Slow fashion
I’ve always considered myself a savvy shopper, but it was only during a trip to Glasgow that I became aware of my new maturity as a consumer. Intrigued by the number of people toting Primark bags, I spent a decent amount of time scouring the racks at the Argyle Street outpost. As I stood staring at armies of belts, shoes and shirts – all at impossible, rock-bottom prices – I got why the retailer was heaven to many bargain-hunters. What I didn’t get, initially at least, was why and how I emerged empty-handed and unimpressed.
Years ago, in my late teens and early twenties, I happily heeded the siren call of the high street. High-low dressing was then a fairly new concept and thanks to magazine editors who advocated the aesthetic, cheap clothes somehow lost their stigma. I was a weekly fixture at my neighborhood Club Monaco in Calgary, where end-of-season sales were especially seductive. Holidays to London, meanwhile, revolved around jaunts to busy Oxford Street, to worship at the altar of H&M and Urban Outfitters with the intention of adding fun, inexpensive pieces to the pricier building blocks in my closet. Then something quite unexpected happened: I discovered designer resale stores. I’d never shop the same way again.
GENTLY WORN TREASURES
While prepping for my most recent stop at the British capital, I came across a list of boutiques in Soho that exchanged gently worn high-end clothing for cash or store credit. To my great relief, I was able to offload pieces that had been cluttering my wardrobe – and psyche – forever: Helmut Lang selvedge jeans that shrank in the wash, too-small Wim Neels trousers, and several DSquared shirts from when the label wasn’t eurotrashy. In return, I used my store credit to stock up on a variety of barely used treasures, from a Markus Lupfer cardigan to a Neil Barrett jacket. They may have been second-hand, but they were definitely not second best.
It was also around this time that I came across Yoox, an Italian retail site that offers unsold designer items from previous seasons. Along with eBay and Asos, it has become part of my online shopping trinity. When the global recession was at its peak, from 2008 to 2009, I followed the advice of a number of blogs devoted to smart living: I shopped my own closet and learned to remix things I had forgotten I owned. I even trawled through my parents’ unwanted stuff. For little to no cash, I was rewarded not only with a brilliant haul, but with the guarantee that these articles of clothing were made with an obvious level of integrity. Fast fashion suddenly seemed totally soulless; indulging in it felt so unwise.
‘SPEND MORE, BUY LESS’
As Alexa Chung framed it in the April 2012 edition of British Vogue, “Disposable fashion is a strange modern phenomenon. Mass manufacture produces instant copies of catwalk styles at marvellously cheap prices that lure us into high-street shops and see us offering up the contents of our purses in exchange for a quick thrill.” In an interview with Fashionista.com, Elizabeth Cline, author of Overdressed: The Shockingly High Cost of Cheap Fashion, echoed the sentiment. “In a very short period of time clothing has gone from something that we need to save up for and something that people valued and took care of, to something that is an impulse and disposal purchase…Nowadays, people value trends over quality and craftsmanship.”
I try not to be too dogmatic when zeroing in on the next addition to my wardrobe. But if I were to be asked about my strategy, my plan of action would most likely be double-pronged: One, previously owned or vintage designer clothing takes precedence over anything brand new from the high street. Two, as the London-based menswear blogger Syed, a.k.a. Dapper Kid, says, “spend more, buy less, but before you even reach that stage think, think, think.”
In the end this slower approach has taught me how affordable fashion has made it all too easy for us to become thoughtlessly acquisitive. While I still shop at Topman – it will always be one of my favorite brands – I’ve trained myself not to give in to the psychological sway of consumer desire and instant gratification. This newfound restraint has certainly come in handy now that I’m on the hunt for the perfect chambray shirt. I spotted one by Balenciaga that ticked all the right boxes: fit, construction, functionality and versatility. The only thing is that I will have to save up in order to have it. The old me would’ve probably settled for a less special version at H.E. by Mango or yes, Primark, which, while decent, isn’t exactly something that will last beyond one or two outings.
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