The New Vintage

Contemporary fashion can typically be tracked categorically; clothes are released seasonally and operate on a hypothetical “in” and “out” system. Pieces are also made on a trend-abiding basis and within a calendar year, their prevalence can fade to null and void. In my opinion, it is all rather nauseatingly systematic. Periodically, the fashion world finds a stylistic staple that holds out above all temporary trends. This has been shown in the form of Chanel’s famous “little black dress” as well as Burberry’s classic trench coats. Today, this staple comes in the form of thrifted clothing. Within the latter stages of the 2010s up until now, it seems as if the industry has been suffering from a cruel case of nostalgia.

In comparison to the decadal growth rate of fast fashion at 20%, secondhand fashion is predicted to grow 185%. In 2019 alone, it expanded 21 times faster than normal retail clothing. This indicates that people are opting to throw themselves into thrift stores with their fingers crossed, hoping to find a garment that resonates with a smidgen of their adopted personalities. I, too, am guilty of this; I find the thrifting trend to be a partially positive one. In observation of the textile industry in 2018, the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) estimated that 17 million tons of textiles were produced. However, rather unsurprisingly, there are still about 25.5 billion pounds of completely functional and able textiles being thrown away each year. To put this in perspective, that is about 70 pounds of clothing per American.

Thrifting is the complete contrast to this and still sees itself as the most sustainable consumption practice within clothing. Not only is it conscious of the environment, but it is also conscious of the consumer. There are a handful of sustainable brands that seek to revolutionize the fashion industry with the implementation of eco-friendly practices and mission statements signed with a bright smile. However, it is crucial to understand that a lot of the up-cycling, recycling and overall commonalities shared amongst these brands still require production that is somewhat harmful to the environment. For example, a company may have reduced their carbon emissions, but still uses a disproportionate amount of water in their production. This is commonly known as greenwashing, or conveying a false message of sustainability. The issue is then twisted even further when brands like Olderbrother and Filippa K, who are notorious for their progressive nature, do not shy away from slapping on a $500 price tag as a tradeoff for their alleged brilliance. There are certainly exceptions within brands like Patagonia or Armedangels, but upon scrolling through their selections I found that an even slightly intriguing silhouette was absent.

And so, the consensus brings us back to the sprawling floors of stores like Unique and Savers, painted with an array of colors from their vast selection of secondhand fashion. However, the problem does not lie within the physical stores but in the market outside of them. Sustainability has suddenly become an irritatingly exclusive market, thanks to the gentrification of secondhand clothing. This is the new vintage; secondhand clothing being sold at the price of retail or high fashion clothing, and all for the sake of a profit.

Now, I am certainly not a business major but it doesn’t take two to four years of wasting your money on a future association with a morbid enterprise to understand the idea that when the demand for a product changes, the market changes as well. It is understandable why pieces with a lower supply, such as vintage clothing, will be price-gouged until morality’s end, but there is a distinctly fine line that needs to be drawn, as just because something is understandable does not mean it is acceptable in any form. I recognize the existence of this methodology within the fashion industry, but I also recognize the issue with it. It was inevitable that fashion would trade its status as an artistic endeavor reserved for creatives for that of a product within a vast market, but the way in which it is done hardly even addresses its intended target: the consumer.

Depop is an online marketplace that lies at the center of “the new vintage.” Problems are seemingly inevitable when you give users a platform for them to buy and sell clothing on, but the contribution that Depop makes on a grander scale is far worse than any of those. Price-gouging is the first attribution that many may give to a site like Depop, as basics and functional wear alike are sold at ridiculous prices. This isn’t the sole intention of the app, but they have seemingly hidden away into their dark and shady corner of the room, fully separating themselves from the situation while collecting money falling from the ceiling. The whole nature of shopping for secondhand clothing is taken away if you begin to factor in prices that would give retail a run for their money.

Depop is truly making an incredible amount of money off of a trend that is growing beyond anyone’s comprehension. In a thorough report made by ThredUp—another online consignment store—they found that secondhand clothing/thrifting is expected to double its market share in a period of ten years. In addition to this, they stated that thrift grew 25 times faster than retail in 2019. However, a majority of clothes being resold on Depop are thrifted, and the only thing that reselling thrifted clothing does is take away garments from those who actually need them. They are a key aid in the exploitation of a historically sustainable and class-conscious market. Thrift shops are designed so that lower income individuals can shop for essential clothes without having to spend a small fortune on retail. This only scratches the surface of the issues that Depop are causing as far as disrupting the fashion industry; I am likely to dive into them further in a separate piece.

This leads to the question: how do we balance? Purchasing exclusively secondhand clothing prevails as one of the most sustainable practices one can partake in. It cuts out the production, the labor, and the waste that can typically result from the retail clothing cycle. However, it is, at its core, designed for a social class that is continually marginalized and oppressed. Many people were raised to be ashamed of their goodwill garments and now see them bought for inflated prices and flaunted around like a new collection debuted at Paris Fashion Week. Once again, the travesties of the economically hindered have been translated into a middle-class trend-triumph.

Answering such questions can be incredibly complicated when each solution lies at entirely different ends of the spectrum. On one hand, consumers can cut out thrifting completely and resort to purely sustainable retail. This would prevent people from taking away any clothes from thrift stores that are gauged toward lower-income individuals. Alternatively, shopping from secondhand stores less often can be an incredible solution. Thrift consciously; it’s okay to shop in mediation but if you’re in and out every week you’re more so a menace to society than a contributor to the betterment of it. Sustainability only means so much when you’re failing to be mindful of those who actually need the clothes you’re sifting through like groceries.

I’ve been writing about sustainable fashion for the past two quarters I have spent at the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising and I can thankfully say that every word typed has been worth it. Every moment that I feel burnt out or nauseated by the repetition, I remember that its frequent mention is due to its undeniable importance. The Earth is, quite literally, burning. We are past the point of prevention and moving towards the critical benchmark of monumental and irreversible harm (not that this hasn’t already somewhat been done). In contemporary society, it is a given that an existing commonality would be to take efforts to preserve our very home. However, in doing so, we must make sure we are not feeding into late-stage capitalism’s alluring unconscious trap of further oppressing the oppressed.

Written by Julius Miller and Edited by Teagan Foti