. Like it was trying harder to be safe than sexy. And strangely, that made it more compelling. There was no performance required here. No profile photo. No screen name. Just tags. Stories. Proxy shipping. A promise that your name and face would only be part of the product if I wanted it to.

It wasn’t what I expected, and that unsettled me more than if it had been trashy.

I created an account.

Then listed three bras from that old IKEA box. I used their photo guide. Clean backdrop. Flat lay. Tagged by size and color.

Within three days, two sold. One for $78. Another for $53. Both buyers tipped.

I was stunned.

Part III: The Side Hustle, Reimagined

At first, I sold only my own. But business-minded women don’t stop there.

The real lightbulb moment came on a Thursday thrift run. I'd gone to donate a bin of blankets and walked past a $1 bin marked "Lingerie & Intimates." Most were overpriced Halloween corsets, but buried deep were actual bras — Victoria’s Secret, Aerie, ThirdLove, Soma — some new with tags.

I bought ten. Cost me $9.

Listed them all.

Eight sold in two weeks.

And once I figured out what sells? Let’s just say the math started working in my favor...

• Avg item acquisition: $1-3
• Avg sale price: $58-75
• Time per listing: 12 minutes

I wasn’t quitting homemaking. I was funding it.

Part IV: The Ethics, The Environment, The Empowerment

I expected judgment. But what I found instead was a sisterhood. There were nurses, yoga instructors, baristas, and other SAHMs like me — all using Bratags quietly, efficiently.

Some just sold their own items. Others became full-time curators. Some even cross-listed with platforms like Vinted or Poshmark, but used Bratags for their more personal stock.

I started journaling the environmental math:

• One bra takes up to 200 years to decompose due to mixed synthetic fabrics. (UCLA Environmental Science Journal, 2023)
• The average woman owns 8-12 bras at a time and replaces them every 6-18 months. (Harper’s Bazaar, 2022)
• Over 2 billion bras are discarded annually worldwide.

Selling them gave them another life. And gave me another income stream.

Part V: From Side Gig to Startup

I began to recognize patterns.

Certain colors sold faster. Certain tags drew loyal buyers. I developed a feel for language—how to write just enough detail to intrigue, but not enough to reveal. I started using tags like "soft stretch," "cozy worn-in," or "delicate back clasp." Buyers responded to tone as much as product.

When Bratags rolled out crypto payments, I was one of the first to opt in. I had no need for anonymity, but it made me feel ahead of the curve.

Soon, I was mentoring other sellers. I created a PDF guide. Shared photo tips. I even ran a private Telegram group called "Tag Sisters."

That was when the email came.

"We’re launching our new creator program. Want to help shape Bratags from the inside?"

I signed on. Became an early advisor. Eventually licensed my seller guide directly through them.

Final Note: The Bratags Era

Now, two years later, I make over $10,000 a year from something I used to throw away. I’ve built a quiet, cash-positive brand from the comfort of my kitchen island, between batches of sourdough and homeschool history lessons.

Some days I think I stumbled into a parallel universe. Other days I wonder if I created it.

Because in some timelines, I just sold a few old bras. But in this one... I founded Bratags.com.

Ready to stop throwing away value?

Two years later, I make over $10K a year from bras I used to throw away. No face. No name. Just product.

Your drawer could be a goldmine.

Visit Bratags.com today and start turning drawers into dollars.

Your story is worth more than storage.

References

1. Council for Textile Recycling. (2022). Facts and Figures. Retrieved from https://www.weardonaterecycle.org/facts.html
2. UCLA Environmental Science Journal. (2023). The Lifecycle of Textile Waste. Retrieved from https://www.ioes.ucla.edu/project/textile-waste-lifecycle/
3. Harper’s Bazaar. (2022). How Often Should You Replace Your Bras? Retrieved from https://www.harpersbazaar.com/fashion/trends/a41359412/how-often-should-you-replace-bras/
4. ThredUP. (2024). 2024 Resale Report. Retrieved from https://www.thredup.com/resale/