Definition: The thrifty art of transforming food scraps and near-empty containers into entirely new culinary or practical resources through borderline obsessive repurposing techniques. Rooted in poverty trauma but sustained as a point of pride, shellconomy practitioners view shrimp tails, wilted greens, congealed sauce remnants, and hollowed-out lotion tubes not as waste, but as untapped potential. This involves rituals like simmering vegetable peels for stock, scraping every molecule of peanut butter from the jar into oatmeal, or cutting open toothpaste tubes to harvest the desperation paste clinging stubbornly to the sides. It’s less about necessity and more about an almost spiritual aversion to discarding anything remotely salvageable—a declaration that value can be wrung from the most humble detritus. Practitioners experience a smug, almost alchemical joy in executing this frugal sorcery, viewing it as both an ethical stance against wastefulness and a personal triumph of ingenuity. The philosophy extends beyond the kitchen: old t-shirts become rags, pickle brine morphs into marinade, and candle stubs get melted into franken-candles. It’s a silent rebellion against disposable culture, where culinary necromancy turns yesterday’s bones into tomorrow’s soup foundation.