Getting off the hamster wheel

Breaking up with fast fashion

Jan 23, 2024

Aged seven I found a pink tartan kilt suit (it sounds as naff as it was) in a shop and begged my mum to buy it for me. My whole life would be changed somehow, if only I had it in my possession. I can remember my passionate arguments, listing reasons why I deserved it and pleading with her to make it both my birthday and Christmas present. I did not get the suit. Too expensive, and now I think about it, where was a seven year old going to wear a formal kilt and blazer? I mean, I would’ve worn it everywhere, I’d have made that glorious outfit work for me even if the only place I ever went was the kebab shop at the top of my road. The absence of that suit from my life stayed with me, l thought about it for months afterwards, feeling that I was robbed of my destiny somehow. Clearly, a dramatic child with a penchant for the jazzy.

The lust that clothes spark in me kicked off early. It has never receded, apart from in the moments where anxiety is sky high and nothing holds any interest at all. My lack of interest in fashion is actually a good yardstick for how low I am. Do I want to look at jumpers online? If the answer is no, then it’s time to worry. Conversely, if I’m anxious but not bottoming out entirely, then I shop. I shop to distract, to soothe, to feel something which is not just dread. A quick emotional fix, it’s something you probably recognise.

Brands understand this all too well, playing to your emotions and trying to fire up your impulses. A quick look at one popular online retailer shows the language used to get you to spend your money. “Cheer up this blue Monday, “psst we found these for you in the sale” and the truly egregious “you deserve it.” Everything is a little treat, a little treat because life is hard and something cheap and sparkly can’t hurt right?

I have been a voracious consumer ever since I was allowed to shop for myself. Lucky enough to live near the heavenly portal that was TopShop on Oxford Circus, and old enough to remember the glory days of the 90s highstreet - Morgan, Kookai, Jane Norman and Miss Selfridge. Shopping was a bonding experience as a teen, a balm as an anxious 20 something, and just a downright obsession in my 30s.

It got joyless somewhere along the line, especially as I entered the world of online shopping where you’re stuck in an infinity scroll until everything looks the same and you’re not sure what you even wanted to begin with. Dopamine hits when you make the purchase, only for it to immediately dissipate the moment you get the delivery and realise that nothing in your life has changed at all. Those new trousers didn’t lessen my anxieties at all, who could’ve predicted?

At some point my endless need to buy stuff introduced a niggling disgust in me which, truthfully, I mainly ignored. It felt a lot like the years before I became a vegetarian - justifications, denials and defences - but only a matter of time until I faced my own complicity in a rotten system. I knew that eating meat was wrong deep down. And I knew that fast fashion (even if I denied that Zara *was* fast fashion for a long time, idiotic. According to earth.org, the company manufactures 450 million items per day) was wrong too. Terrible for the people making it, horrendous for the environment, and for the animals involved in every new leather shoe or bag purchased unthinkingly.

It’s said we only wear our fast fashion purchases an average of seven times. What happens to the garment then? Usually, it’ll end up in landfill, usually in poorer countries who could well do without our discarded purchases. Some companies offer take back programmes, promising to reuse and recycle the unwanted clothing. Turns out, that’s often rubbish. Literally - https://atmos.earth/one-hm-skirt-traveled-15000-miles-after-it-was-brought-back-to-the-store-heres-why/

For a while I tried to shop more ethically, selecting brands who had factories in countries which had strict labour laws, and eschewing man made fibres. But all new clothes leave their mark on the planet. Figures say that the industry contributes 8-10% of global co2 emissions worldwide. Who was I bargaining with? Just myself, hoping I could carry on as before and feel better about it.

My sister, who got me into running and is usually the wisest person I know, pushed me into changing. Not by telling me to stop shopping or shaming me for my addiction, but by extolling her local car boot, and proudly showing me great clothes she’d bought on second hand sites. So I dipped my toe in, perused a few of the popular apps and got overwhelmed by the choice. Another infinity scroll, this time without the bland sterility of a major fashion chain’s site. But I got better at it as I went, zoning in on very specific search terms and strictly filtering until I get results. And like all new habits, do it enough and it becomes easy. And then one day, it’s just the norm.

I’ve bought a couple of new things since July (like a jumper to replace one I lost, some jeans I didn’t actually need) and felt a heavy guilt about those purchases - letting the easy dopamine hit take over when I know not to now. Everything else has been second hand, and it’s been so enjoyable I feel like an idiot for taking this long to get here. Without wanting to sound like a person who insists the olden days were better, the quality of clothes definitely seems to be. Wool trousers with silk lining for £28 on eBay, a cashmere cardigan for £30 on depop. Nowadays, even the most high end shops seem to think they can charge insane prices for manmade fibres, hoping the designer label somehow makes up for the fact you’ve just paid an arm and leg for polyester.

There’s a real pleasure in finding something you loved but never bought, on a second hand site, like greeting an old friend you lost touch with. I’ve found a jumper I kicked myself for not buying six years ago, a coat I longed for but knew was too expensive and some brand new trainers I’d lusted after (if you’ve got bigger feet, eBay for trainers is incredible. Men just…collect them? And then one day I presume they accept that their 500 strong collection of shoe boxes will one day fall and bury them alive. This must be why they sell them so reluctantly (“extremely limited edition, never worn, only stroked. Serious offers only, I’m gutted to see them go”).

Since giving up on new clothes, I’ve walked into shops I used to enthusiastically skip into, almost testing myself, and felt an overriding sense of…nothing? No, not nothing. Disgust? Maybe that’s too strong, it’s only been six months and I’m aware I was enthusiastically shopping without guilt for years until now. But there’s still definitely a feeling of shame that I used to be so unthinking about my rampant consumerism. That I contributed to such a huge problem for so long, and so willingly. That’s going to stay with me for a while.

Did my spending habits make me happy? No, and it’s such an obvious answer it’s hardly worth saying. The quick boost a new skirt can bring dissipates almost immediately, and the flatness that’s left behind afterwards is a much more powerful sensation. Have I corrected this entirely by only shopping second hand? No, but the immediate rush is reined in, and the way I shop is much more deliberate now. I focus on what I want - or more importantly, need (which is not much at all) - so I buy less and I end up loving a considered purchase a lot more.

And look, I know that the worthier option is to just not shop at all, and many people better than me have chosen that route. But in the same way that I know right now I couldn’t be a vegan, I also know I won’t be able to give up shopping altogether.

The nicest part of it seems to be the realisation that I’ve stepped off the hamster wheel. “New drops” scream every retailer, “don’t miss out on the latest trend.” These emails hit my inbox every day, as if mega corporations are somehow doing me a favour, alerting me to the fact that I might somehow fall behind if I don’t immediately rush to the website. I don’t have to engage anymore. What a relief.

A few rules I’ve given myself -

Nothing from abroad. I ordered a couple of times from overseas before realising how dumb it was to stop buying new clothes for the environment and then ignore the transport impact of my orders.

I won’t buy fast fashion second hand. The quality is rubbish and though it might be irrational, I somehow feel like buying it will encourage its production. This is a good piece on fast fashion and the second hand market. https://greenhouse.agency/blog/the-truth-about-fast-fashion-and-the-second-hand-clothing-industry/

I only buy natural fibres - more expensive but again, longer lasting. Adjust your settings for fabric options. I will buy second hand leather, and that lessens the vegetarian hypocrisy I engaged in for so long.

I set search filters and check them sporadically, no scrolling without a clear idea of what I want. No random purchases - I have to sit on a favourite item for at least three days before buying to test out whether the initial desire sticks.

Underwear & T shirts are exempt. A weird discomfort about second hand shoes I’ve gotten over with the help of anti bac and cotton wool but not pants. Sorry.

The photo at the top of this article is somewhat similar to the suit I yearned for. Ironically, it’s £30 from Shein, which has finally killed my longing for it some 32 years later.

Multiple anxieties

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