Poundland has been a lifeline for me – I’m sick of the snobbery

When I saw the news about Poundland closing hundreds of stores and potentially shedding thousands of jobs following a sale, my mind created a slide deck of historical high street grief.

Woolworths, BHS, C&A, Jane Norman, Blockbuster. Institutions I never thought would never go, until they did. And now, although Poundland has been ‘saved’, the chain remains in crisis, and I for one feel sadness and panic. 

Not just because I go there fortnightly to feed my tealight obsession and fulfil my Biscoff biscuit habit without breaking the bank, but because it’s been with me through every era of my life. It’s more than a shop. It’s a part of my story. 

I first found this quids-in heaven as a poor, caffeine-addicted media studies student at the University of East Anglia in the late 90s.

There it stood, strategically based opposite the bus stop. A welcoming turquoise oasis with student-friendly prices, a place where a pound went far enough to stop you starving. 

Coffee, toothpaste, soups, soaps, shampoo, shower gel, medicine, even makeup that might make you look slightly orange, all for that one pound coin. 

It truly did feel like it had everything, and remember this was long before Aldi’s infamous middle aisle. 

Student finances didn’t stretch far, even back then, and Poundland became part of my survival system. I still associate the whiff of Dove shower gel with that time in my life. 

Reactions to Poundland’s sale are a mix of humour and economic doomscrolling. Of course it was purchased for a pound.  

The social media spiral of laughter has turned into late-stage capitalism rage. One minute it’s ‘best headline of the year’ bants. The next, meltdown about venture capitalists and our obliterated high streets.  

In a way, that reflects my relationship with the brand. I used to laugh at Poundland and then rely on it. It was a joke then a lifesaver. 

In my early career, I had the odd period of joblessness, like basically every other media graduate. When I was unemployed, dragging myself to the Jobcentre at 9 am on a Monday, the local Poundland was, once again, opposite. 

Then, it wasn’t merely a cheerful student staple, but a genuine lifeline. 

Single, skint, and scared of my overstretched mortgage payments, I found myself back in those aisles with more desperation than joy. 

This time, searching for a 2-in-1 shampoo and a sense of purpose. I’d walk out of one soul-destroying queue at the Jobcentre and into another, but at least the second had KitKats and Toilet Duck.

And I’d have change from a fiver. Poundland. Constant. Familiar. Cheap.

Fast forward to now, while I’m doing financially better, I’m still going. Every couple of weeks, I pop into one of my local Poundlands. It’s a little ritual. 

This time for wood polish and bin bags instead of pot noodles and lip gloss. I pick up gardening bits, essentials, books, the occasional out of season tat (everyone loves Christmas lights in June). 

And even before yesterday’s news, there was a snobbishness around Poundland, even from those who want us all to shop more mindfully. The same people who crow about ‘buying less and better’ are, in my experience, often the first to sneer at those who can’t. 

They mock budget shops while preaching sustainability, forgetting that a cheap washing powder might be the difference between dignity and desperation for someone who can’t afford to find the best organic sustainable option. 

Sure, it’s not exclusively the land of £1 anymore. But that’s about inflation, not betrayal. It’s still a cheap and accessible high street shop. Still serving people who need it most. This isn’t about cheap Fairy Liquid. It’s about people. Real people. 

Those jobs are under threat. Communities that can’t afford to lose any more from the high street without turning into ghost towns.

So yes, this news has hit me. Hard. And while Poundland might not have the nostalgia of something like the Woolworths pic ‘n’ mix, it’s a potential loss we should take seriously.

I pray Poundland survives. And stays how it is: Unpretentious, practical, comforting in its chaotic seasonal aisles, without aimless diversification (part of the chain’s problems stem from the chain’s misguided focus on clothing). 

If it does go the way of Littlewoods or Topshop, I’ll mourn it. Genuinely. For some of us, Poundland wasn’t only a shop. It was a lifeline.

To anyone sneering: Take a breath. Poundland might not be your thing. 

Maybe you’ve never needed it. But for many, students, parents, pensioners, carers, single renters, minimum wage workers, or even just those of us who value a bargain, it’s been there when nothing else was. 

And plenty of people will miss it when it’s gone.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.