Nothing to Wear: A Realistic Approach to Clothes
How did I go from avid thrifter to guilty consumer?
This is part one of my essay Nothing to Wear. The idea for this article was inspired by VOX series Buy Less Stuff which I absolutely recommend reading.
I don’t need any more clothes. My weeks are spread between working from home and going to the pub, between ultra-comfortable leggings and not-so-comfortable leather trousers. But I see all the cool girls on Instagram and I want to be that stylish. So I buy more stuff, wear it twice before realising I have nothing to wear it with, search “how to style XYZ” on Pinterest, and buy ‘one more thing’ to make it work and look good, stuck in an infinite cycle. Why do I keep impulse buying more and more, where did I go wrong?
It wasn’t always like that. Most of my wardrobe used to come from vintage stores, E. and I would spend so much time looking for the perfect piece and wondering if it would fit with the rest of our clothes. Living in an upcoming city, at the time, played a big role in developing my style thanks to the access to an ever-growing fashion playground of thrift shops and independent brands (often unaffordable for a student). My sewing skills were put to use to create my own clothes and repair as much - and as many times - as possible the things I owned. Two things then changed: I left Brussels for small English towns, and the COVID-19 pandemic locked everyone in. There was nowhere to shop and nowhere to go.
First of all, moving back to a smaller town meant swapping privileged access from vintage stores to charity shops and the difference is palpable. I can always find cute trinkets in charity shops, but never an outfit. Charities rely on donations to build their stock, compared to vintage stores operating with a curated selection of clothes to attract a certain type of customers, sometimes altering the garments to follow trends and give the clothes a modern life. There is nothing wrong with one or the other, it is a matter of personal preference. I always found it easier to find my style in vintage stores as I am too impatient for the art of thrifting.1 With that option gone, unless I was willing to take the train to London, I went back to buying my clothes from H&M and Zara, or online places like ASOS.2
There is a sustainable and responsible way to buy fast fashion or anything for that matter, and high-street brands have always been a big part of my wardrobe. It is the easiest and most affordable way to get the basics, and maybe a couple of statement pieces that would last you a while (I’ve had the same “occasion only” jumpsuit for almost 10 years and it is in pristine condition). At least it used to be. Not only has the quality of the clothes decreased significantly in the last few years, likely in an attempt to remain competitive with ultra-fast fashion brands like SHEIN and Pretty Little Things, but overconsumption has become an increasing issue.
When bought responsibly and sustainably, fast fashion is ok. It’s not ideal but it’s affordable and inclusive compared to some alternatives. It becomes a problem when content creators purchase hundreds of pounds of clothes in order to make one haul video on TikTok, for outfits they often don’t wear or send back once the video is done.3 All of it ends up in landfills by tons. Poor quality and the push to over-consume create a vicious circle: clothes bought for less than £5 will not last more than 5 washes and ultimately will lead to buying more £5 clothes. Premium quality clothes are a luxury good for the most fortunate, only found in the best vintage stores as charities are flooded by poor quality fast fashion.4
Forced to stay in because of the lockdown, most of us spent less on nights out, dinner and activities, suddenly we had more money for clothes and access to all the apps at the tip of our fingers. The main shift in my attitude towards clothing came with the shift in my social media habits: more time on Instagram means more time to get influenced. 2020 also marked the rise of TikTok, bringing in an absurd amount of microtrends and promotions. I don’t even have the app yet I felt the difference. With resources in our hands and all the trends, aesthetics and capsules bombarding us with the next must-have items, it was hard to not want it all and succumb.
Truly, some people have a gift for finding great pieces, an eye to style anything and everything. I am forever envious.
Please note that I am not talking about people who do not have the choice but to buy fast fashion for X or Y reasons, I am here questioning irresponsible consumption (SHEIN haul for example). I also would like to clarify that I was not erratic and quickly realised how wrong it was of me to buy into it, nevertheless, I still see an H&M ad on Instagram and think “This is cute, need it”.
In my research, I wondered why TikTok amplified the haul issue compared to the previous use of apps. With Instagram, for example, one outfit was good enough for a “multi-pictures” post, but with the rise of video content on every app, the amount of outfits per video and per day has rapidly multiplied and one outfit is simply not enough.
My Instagram algorithm shows me a lot of people complaining about the alarming amount of SHEIN, Boohoo and other barely worn plastic fast fashion in their local charities. The good vintage fashion, the one made with real wool and cotton, is pricey and increasingly hard to find amongst the rest.