Like any other back and forth relationship, my love affair with fast fashion was a complicated relationship. It felt like a million years ago when we met, but the more I got to know about fast fashion, I felt like it just wasn't right for me. Although I was taught that fast fashion & # 39; s a solution to so many things (i.e. not being able to afford fashion trends, or how & # 39; can provide a new outfit for my & # 39; new identity), I learned to separate it more. I began to ask not only what do I do with the world's shopping, but what did I gain from my relationship with fast fashion? When I began to understand its detrimental social and environmental impact (one time after The real cost on Netflix is very enlightening), I tried my best to buy sustainably. I've always loved shopping and vintage, but increasingly second-hand shopping has become my true love and fast fashion, my ex.
As with any explanation, I try to shift my focus to the positive. Buying smaller brands, especially on Instagram, brings me so much joy. I recently purchased & # 39; a bag from a sustainable, Birmingham-based brand called Roop, which is priced at £ 45 (which is equivalent to two inner-city bags). Every time I take it out, I like to tell the story of talking to the designer in my DM's, choosing between the fabric and considering my personal style before I start to suitcase. This kind of value is something I rarely found out of a quick fix in the street, simply because the production chain is so murky that we don't actually know who makes our clothes.
I feel the same way about all my vintage pieces, and I channeled my love of shopping to the best pieces on Vestiaire Collective, eBay or charity shops. I’m still careful about what I choose to invest, but when I do, I love the story that comes with each unique piece. In turn, I feel reluctant to get rid of one of these treasures when I tackle a wardrobe.