I’ve always loved to dress differently and make a statement with my clothing. I remember being around 11 and wearing black tights under my denim shorts with white trainers (unheard of then – my mum refused to leave the house with me until I changed), and when I was slightly older,going for drinks in my local wearing a tasselled and embroidered wool dress from a charity shopthat looked like something Pocahontas would’ve turned in her grave at. There were more than a few amused comments that night, I can tell you.
I’ve long been fascinated with vintage clothing for this reason – piss-taking from my friends aside, I still loved to wear something unique which had almost a 0% chance of being seen onanyone else. (I’m now thinking specifically of the house party I had for my 20th birthday and wore a black velvet cocktail dress with huge hot pink puff sleeves, with hot pink cutoff tights – definitely thought I was Karen O, still haven’t lived it down).
Still one of my favourite pastimes today is hunting down pre-loved treasures in the various vintage shops I would visit in Manchester growing up. When I moved to Leeds for uni, I was delighted to find just as many sources of second-hand goodness there too, from Hyde Park to the city centre. Because Kate Moss was the ultimate icon for a late-teen/early-20s girl in the mid-late noughties (particularly those of us into murky, sticky-floored venues playing the Long Blondes and the Libertines on repeat), dressing vintage became even cooler. I now make sure I always buy a vintage item (or two) wherever I go in the world.
I’m not saying I was a pioneer or wearing second-hand before it was cool, but, well, maybe I am. However, we’ve seen how vintage clothing’s DIY spirit of individualism eventually becameadopted into the mainstream and has never really gone away as a concept (see also the gentrification of street style, and hype culture making big business of resale sneakers and second-hand streetwear). Vintage clothes evoke a nostalgia that’s irresistible to many of us, as we fawn over looks from decades past through dedicated Instagram accounts, Pinterest boards, reruns of The Hills…you name it.
In recent years, peak commodification of lewks gone by has been achieved by luxury fashion houses reissuing archive pieces. But despite throwback equalling mega-bucks these days, independent second-hand sellers, thankfully, still live on too. In mid-2020, Ebay announced that there’d been a 404% increase in pre-loved clothing year-on-year since 2018. In 2019, sales in the 3,943 second-hand stores in the UK had seen a 17.6% increase, so bricks-and-mortar was also thriving. Of course, lockdown will have skewed 2020’s figures, but with the amount of #ShopSmall / #ShopLocal statements made on social media during the pandemic, it’s clear that shoppers are passionate about investing in the independents. There are also no less than 10 million posts tagged #vintagefashion on Instagram right now.
The heightened sense of moral duty many of us now feel around how we shop adds to the appeal of second-hand. Vintage clothing is now regularly referred to as sustainable or ethical fashion(often put in the same bracket as designers of new clothing who source their materials sustainably; although some are less than crystal-clear about their supply chain, so extra investigation is often required to make sure all is as it seems). Embracing social responsibility in how we dress was a clear priority for plenty of people pre-pandemic, but ever since Covid struck, the need to be more conscious around how we shop has become more urgent than ever.
During 2020, I was pretty miffed by rich men helming huge fashion brands adding even more zeros to their fortune by treating workers appallingly throughout the pandemic. (I know, I should’ve already been outraged as it was happening long before this, but as it worsened and become hard to ignore, this and a sustainable fashion course I studied in my newfound spare timeis what it took to really open my eyes.) The widening imbalance of privilege and power resulted in marginalised garment workers being subjected to heinous acts and, often, not even being paid.
It doesn’t need repeating that the last decade has brought significant concern about the rise of fast fashion coming at a cost to human rights and planetary preservation. I count myself in this camp but of course, I also had an existing view of vintage clothing just being prettaaaay damn cool.
According to Capgemini Research Institute, nearly 80% of shoppers have vowed to make future buying choices based on a company’s inclusiveness, social responsibility and environmental impact. Yay for my 19-year-old, trilby-sporting, rosary bead-flaunting self finally getting validation for the choices she was making (well, some of them).
THANK YOU REBECCA FOR SHARING YOUR STORY WITH US. YOU CAN FOLLOW REBECCA DISCUSSING FASHION ON HER SOCIALS HERE , AND LISTEN TO HER RECENTLY LAUNCHED PODCAST SAME SHIFT DIFFERENT BRAIN: 🗣 Same Shit, Different Brain opens up real conversations with real people, who have relatable stories to tell about their mental health journeys. We all know we should talk about our mental health more, but the pressures of the world around us add to our fear of speaking up. So many of us feel there’s always someone worse off, with a more sympathetic story. It aims to make listeners feel less alone in this socially-distanced world.