As Trump’s tariffs hit imported goods, I tried buying only American-made products. Here’s how it went.

So I took the opportunity to introduce her to the wonders of the global supply chain. The store’s banana display had Chiquita stickers from three countries: Guatemala, Honduras, and Ecuador.

The rest of the shopping expedition was more of a mixed bag: We had more choices among other items at Stop & Shop, some even pleasantly less expensive than their imported competitors. But in other stores, both in-person and online, it was far more work. And then there was the whole underwear escapade, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

But I knew I had my work cut out for me, because before I’d even tossed my reusable grocery bags in the trunk, I’d made a preparatory purchase: Making It in America, by Brookline-based author Rachel Slade. The book, which came out last year (and, yes, was printed in the United States), chronicles the state of American manufacturing by profiling a Maine couple who set out to seemingly do the impossible: Produce hooded sweatshirts, in New England, using entirely domestically sourced material.

On the phone, Slade had offered me a quick history, pointing out that throughout the 20th century, the United States “passed tons of laws that protected the worker, the environment, and workers’ safety,” and created federal agencies to regulate those arenas.

“Those laws were passed by lawmakers who believed they were important to nation-building,” Slade said. “It was not just about profit but protecting the makers and the land from which things are being produced.”

Then, of course, came free trade agreements, easier global shipping, the rise of private equity. Manufacturing moved overseas, to countries with fewer worker protections and far lower labor costs. And over the last 50 years, it has become vastly harder for domestic manufacturers to compete.

The prices of American-made products are now often far higher than foreign goods, and the quality isn’t always better, Slade acknowledged. But “by purchasing things made here, we’re supporting our neighbors and communities. A dollar spent here stays here and grows. A dollar spent on foreign goods leaves the country forever,” she said.

In explaining his tariffs, Trump said they aim to reverse that trend and bring manufacturers and jobs back. Maybe, over time, that will happen. But right now, buying American is no simple task. Slade offered me guidance on how best to navigate the challenge and wished me luck.

Back in the grocery store, the salad aisle carried more promise. Not only could I easily find American-made options, I even had choices. Little Leaf Farms, based right here in Shirley, grows lettuce at hydroponic farms in Massachusetts and Pennsylvania. The company is out to create new supply chains in the United States, while reducing transportation costs for products such as lettuce with a relatively short shelf life.

But Little Leaf and its ilk provide just a fraction of the leafy greens produced in this country. Most are grown in the Salinas Valley, California, or Yuma County, Arizona, but some US-based companies, like Fresh Express, also have farms in Mexico to supplement their supply through winter.

So I added two boxes of Little Leaf to my cart — two for $5 on sale, and $1 cheaper than the California-processed alternative — and considered it a win.

As we wove through the aisles, my husband and kids checked labels and learned a lot about the global food trade. The sliced bacon was Canadian, so that was out. Chips Ahoy cookies were made in Mexico, so they went back on the shelf. But the “authentic” Mexican tortilla chips were produced in Oregon. We skipped the $5.99 can of San Marzano tomatoes this trip, replacing the Italian-grown specialty with a version canned in Indiana that cost $2.49. We grabbed Italian sausage on sale, produced in (where else?) New Jersey.

Our grocery shopping complete, we headed over to Famous Footwear, as my son needed a new pair of running shoes. Despite Massachusetts’ legacy as a hub of shoemaking — and a preponderance of sneaker brands still headquartered around town — there are actually very few made in America.

Brighton-based New Balance does produce some of its shoes domestically, and has won federal contracts to make shoes for the US military, thanks to the 1941 Berry Amendment that requires the Department of Defense purchase equipment made in the United States. But the American-made pairs don’t come in kids’ sizes, and at $200 a pop, are too pricey for my 9-year-old’s fast-growing feet. So we had to bail on the assignment here, too, and instead took home a pair of Pumas manufactured in Vietnam for $41.

Next up: a gift for a family cousin who just had a baby. Here, Slade’s tips for online shopping came in handy. She often uses Etsy for handmade or personalized gifts, and I found you can filter for storefronts that ship from within the country.

But it got tricky fast.

I considered an embroidered knit blanket, but since the provenance of the blanket itself was in question, I searched on and ultimately landed at the website of Green Toys. Our household has a fleet of the company’s sturdy trucks, boats, and planes made from recycled milk jugs, which I knew had been proudly produced in California for years.

Quite pleased with myself, I clicked the buy button ($45), only to later discover, as I sat down to write, that Green Toys recently expanded production to a facility in China. Foiled! Still, because the company does have some production here, it will likely remain less affected by tariffs than competitors such as Hasbro and Mattel, which are anticipating toy prices could double by the time Christmas rolls around, thanks to tariffs on China and other Asian manufacturing hubs.

Like many Americans concerned about the vast amount of waste in the textile industry, I’ve cut back on buying new garments, looking instead to Poshmark for gently used goods. What’s more, my kids’ school just had a clothing swap, so they’ve got new duds for summer.

But I draw the line on reusing when it comes to underwear, and my son needed new boxer briefs.

This is where things got complicated. It can be a quagmire, Slade said, to search for American-made products online, as the algorithms and paid ads of digital retailers tend to serve up foreign brands regardless of what you search.

“Domestic manufactures and suppliers tell me, ‘We can’t get in front of Americans, they don’t know we’re there because how can we fight these search engines?’ ” Slade said.

So she “trains the algorithm” on sites such as Instagram by repeatedly searching for Made in USA products, and has discovered lots of interesting small companies. When it comes to Google, Slade deploys several tricks, such as adding a negative sign or hyphen in the search terms, as in “-Amazon,” “-Target,” “-Walmart” to exclude big box stores.

Or she opts for an alternative browser such as DuckDuckGo to avoid the clutter. I did the latter, and still got hit by lots of ads. But I also found City Threads, a manufacturer that cuts, knits, dyes, and sews all its fabrics in its facility in Los Angeles.

This matters, Slade told me, because while the United States still is a huge producer of cotton, clothing manufacturers often send fabric to other countries to be knit, cut, and sewn. Fruit of the Loom, for example, says it sources 88 percent of its cotton from US suppliers, but its products are largely sewn abroad in Australia, El Salvador, Haiti, Honduras, Mexico, Morocco, and Vietnam.

And it’s worth remembering, Slade said, that a product’s label only identifies that last spot it was manufactured.

“That’s why these punitive tariffs are idiotic,” she said. “Because it denies the basic fact that an incredibly complex global supply chain is involved in every single thing you own.” She believes the revenue from tariffs should be used to offset the high costs of domestic goods.

I thought of that as I found a three-pack of domestically made boxer briefs from City Threads and put them in my cart. At $32, they cost three times more than a similar pack of Fruit of the Loom. But at least I know that for this assignment, I covered my ass — and my son’s too.

Janelle Nanos can be reached at janelle.nanos@globe.com. Follow her @janellenanos.