Every once in a while—usually when I’m bored, procrastinating, or feeling that specific kind of quiet nostalgia that sneaks up on you when you least expect it—I open the Mercari app. I don’t browse trends. I don’t check recommendations. I don’t even really know what I’m looking for.
Instead, I go straight to the search bar and type two words: vintage Avon.
And just like that, I’m not on my couch anymore. I’m transported to my childhood home.
A Portal to the Past
The listings load slowly, one after another, and each thumbnail feels like a small portal. There are perfume bottles shaped like animals and flowers—delicate and a little impractical. There’s milk glass, glossy compacts, powder tins with fading gold lettering. Lipsticks in shades that feel deeply rooted in another era. Things I haven’t seen in decades, yet somehow recognize instantly—like my brain never let go of their shapes.
Scrolling feels less like shopping and more like remembering.
Avon as a Way of Life
My mom sold Avon for over 25 years, and she wasn’t just casually involved—she was successful. Avon wasn’t a hobby; it was a business, a routine, a constant hum in the background of our lives. Avon boxes arrived like clockwork. Brochures were stacked on tables, tucked into bags, spread across the house. There was always a campaign happening, always an order deadline approaching.
As a kid, I understood that Avon was important, even if I didn’t fully grasp why. What I did understand were the chores:
- Stamping the order forms by date—thump, thump, thump—until my hand felt tired.
- Stapling an order form into every single brochure, lining them up carefully, trying not to miss a page.
- Counting, sorting, organizing things that felt incredibly serious and very boring.
At the time, those tasks felt endless. I dreaded them. I complained. I dragged my feet. In my memory, they take up entire afternoons, even if they probably didn’t.
Waiting for the Next Brochure
But here’s the thing I didn’t realize then: even while I hated those chores, I was always waiting for what came next—the next brochure.
Because the arrival of a new Avon catalog was an event. The second it appeared, everything changed. Suddenly, the work felt lighter. Suddenly, there was something new to explore.
I’d flip through those glossy pages again and again. The makeup felt impossibly glamorous—lipsticks with names that sounded like confidence, eyeshadows arranged in neat little squares, compacts that snapped shut with authority. I didn’t even wear makeup yet, but I studied it like it was a promise of who I might become.
Fantasies in Jewelry and Décor
Then there were the necklaces and earrings—sparkly, dramatic, sometimes wildly impractical. I imagined wearing them to places I didn’t go, as versions of myself that didn’t exist yet. Avon had a way of selling fantasy alongside function, and I bought into it completely.
The home décor was its own category of wonder: figurines, decorative plates, seasonal items that only appeared briefly before disappearing again. They felt grown-up and important, like the kinds of things you owned once you had your life together.
Christmas Magic
And Christmas—Christmas was pure magic.
Holiday Avon was something else entirely. Those brochures felt thicker, heavier, bursting with possibility: ornaments, gift sets, candles, little collectible figurines that seemed designed specifically to become memories. Everything sparkled. Everything felt special. Even now, seeing a vintage Avon Christmas item listed online makes my chest tighten in the best way.
I can still picture certain pieces exactly where they lived in our house. I remember the weight of them, the way they caught the light, the quiet ceremony of taking them out once a year. Those items weren’t just decorations—they were markers of time, proof that the holidays had officially arrived.
More Than Shopping
So when I scroll through Mercari now, I’m not really shopping. I’m revisiting all of that.
Each listing brings back something different: the smell of paper brochures, the sound of staples clicking shut, the sight of Avon boxes stacked neatly and ready to go. I think about my mom—organized, determined, building something of her own campaign by campaign. I think about how much work went into it, how much pride she took in doing it well.
I didn’t understand it then. I just knew Avon was always there.
Seeing the Bigger Picture
Now, scrolling through “vintage Avon,” I see it differently. I see a woman running a business long before “side hustle” was a buzzword. I see a household shaped by routine, effort, and small rituals. I see how much of my sense of nostalgia is tied to those ordinary, repetitive moments.
Sometimes I buy something—a bottle, a trinket, a little piece of glass that once lived in someone else’s house but feels like it belongs with me. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I just scroll, letting the memories surface and settle.
The Power of Two Words
It’s funny what stays with you: a phone app. A search bar. Two simple words.
And suddenly, I’m a kid again—waiting impatiently for the next brochure, unaware that one day I’d miss it this much.
