Week 3

Childhood Closet

By Devon Lee

The Upper East side as a childhood closet,

where she only learns how to use the Q train and walk to 5th Ave.

School is the centuries old mansion next to Central Park.

Breakfast is eaten at Eli’s, and the flakes of a $5 croissant is littered on top of light blue skirts and black tights. Coffee becomes the signature stain on mandatory white Polo shirts.

Conformity is mandated but not followed. Skirts are pulled up and loafers are ditched for tennis shoes that are golden.

Mass ends at 12 and lunch is eaten at Yura.

Cashmere is quickly slipped off,

Sweaters must abide by school colors: cardinal, navy, or emerald, but fashion is the culmination of rebellious young girls who hate listening to rules instituted by nuns;

Monogrammed cardigans are replaced by thick, gray sweatshirts bought during vacations at South Hampton.

Classes consist of theology before biochem in a room that overlooks Cooper Hewitt. The large windows never close, and the Central Park breeze rushes inside to routinely kiss every piece of old wood that hasn’t been touched by nature since 1881.

The bell rings and the marble stairs nearly collapse under the feet of frantic girls.

Parents and nannies wait outside for pickup,

But older girls walk in pairs, home to Park Ave.

Dinner is eaten at home. Mom cooks after her pilates class still wearing the pink Lululemon jacket that is often taken from her by a greedy daughter. Dad is abroad and calls to say

goodnight.

Weekends are cello lessons at the New School.

Winter has an impartial humor and dirty snow pulls at feet warmed by Uggs and Prada snow boots alike, laughing at the falls.

Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner are eaten at 12, and purchased at Union Christmas market. Cream pasta spills onto black dress-pants and fallen marshmallows are crushed under red bottom flats.

Orchestra rehearsal starts at three and the cellos never get to play because the focus is always on the clumsy violists who mistakenly wore white with black again instead of black with black.

Music cases are accessories, decorated with stickers from Brandy, and beige check-patterned bear keychains gifted from a man your grandma claims to be named Burberry.

Breaks consist of sneaking into the Parsons design room to smoke by the window then getting caught, returning to the theater hall with ruler marks on your legs, not hands because hands are commodities already abused by peeling calluses and dried scabs. Practice is claimed to be hated but deep down it is loved and cherished at every second till the clock concludes at seven, and the concert begins.

The week comes again but this time, it’s spring and it’s one of the last.

Feather stuffed jackets and mink coats are replaced by liberated arms adorned in so much gold that it jingles.

Graduation is used as an excuse to buy a wedding dress early. Mom and daughter invade Madison Avenue, stopping at Ralph’s for coffee before going to the tailor.

The dress is bought in pearl and the heels are handed down from Mom

No jewelry she says, the dress speaks for itself.

Senior pictures are taken in the ballroom, and the ceremony is held at St. Ignatius.

Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, godparents, family-friends, and boyfriends stand in the red

cushioned aisles, dressed in their Sunday best which include Chanel tweed and Armani suits.

Supposed Virgins walk down the aisle, counting their steps as they go, and place themselves below the wooden Christ that hasn’t been seen since their middle school communion.

The priest whispers for the last time,

...with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit...

Cheers erupt and the girls take turns grabbing diplomas and shaking hands with teachers that helped raise them, a bittersweet goodbye.

Hands full of bouquets begin to tremble from the weight, and tears flood the water that holds the yacht where reception is held.

When the sun sets, the white dresses come off and it is realized that the wardrobe of eighteen years no longer fits.

White polos are donated, and light blue skirts are signed as if they were yearbooks, then stored alongside Ralpconcert attire in the depths of a box labeled memories.

Vestiaire Collective bans more fast fashion brands, prompting questions about overconsumption and thrifting. 

By Dee Kwong

In the previous year, Vestiaire took a stance against fast fashion following the surge of Shein, Boohoo, and Asos-like items on resale platforms. While the fashion industry is inherently fast-paced, the acceleration of micro trends has become notable. Shein's business model, operating in real-time, is a prime example. According to Vox, Shein can produce new designs in as little as three days, enabling them to adapt to emerging trends swiftly.

 

Already, many have raised concerns about the influx of fast fashion items in thrift stores. One TikToker points out that the prices of thrift stores have been increasing while the quality of their clothes declined. Another TikTok shows the endless horde of ZARA items in a Salvation Army store, illustrating how thrift shopping inadvertently contributes to overconsumption. 

For the past year, Vestiaire Collective worked with researchers and key industry players, narrowing down key factors that cause overconsumption in resale—the low price point, the fast recycling rate, and the range of inclusive products such as size. This week, Vestiaire Collective announced its second ban wave, including ‘higher-end’ fast fashion brands. As of now, brands like ZARA, Gap, and H&M will be taken off the website, impacting over 30,000 active sellers on the platform. However, the company believes it is a necessary direction for the brand to take as an effort to reduce overconsumption. 

“Maybe it’s a risk, maybe it’s not a good business decision. That’s not how we’re deciding it,” chief impact officer Dounia Wone said in a statement to the Business of Fashion. “The purpose is not to say how much money we can take out of it; the purpose is to say, if we don’t believe in this model and if we continue to sell it, we are not true to our values.”


As the resale industry grows more competitive—-just last weekend, I walked into a self-labeled thrift store whose discounted items were labeled ‘thrift items,’ but the rest of the store was imported new products—Vestiaire Collective’s decision is tactical. In its initial ban, Vestiaire Collective’s decision remained mostly positive, with 70% of customers returning to buy higher quality clothing. As the company culls fast fashion items, it establishes an upper-end allure for the company, effectively distancing itself from the negative, unsustainable associations in thrifting. It's a two-pronged approach, but the long-term sustainability of this business model remains to be seen—a calculated risk that the company is willing to undertake.

Making Quiet Luxury Loud: The Repackaging that Sustainability Needed.

By Cassidy Crockett

In the 1960s the average French wardrobe consisted of about 25 outfits, or 40 pieces in total, and the country was considered the epitome of chic. Today, the average person has about 148 pieces in their wardrobe. So what happened? Consumerism. On the rise since the 1960’s, the amount of clothing production has skyrocketed as companies compete to release the newest trend as fast as possible. This need for speed, especially within the past decade, is a result of social media’s constant promotion of trends, pushing craftsmanship to the side and mass production to the frontlines. And from this, we get the term, Fast Fashion. But the result of the loss of craftsmanship is a mass collection of items that fall apart, and a massive amount of waste. Clothing has piled up into mountains of discarded fabric and factory machines have replaced the craftsman, emitting a tenth of the world's carbon emissions. In 2015, the United States generated 11.9 million tons — or about 75 pounds per person — of textile waste, most of which ended up in landfills. That’s more than a 750 percent increase since 1960.

The talk of sustainability has circulated within these fashion communities, as people have become more aware of the large footprint of fast fashion on this earth, and pressure has been put onto brands to do something about it. As a result, brands have begun to rework their websites and storytelling, adding descriptions such as “sustainably made” or “reused plastic”. Even though many retailers say they’re addressing sustainability, whether to keep their customers or to market to new ones, the clothing that they make still doesn't have any greater longevity, and customers have begun to catch on.

Now, one may ask, if customers are aware of this new “sustainability narrative” projected by brands, why do they continue to shop at these fast fashion stores, despite the negative impact on people and the environment? Cognitive Dissonance, which is the mental discomfort experienced when holding conflicting beliefs or values. Yes, you may be aware and opposed to the world of fast fashion, but then you open your phone to Tik Tok, see a giant Zara haul, and feel the immediate comfort of finding new, affordable clothing to buy. For some consumers, the newest fashion trends can go a long way in increasing self-esteem, providing a sense of belonging, and even higher status, and the internet has made it just one click away.

But something new to the world of Gen-Z and Millenials has resurfaced from the past. Quiet-Luxury, which is the mindset of buying less, but better, investing in classic pieces that will last the test of time and seeking out quality materials. Ruled by Loro Piana, Brunello Cucinelli, The Row, Khaite and Toteme, the world of anti-logomania and luxury fabrics has been around in the small circles of those that can afford it. Recently, however, the term has gained exposure outside of the elite. This practice of high quality consumption is not a new concept to the world of fashion. Quiet luxury has been around for centuries, with its roots traced back to the Renaissance era in Italy. The wealthy and elite would commission fine artists and craftsmen to create garments and accessories that were of exceptional craftsmanship. These pieces were designed to last a lifetime. From Plato in ancient Greece to St. Augustine and the Christian fathers to writers in the Italian Renaissance, thinkers have associated the pursuit of things as wicked and dangerous because it corrupted the human soul, destroyed republics, and overthrew the social order. I would argue that this same concept is having its Renaissance in our modern age once again. According to recent data, the term quiet luxury has appeared on social media over the last year more than 100k times acquiring over 35 billion views. Celebrities like Sofia Richie have emerged on Tik Tok, flaunting logoless, secretly luxurious outfits to millions of viewers. And designers such as Phoebe Philo are dropping minimalist and logoless fashion lines that are selling out in minutes. The internet has been buzzing over this “new” trend, with Gen-Z and Millenials keeping it on the front-line.

But the loudest attraction of quiet-luxury is silence. Let the product do the work. Securing an interview with the Olson twins of quiet-luxury brand The Row is nearly impossible. Designers’ reluctance to do publicity has arguably become a key part of their allure and this has created a new sense of curiosity. This can make the quiet luxury aesthetic feel inaccessible, especially given its secretive inner circles. However, one potential of this trend is to bring awareness to the entire fashion community of the importance of thought before purchase and value of craftsmanship. After all, quiet luxury aligns with many sustainability principles, including conscious consumption, ethical sourcing, durability, and a focus on timeless quality. If it applies to luxury items, why not everyday goods too? Now, there is the question of whether this quiet-luxury resurgence will just be another trend or a new mindset that is here to stay. Marketers, publicists, and consumer behavior analysts are debating the lifespan of this trend. Personally, I hope this trend will stick around forever. That it will force people to become more interested in the world of better craftsmanship and materials, as they are focusing more on what clothing items they're consuming. I believe that although the logo-less look and minimal trend may change over the years, as fashion is an ever revolving door, the thought process behind what clothing you purchase will be here to stay. By embracing this mindset, consumers and brands can contribute to a more sustainable and environmentally responsible way of living and doing business. If it sticks around, this trend will make its way into many other industries, including hospitality, tourism, food and beverage, and more. We must rediscover the joy of clothes, but not as a disposable commodity, rather as a timeless heirloom to invest in, to be lived in, loved, worn and kept.

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