Basically, it’s the global industrial and economic equivalent of Cher from Clueless. It’s a little bit self-destructive, it means well, and it relentlessly chases the new and trendy without thought for the long-term economic ramifications. It does not, however, end up in a questionably appropriate romantic relationship with young Paul Rudd.

 

 

Once upon a time, the fashion industry followed a four-season model wherein they’d roll out new designs four times a year. These designs were generally crafted to last with quality material. As a result, prices were higher—about 14% of the average consumer’s annual discretionary spending in 1901, as compared with 3.1% today—and people shopped for it less frequently.

All that has changed in recent decades. Now the fashion industry works on a twelve- to fifteen-season per year cycle. They’re constantly rolling out new designs. And these designs are specifically made to be cheap, with low quality materials that won’t last more than a year. But that’s ok, because at the rate they’re going out of style, you won’t want to wear them longer than that. Which is exactly what the fast fashion model wants.

Forever 21, H&M, Zara, Topshop… these peddlers of fast fashion are slowly but surely fucking up the world.

Our global infrastructure simply can’t keep up with the amount of textile waste caused by fast fashion. When you’re done with that threadbare cardigan from Forever 21, you probably donate it to a thrift store like Goodwill, right? But Goodwill can’t sell fast fashion, because by the time you’re done with it it’s barely holding together as a garment. They’re only able to use about 20% of clothing donations.

So they donate the rejects overseas to a developing country (“gee thanks, ‘Murica”). But those folks are so inundated with fast fashion cast-offs that they can’t possibly use it at the volume it’s getting donated.

So it gets sent to a company that will repurpose it as rags, insulation, fibers for new garments, or other textile-based recycled material. Only they can’t keep up with the volume of fast fashion either. Only 0.1% of recycled textiles actually gets turned around into new clothes. 0.1%!

So a large portion of it—84% of used clothing to be precise—ends up in a landfill, where all the synthetic materials that went into making it in the first place either seep into the groundwater or are incinerated into the air as toxic chemicals. All because you wanted to save some money by shopping at Forever 21. YOUR CARDIGAN JUST CONTRIBUTED TO CLIMATE CHANGE. GOOD JOB.

But really… I don’t blame you. Who isn’t trying to save money by buying inexpensive clothing? Who doesn’t love a good, affordable new fashion find? No seriously: research shows that the pleasure centers of our brain are stimulated by fast fashion. Humans literally get excited by finding a cute top on the rack… and then that excitement doubles when the price tag screams, “Sweet deal!”

So allow me to dampen that excitement a bit. Surely you’ve heard of the raging dumpster fire of human rights violations that is the modern sweatshop industry supplying all these fast fashion garments. Yes, it’s gotten better in recent years. And yes, garment factory work is often a rung up the economic ladder for people in developing countries. But I’d still like to avoid supporting labor practices that make Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle look positively humanitarian.

Ethical consumption of clothes

The reason fast fashion is filling up landfills is because it gets worn out, damaged, or just goes out of style really, really fast. It’s cheap in the worst way. It constantly needs to be replaced. And we can’t keep up with its manic pace.

So slowing things down is one solution. Buying higher quality clothing that will last longer will keep you from having to replace it quite so often, and lessen the sheer volume of textiles ending up in landfills after getting carted around the world wasting resources.

Of course, as we learned from the Boots Theory of Socioeconomic Unfairness, this gets at the heart of why it’s more expensive to be poor than to be rich. I would love to buy all my clothes from local craftspeople and independent boutiques in my city who ethically source their textiles and manufacture their designs on a minuscule scale to ensure the highest quality (thanks, gentrification!). But… I can’t really afford it.

Even the upscale designer brands are a better ethical choice than fast fashion. The quality is higher, and the designs are meant to be timeless. But again, it’s a significant financial investment to buy a jacket at Burberry or Ralph Lauren when you could spend $40 on a lookalike from H&M.

So if you have the means, you should absolutely make ethical consumption of clothing a priority. You’ll be voting with your wallet to support sustainable manufacturing, you’ll save money in the long term, and you’ll get that delicious sense of smug superiority that comes from saving the world.

All roads lead to thrifting

Fast fashion is destroying the planet and ethical consumption is too expensive for most people. What, then, is the solution? How do you square your frugal life philosophy with the responsibility of saving the planet and treating garment industry workers with respect?

You have to get thrifty with it.

Shop at thrift stores. Host clothing swaps with your friends. Repurpose that shit into new and excitingly fashion-forward outfits or cleaning rags or quilts or dog toys or an exciting mix of all of the above that will have your friends going, “Wow. That is… original.” Their eyes will say “abjectly horrified by this definitive answer to the question of whether recycling can ever be taken too far” but their hearts will say “seething with covetous jealousy” and that’s all that matters!

By buying clothes at thrift stores, you’re getting them at a fraction of their original price and you’re saving them from the trash heap for at least another fashion cycle. And while they may still have been manufactured by people working for poverty wages, your money is going to the thrift store or the charity it represents, not to the company that keeps its workers in appalling conditions.

It’s not a perfect answer. But until you’re financially stable enough to stock your wardrobe with high-quality, long-lasting staples, it’s an adequate stop-gap measure.

You and your beautiful, unique body

Disclaimer: thrift store purchases simply aren’t an option for some people, and I want to be sympathetic to their situation. My husband, for example, at 6 feet, 8 inches tall and 250 pounds is about the size of an NFL player… minus the paycheck (I really bet on the wrong pony there).

 

Most retail stores don’t even carry his size, so finding clothes that fit him in a thrift store is nothing short of a miracle. He orders most of his clothes online through various fast fashion outlets. When he needs formalwear—or even just, y’know, pants—he has to shell out the cash to get it tailored.

This article is not for him. Nor is it for anyone with a gorgeously atypical body. The economies of scale are hard at work in the fashion industry. Giant fast fashion corporations have the means to mass-produce clothing across a variety of sizes and shapes, whereas small boutiques and ethical craftspeople simply do not.

So in other words: do what you need to do to keep clothes on your back, ok? But if you can clothe yourself ethically and responsibly, then you should absolutely make the effort.