“Nothing very bad could happen to you there,” Audrey Hepburn sighs in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, explaining why she spends her time mooching about in the upmarket jeweller’s. The plush interiors, the soft lighting and hushed, respectful tones of salespeople soothed her. It was a refuge from the outside world and its problems.
I feel the same way about two euro shops, which gives you a real insight as to the level of class I sit at. Which is the kind of person you would describe as “classy spelt with a K”. I am the Holly Golighty of variety discount stores. You know the ones. The ones your mam affectionately called “sh**e shops”. There are the big chains like Dealz or EuroGiant but true euro shop aficionados know that it’s small, independent “cheap” shops that bring true joy. The ones you might find on any high street in any town with a sign over the door that spells discounts with a z.
It’s an Aladdin’s cave of things you didn’t even know you needed. Things that don’t even have a name other that “little yoke”. Extra long lighters so you can get the very most out of the posh candle in the bathroom without burning your fingers trying to light the wick buried at the bottom in wax. The scraper thing that gets all the bobbles off an ill-thought-out Zara jumper. Felt dots that go underneath furniture which is all that’s holding your relationship with your downstairs neighbour together.
These kinds of shops vary slightly on location. The closer you get to summer holiday spots the names will change to reflect the nautical theme. “Dave’s Bargainz” might become “The Treasure Chest” instead. Beach balls strung up in cheerful coloured nets outside, alongside buckets and spades, entice visiting kids to invest all their holiday money wisely in things that will give maximum returns, like slime and fake dog poo. What’s better for childhood development than eating your weight in cheap sweets whose flavourings and colours have numbers rather than names?
I am the Holly Golighty of discount stores. I pine for my favourite one in Dublin’s Liberties
‘That would have never happened in Ireland,’ my boyfriend said after my trip to Australian A&E
The new rules: what’s in and what’s out for 2025
Here are my worst Christmases to help you feel better about your own
Unlike other shops, in these safe places you’re never afraid to check the price. You know when you turn it over and see the sticker you can probably afford it. It emboldens us to forget who we are for a brief moment. “Let’s buy this kite shaped like a fish, I love kites,” you say, even though you have a dual hatred of detangling string and constant wind.
“We need these little clear plastic containers to keep veggies fresh in the fridge; look this one’s for saving half an avocado,” you say, as someone who’s on a first-name basis with all the local Deliveroo drivers.
“But Brianna, overconsumption is terrible, we should be encouraging people to stop buying plastic sh**e,” I hear you say. As someone who grew up buying most of their household bits from “2 dollar shops” without any shame, I will argue that these kinds of outlets are a lifeline for some communities.
When you don’t have a lot of money, buying something “new” is a luxury even if it’s a €5 bath mat. For a while, before it gets stained with fake tan and goes threadbare, you feel like Martha Stewart. People who plead with others to buy second-hand in a bid to “only shop sustainable” probably do not know the sting of being teased for wearing old clothes as a kid. It’s socially acceptable to wear entirely thrifted outfits when everyone knows you can afford not to. When you don’t have that social or financial capital, wearing new or buying new even if it’s cheap is your way of feeling ‘respectable.’
So I will always darken the door of sh**e shops, seeing what treasures are awaiting me. Like the middle aisle of Aldi you don’t go in seeking a specific thing; instead, it tells you what you need.
I pine for my favourite establishment on Thomas Street in Dublin’s Liberties. The locals call it CarpetMills because even though the rug shop long closed down, it’s the only sign hanging over the entrance. It sells disco lights, smoke machines, souvenir fridge magnets of the Irish Proclamation and magic eraser sponges. They do candles, Christening cards, rolling papers and my personal favourite – grave ornaments. From the cradle to the literal grave, if you need it they have it.
It was my harbour during Covid. It was where we bought decorations to cover our neighbour’s door on his wedding day when he couldn’t have any guests to let him know we cared (and were nosing out the window). I worry for the future of these little shops with Temu and Shein dominating the market. That’s why I’ll be stopping at every one I can find, asking myself if I need a set of tuneless windchimes.