Did Tom Wolfe have it right when he claimed that much that is strange and crazy and wonderful in American culture has a way of starting out on the West Coast and eventually filtering East?

For those of us far more fascinated with the inception and dissemination of fashion trends than the consumption of them, the neighborhoods of San Francisco have always been a buffet of people watching for the street style destined to seed the runways and department stores. And Guy Trebay of the New York Times nails it in his opening line of Fashion Diary: The Tribes of San Francisco:

IF a decade spent following the fashion flock will teach you anything, it’s that fashion people seldom have much to do with generating style. This little-appreciated truth naturally comes to mind as the Fashion Week juggernaut lumbers toward Manhattan, a rolling, continuous loop of live-streamed, Tweeted product-placement set to ambient glamour-buzz cranked out by the Industrial Hype Machine.

…What she likes about San Francisco style, said Ms. Grim, who is in her early 40s, is that the town is remarkably free of fashion hierarchies and in-crowd tyrannies. There is no shoe of the season here. There is no It bag. Except perhaps for the pulp-novel heiresses Vanessa and Victoria Traina (who anyway are almost New Yorkers), there are no Vogue-anointed darlings-du-jour.

Photo: Heidi Schumann for NY Times

One thing notably absent, however, in Trebay’s analysis is the influence of Burning Man culture on the San Francisco fashion scene. Given the thousands of key Burner players whose default world residence is the bay area yet keep their culture alive and well year round, I find it hard to believe that their DIY radical self expression anti-corporate style wouldn’t permeate out onto the streets.

Interestingly enough, even though the quirky, innovative aesthetic is pervasive, my handful of trips to San Francisco hunting for the corresponding retailer sources - especially local designers - have left me standing mostly in resale shops or malls in tourist destinations. Ever so often there will be a brave entrepreneur opening a collective of local designers, a curated vintage store in a high rent district that mixes in refashioned pieces, or a boutique carrying avant-garde designers from NY… but those are the exception, not the rule.

Even locals tend to concede, unasked, that San Francisco has historically been an also-ran in fashion terms. “Every time a designer from here has a little bit of success, they disappear to New York,” said Gladys Perint Palmer, executive director of fashion at the Academy of Art University, whose fashion department has an enrollment of 2,500.

Allow me to digress for a moment… 2500 fashion students? That’s about 1000 graduating a year, and that’s just one school in one city. A private, for-profit school with 5 digit tuition. Are there enough jobs in the industry for all of them? Um, no. Back to San Francisco…

Ms. Perint Palmer was referring specifically to Nice Collective, a San Francisco-based label founded in 1997 by Joe Haller and Ian Hannula in part to capitalize on distinctive elements of a local style that, like so much else in the Bay Area, seems to be generated by some loopy organic collective impulse rather than an editorial cabal.

It’s so good I have to restate it: “generated by some loopy organic collective impulse rather than an editorial cabal.” But really, especially since the ‘youth revolution’ of the 60s, has that editorial cabal really dictated much? I’d argue that the best they can do is distill and co-opt the shapes, colors and styling that settles out of the collective choices of the loopy ones. And where do those loopy young ones go for the raw materials of their sartorial expression, especially when their piled into shared bedrooms in sky high rent apartments? You guessed it - thrift stores. Which has over the past couple of decades seeped into the mainstream to the point of becoming a standard style option, perhaps even one with far more cred for the find than the spoon fed trends of the big stores. Trebay quotes a former department store buyer:

“The stigma attached to used-clothing is gone,” she added. “You can either spend $300 on a top at Neiman Marcus or go to the thrift store and buy a bag of clothes for a tenth as much.”

Exactly. And this leaves one with far more time and disposable income for living, not just posing like a well dressed doll.

…Or you can do both and then mash up the results, as the women of the Mission tribe do.

“Those girls are the local Holly Golightlys,” Mr. Ospital of M.A.C. said of women like Rachel Corrie, a waitress at Tartine, who as she left work last week hopped onto her bike wearing what looked like a gingham onesie, feet shod in gladiator sandals and a velvet equestrian hunt cap passing as safety gear perched atop her head.

Girls like her are all over the Mission. You see them flying down Valencia Street on Vespas, their wildly improvised get-ups composed of, say, rags scavenged from the Bay Area’s fabled thrift shops (Out of the Closet in the Castro, Eco-Thrift in Vallejo, the Goodwill outpost just off the 101 Freeway in San Rafael), Marni skirts, vintage SM leathers culled from an eclectic assortment of goods at Marc Josef’s locally legendary antiques shop, Tradesmen, and wingtip shoes.

…“People will wear vintage with some D.I.Y. thing they made themselves with some piece that they couldn’t resist in a boutique,” Ms. Grim said. “They’re not afraid to mash things up.”

Because it might be that one innovative, interesting piece from the boutique, something that might have been inspired by vintage, might even have been made from vintage, but definitely didn’t happen prior to this decade… that’s the piece that communicates that subtle status that signals to other members of the targeted tribe that you’re doing well enough, and care enough, for bits of investment dressing.

“It’s a very difficult city to read,” Mr. Lopez said, owing largely to the local distaste for ostentation and hype, a suspicion of anything that requires a high-degree of difficulty to pull off and that people spend a lot of their lives in cars.

“San Francisco is definitely about quiet style,” he said. “People care. They have the clothes, but they wear them in private. They bring in the most amazing stuff for consignment and I’m always thinking, ‘Where did you wear this thing?’ ”

Stealth Wealth indeed.

When Simon Doonan, Creative Director of Barney’s, (one of the handful places where fashion forward designers have access to the rare slice of edgy yet wealthy clientele that can afford their pieces), the extremely influential guy who the rest of the fashion industry knows to pay attention to… when Simon Doonan declares The Death of Trends then it’s a zeitgeist shift worth pondering. There are still going to be shapes and norms that we collectively select (whether you follow them or rebel against them) but I see this as more of a backlash against the accelerated cycle of the spending on disposable clothing hamster wheel and a coalescing around an iconic vocabulary of modernist elements; classics that are tweaked and revised with the times.

photo by Roxanna Lowit for the Jewish Daily Forward

Doonan writes for the Observer:

Fashion is no longer icy and aloof. Fashion is a massive, forgiving, ambiguous melting pot where people and trends can dig in their Lee Press-On nails and hang on for years and years without ever being out.

He goes on to list a few examples:

Uggs. Style pundits may have broadcast their out-ness for years, but last week’s snowy streets were packed with Uggs-sporting fashion plates.

There is a delicious personal irony in this example given that back in 2004 Uggs were cited in a lengthy discussion in Fashion Theory class as an example of trendy for trendy’s sake. Even though this trend might have been initiated by celebrity sitings, (so awesome to slip on between takes on outdoor shoots) could it be that they’ve had staying power because those who bought them discovered they were super comfortable and well made and lasted forever?

Skinny jeans. Despite their supposed out-ness, they have managed to become a fashion staple, especially when tucked into riding boots. Tally ho!

Key term, “Fashion Staple.” So they became ‘in’ a few years ago as the bootcut finally reached mass market saturation, but could it be that one fashion staple was traded in for another? Could it be that people want fashion staples?

Filson clothing, used as an example of 'American Workwear' trend on brand consultancy blog "We Are The Market"

Of course, now that the skinny jean is headed for eventual  mass market saturation, it will eventually go the way of the mom jean (which has been ‘out’ almost long enough to be revived…), so it’s not as if the trend cycle is no longer. But given that ‘fast fashion’ retailing cycles had accelerated to the point of new trends every six weeks, could it be that more and more consumers are weary of this and seeking alternatives?

These alternatives - especially to spending too much - have been found for the past few decades in the ‘indie’ and ‘alternative’ subcultures continued fascination with vintage. As these ‘trends’ arise in the vintage industry about which items are hot and eagerly sought after, it was a natural progression for designers to use said items as inspiration for re-issues.

'Lily et Cie' interior from coolspotters.com

Cintra Wilson’s description of the icy snobbery at Lily et Cie in Beverly Hills, is yet another indicator of how vintage clothing continues to increase in value and status while serving as an iconic vocabulary of 20th century sartorial elements to be continually referenced and recombined by modern designers. The inaccessibility to the masses - in both attitude and price - supports the notion of a new definition of luxury for the 21st century:

As luxury seeks to redefine itself in the wake of the conglomerate takeover pandemic, there is, in certain (rich) circles, an increased demand for swanky vintage couture, the rarity of which essentially guarantees that when you sashay down the red carpet, there is no way in tarnation you will be wearing the same dress as Kim Kardashian.

…Even for a Teflon robo-cobra like me who has spent enough time in high-end establishments to have retail nerves like bridge cables, it’s a little hard to breathe in this joint.

It struck me, after my escape, why Lily et Cie has a half-million pieces: Ms. Watnick isn’t selling her formidable collection so much as hoarding it. One senses that she looks upon this mountain of untouchable fashion as her children and is loath to see any of them go.

Following up an earlier post…

Trendy retailers might be hastily hiding their garbage, but disgruntled former employees continue to expose them to the public relations nightmare as the habit of destroying clearance merchandise rather than mark it down too far or donate it to a ‘less than aspirational’ clientele lights up the blogosphere. Jezebel.com cuts right to the chase about the interface between hyperconsumerism and our current fashion system:

But what the problems boil down to is this: for a very long time, the retail economy in the first world has been flooded with product. Inventory was allowed to outstrip demand, because margins were so high that waste became tolerable. (Consumption was rising anyway, because of easy credit and planned obsolescence.) This is true both of disposable clothing chains whose business model counts on an endless cycle of new stuff, and high-end stores whose end-of-season 60% off “sales” don’t even start to bite into wholesale, anyway. In a worthless economy like that, where products that are understood both by their sellers and their buyers to be fundamentally without value are moved around the world to make some already rich men even richer, epic levels of waste are not even an unintended consequence. They’re a design feature.

And over at Alternet, Liliana Segura features interviews with former Anthropologie employees describing the practice:

I was on stock and we were clearing out a bunch of sale items that hadn’t sold. I asked the manager what I should do with the clothing and she said “destroy it.” Destroy it? I asked. Shouldn’t we donate it? ‘No,’ the manager replied, ‘we are only allowed to donate certain items. Corporate policy is to destroy everything else.’

I didn’t have a choice so I did it. Perfectly good shirts, sweaters and pants got ripped, torn and generally wrecked. It was really depressing! Another associate told me they destroy furniture too — almost everything that doesn’t sell. We couldn’t figure out why. Later on another manager told me that Anthro does it to maintain their brand integrity. They don’t want their brands at discount stores or anywhere that would cheapen the brand. Nothing is too common and they want to keep it that way.

NY Times reporter Jim Dwyer who first exposed the story continues to follow the trail with a story profiling an organization set up to provide retailers a systematic way to donate leftovers to the needy. Those who run the clothing bank offer a lot of insight into their suppliers, in particular the role that our familiar friend, aspiration, plays in the fashion retail game:

The reasons are complex. No business wants to compete with its own garbage, or risk having people show up at a store seeking refunds on clothes that were never sold. “That’s why many retailers will damage unsold garments,” said Luis Jimenez, the director of the Clothing Bank, which is now operated for the city by Peter Young Housing, Industries and Treatment.

Some businesses do not want their goods worn by poor people. Ed Foy, the founder of eFashionSolutions.com, said that brands invest billions of dollars in their images, using models and athletes, which makes them cautious about where donated leftovers might end up. “They want us to see that the people wearing their brands are the people we aspire to be,” said Mr. Foy, a board member of the Clothing Bank. “They want to know, ‘Who’s wearing the clothing and how can that hurt my brand?’ ”

From the outset, the Clothing Bank tried to address the business concerns, Mr. Jimenez said. The warehouse is secure, lowering the chances that the donated clothes would be stolen and resold; only not-for-profit groups receive the distributions, so that, for example, no individual can collect a pallet full of Dress Barn merchandise. Donations are tax-deductible. If a donor wants labels removed, they are cut out by volunteers, including inmates on work release from the Lincoln Correctional Facility in Harlem.

But even that isn’t enough for many brand managers, the luxury ones in particular. Dwyer continues his coverage:

New York City officials destroyed tons of new, unworn clothing and footwear last year that had been seized in raids on counterfeit label operations, abandoning a practice of giving knockoff garments to groups that help the needy.

…

A spokesman for the Police Department said that no one asked for the knockoffs in 2009 — an explanation that was bewildering to the operators of the clothing bank, who run a warehouse that supplies clothing to needy New Yorkers. They said they had made many requests.

“It would be hard to justify taking a truckload of perfectly good clothes and incinerating them, but that’s what’s happening,” said William Montana, a commercial real estate adviser who is on the board of the clothing bank. “The people who had control over giving us that stuff had been really good to us. Now the pipeline has dried up.

…
Many major fashion brands have their headquarters in New York City, and Mr. Bloomberg has made prosecution of trademark infringement a priority for his administration. The companies also take actions in civil court against the pirates, an expensive process, to protect the designers’ names.

“These are people who spend hundreds of thousands of dollars, some of them millions, to get counterfeit goods off the street,” said Robert Tucker, a lawyer with the firm of Tucker and Lafiti, whose fashion clients include Chrome Hearts, Steve Madden, Zac Posen and Ed Hardy. “Everyone wants to feed and clothe the homeless. But how are you going to spend all this money and then put it back on the street?”

From the outset, the Clothing Bank tried to address the business concerns, Mr. Jimenez said. The warehouse is secure, lowering the chances that the donated clothes would be stolen and resold; only not-for-profit groups receive the distributions, so that, for example, no individual can collect a pallet full of Dress Barn merchandise. Donations are tax-deductible. If a donor wants labels removed, they are cut out by volunteers, including inmates on work release from the Lincoln Correctional Facility in Harlem.

At the Buffalo Exchange buying counter (image pulled from exploringberkeley.wordpress.com)

I dug up a fantastic article by Reyhan Harmanci for the San Francisco Chronicle, Rag Trade: Cashing in on Vintage, or Just Old, Clothes. The article is written in 2005, but from what I’ve observed personally, here in Austin, the practice of professional pickers selling to BX (Buffalo Exchange) has only grown:

The opportunity to convert used clothing into cash has created a new job: professional seller. Known as “pickers,” professional sellers can be a blessing or a curse to a store, depending on their approach to their line of work and the store’s reliance on their goods. The push and pull at the buy counter between the buyer and seller can be contentious; at its best, it’s a symbiotic relationship, based on a singular love of fashion.

At its worst, it’s a parasitic situation, in which the picker leeches off the store, preying on inexperienced buyers or dealing in stolen merchandise. Buyers, too, can sour the deal by rejecting good clothing to spite the seller or copping an attitude that, as Mascola says, “makes you feel like you’re going to see your social worker.”

Again with the judgement/shame issue I’m mentioned in other BX posts. But where do these professional sellers find enough clothes worthy to pass the knowing eyes of the buyers… and still turn a profit?

Through a friend, he heard that the place to go to was As Is, a nickname for the giant Goodwill on Van Ness and Market streets that wheels out bins of newly donated clothing every morning. “I started to get clued in, looking around at what was current, started reading fashion magazines for inspiration.

“Now I treat it like an art form,” he says, without a smile. Although Mascola has sold clothing at least once a week for six years, it’s never been a full-time job. “The profit margin is too thin; it would be too hard,” he says. “It’s more like a hobby.” He does allow that selling clothes beefs up his income from his retail job in the Castro.

from textile_fetish photostream on flickr

The Austin version of the ‘As Is’ in San Francisco? The Blue Hangar. There, I’ve said it. The secret is out in the open, and surely I’ve made an enemy or two. And the only reason I’m revealing this juicy little secret (that’s sort of out and about with the insiders, anyways) is because my day job prevents me from regular digs and pays me enough to just go buy the stuff for a higher price all pre-picked and sized at BX anyways.

The Blue Hangar on Springdale is supposedly where the clothes that have been sitting unsold on the racks for over three weeks at the regular Goodwills go to be tossed in piles on giant tables and sold for $1.25 a piece. They clear the tables and replace with fresh stock once, sometimes twice, a day and at that point the still unsold goods are compacted into bales and sold as such, often to third world countries. But a few years ago on one particularly stellar run, I quizzed the employee checking me out about the sources and she told me that often when the Goodwill stores were full and they were getting more donations than the stores could process, they’ll send the overflow straight to the Blue Hanger, unsorted. Ah ha! I knew the things that I found wouldn’t have lasted three weeks in the Goodwill store. So folks, right at the end of the month when everyone is moving and ditching stuff is THE time to hit the Blue Hanger.

I’ve shopped there for years, and during my last unemployment stint I’d go and load up with a combination of items for myself… and items to sell at BX. It’s super tricky, because you really have to know what those buyers want. I was pretty much able to break even and cover my costs of the whole run, but then again I took BX credit not cash. I was still out a wee bit of cash overall, but got to shop at BX basically for the cost of my time. I’d occasionally see BX employees there digging, too, but my costumer friend who’s there all the time has said that recently its intensified. And on a recent BX sell, I got into a conversation with a buyer who told me about a friend who was supporting her live music/drinking habit through selling finds from the Blue Hanger to BX.

Which brings up an accusation I’ve heard many times that BX employees favor their friends, or friends of friends, or ‘cool people’ when buying. (more…)

How did we live before Google? A blog search turned up this fabulous insider post from Indiana Adams of Adored Austin: Indiana worked at Buffalo Exchange (heretofore abbreviated as ‘BX’) as a buyer, so she knows of what she speaks. It’s so good I’m going to block quote most of it:

I’ll admit that selling your clothes to Buffalo Exchange can be a little bit daunting. The worst is when you go in with several trash bags full of clothes and the buyer maybe buys the one thing that you threw in there as a joke and then passes on all your really awesome stuff that you thought for sure they’d offer you a billion dollars for. Then you have to do the walk of shame to your car with your bags still full!

Indiana Adams sports an outfit on her blog, 'Adored Austin'

Kids, you’re not alone in that walk of shame. Remember, this is coming from a buyer.

Believe me, this happens way more often than not, but it’s not because they crazy fashionista behind the counter hates your guts and despises your personal style. If they’re passing on things that you think they should have bought, here’s some reasons why:
1. They may already have a lot of what you’re selling in the store.
2. The store could be really, really full so they’ve been instructed to be incredibly selective until the racks empty up a bit.
3. The items you’re selling may not be in season, yet.

Since I’ve never been afraid to strike up a friendly, non-defensive chat with the buyers du jour, I’ve heard them tell me (and others) much of the same thing. And a little personal observation? Even though it’s not supposed to matter which buyer you get and they do a whole lot of second opinions with each other… it totally matters which buyer you get. The fashion eye is a subjective thing. period.

Before I worked there, it was hard to sell there. For me, my clothes are an extension of who I am. If they didn’t buy my clothes, that means they didn’t like my clothes, and that means that they don’t like the way I dress, and that means they don’t like me, and that means I should just go eat worms and cry in a corner.

Exactly. So well put, Indiana. This is why my friends who’ve felt the sting of the walk of shame can get forever soured. But to their credit, I noticed that a few years ago when I returned to Austin after a few years away at grad school, the buyers were now making a deliberate effort to be nice and kind, even if there was sometimes a bit of strain, kinda like a waitress voice. (I don’t blame them one bit, I’ve been a waitress…)

But after I worked there, I found out that there’s just so much more to it than that. And besides, there’s no reason to be embarrassed if the buyer doesn’t buy your stuff. One time a dude came in with (this is not a joke!) two trash bags full of jock straps and sweat socks. Those are the kind of people who should be embarrassed. I mean, really. What in the world was he doing with so many jock straps? And why in the world did he think I’d be able to resell them at Buffalo Exchange? Um, gross.

Really? Wow. Someone buy those kids and industrial strength mega bottle of Purell, please!

Austin Buffalo Exchange

This will be the first post in a series exploring both the behind the scenes mechanics as well as cultural implications of the buying process at Buffalo Exchange. I’ll also be repeatedly stating, for the record, that if you give me $100 to spend on clothing in one store in Austin, it would be Buffalo Exchange - it’s my favorite place to shop and I always consider it a triumph to trade in as much - or even more - than I spend on merchandise. I have, as such, always harbored a keen fascination for the buying process - both from the perspective of a seller as well as an armchair urban fashion anthropologist.

Today I’m going to highlight some excerpts from a Time Magazine article I dug up from a couple of years ago that articulates the psychology of seller’s anxiety. Anita Hamilton writes in The New Trend of Used Clothes:

Viki Stevenson stands behind the counter, passing fashion judgment.

With the rare exception of those fashionistas who’s entire bag gets bought, anyone who’s ever sold to ‘The Buffy’ knows this feeling. And speak with anyone who’s had their entire bag (or the vast majority of it) rejected and they might just go off on a tirade somewhat similar in tone to telling the story of being rejected at a party by someone you were trying to chat up. People take it personally; I know I have, even though I understand that they have a business imperative to buy what they know will sell. Still, it is a judgement of one’s taste - do you have so many fabulous clothes that the ones you’re tired of still maintain cash value? Or are your cast offs long since out of fashion or even worse, never in style to begin with.

It can provoke all those junior high anxieties of being judged and teased by ‘the cool kids’, even if you supposedly didn’t care what they had to say.

This quickening cycle of fashion lets secondhand stores be pickier than ever. Unlike nonprofits such as Goodwill and the Salvation Army, which accept most donations, the fast-fashion resale shops typically buy only about 5% of the apparel that people bring into the store. It can be a humbling experience for a novice seller, who may find herself leaving the shop with the same bag of castoffs that she walked in with.

Only 5%? I had no idea, I’d love to find out more details on that statistic. Now I don’t feel as bad when they only take about a third of what I bring in.

And it also speaks to the fact that even though recycling is the eco thing to do, most of the clothes hanging on the racks *new* don’t have enough fashion mojo to hold their value and make it through the gatekeepers to have a second life… that someone will pay for. To those who are feeling the sting of rejection, think about this - if Buffalo Exchange took most of what people brought in, it would look a heck of a lot like Goodwill.

The rise of fast fashion, which uses a speeded-up production cycle to rush designer-inspired clothes to moderately priced retailers like Zara and H&M, has breathed new life into secondhand stores like Buffalo Exchange by boosting their supply of barely worn apparel. “H&M is our bread and butter,” says Stevenson, 27, as she flips through a carousel of blouses from H&M, American Apparel, Benetton and the Gap with prices ranging from $7.50 to $14 apiece.

Since more shoppers are loading up on cheap chic every few weeks instead of purchasing a few higher-priced basics once every few months, they’re less sentimental about quickly unloading them to help finance the next round.

But what happens when people stop buying as much fast fashion? I love recycling, don’t get me wrong, but ever since my first thrift forays 2 decades ago I’ve been keenly aware that my opportunities as such - to recycle but still be fashionable - are entirely dependent on others excessive consumerism. As soon as that starts to dip, it’s going to be a lot more competitive - and expensive to find the finds.

Coinciding with the revival of swing dancing over a decade ago, there has been a continual stream of articles alerting us to the popularity of vintage clothing in contemporary fashion. Unlike trends that disappear in a season or two, the interest in and demand for quality vintage has only increased. Given the fact that there is an absolutely finite supply of clothing made in 1955 (or any other year), it was inevitable that archival remakes would appear on the scene.

House of Vionnet 2007

The fashion industry right now seems poised in a moment of cognitive dissonance - watching the hype machine formula that served them so well contract and crumble around them, nervous about committing to a new direction while knowing that their survival depends on it. While there are no doubt many independent designers who relish striking forward into new visions for 21st century, the business machinery who back the vast majority of manufacturing and distribution are groping for a sure thing.

In her article for the Financial Times, Nicola Copping explains “fashion’s love affair with reinventing its own past:”

“The demand for archive pieces is huge in the fashion market,” says Jean Bousquet, managing director of Cacharel, which launched a vintage collection, in collaboration with Liberty, to celebrate its 50th anniversary in April. “We are arriving at the end of a fashion cycle; there has been nothing very new for a long time and a general tiredness has been established. The comeback of vintage testifies to a passion for the renewal of the past. We look at past successes to create the new. We might do several more archive collections in the future.”

It seems contradictory that the antidote to tiredness and lack of newness would be to remake old pieces rather than innovate new ways of dressing. But perhaps the sameness and monotony lamented refers more to what’s hanging on the racks in the mall right now - hundreds of thousands of similar versions of the same WGSN trend dictated pattern blocks. Against that backdrop, an dress from the fifties seems intricate and novel by comparison. Not to mention nostalgic:

“With all the recent concerns in the economy, people are feeling a bit nostalgic; they are looking to brands they can trust, who have a significant heritage and who offer great quality and value,” says Sir Stuart Rose, executive chairman of M&S…After all, when the future is uncertain, why not rely on the stability of the past?

It makes me wonder, though, how this demand for archival quality vintage remakes fits in with Cathy Horyn and Simon Doonan’s observations I quoted in an earlier post:

“It’s impossible to think of something you can drag out from the land of naffness and make cool,” Mr. Doonan said, referring to the process by which banal or out-of-date styles are brought back and, after much analysis and decoding and finally brand approval, become fashionable. He offered up the drop-waist denim dress, a wholesome style from the ’80s, saying it was rife with ironic potential.

I laughed. That was really scraping the bottom of the barrel.

When the term ‘vintage’ has reached the point where it is applied to intricately tailored designer suits from the forties and the pilled rayon floral drop yoked dresses from the early nineties all over the racks of ‘vintage’ stores on South Congress alike, it’s time to dig deeper and get more specific.

At which point I venture into subjective commentary that threatens to reveal the inner old lady I’m cultivating, who’s ever so sure that things were much better in her day… (more…)

Over the past two decades as thrifting has lost it’s stigma and vintage has gained in popularity and acceptance, the demand for used clothing has increased. Trouble is, while the volume of discarded apparel has mushroomed, the percentage of desirable or even usable garments have dropped dramatically in a direct correspondence with the overall decline in quality standards of manufacture.

While everyone likes to feel good about clearing their closets of clutter, the sanctimonious eco green feeling one gets by donating the detritus of fast fashion trend-wear is fast becoming more myth than reality. Turns out we’re buying more junk than ever, and very little of it is worthy of a second life. (And I’d argue, precious little of it worthy of being manufactured in the first place.) In an earlier post I discussed how the change in the simple supply/demand equation of thrift shopping is leading to a spike in prices. I’ve seen this personally in just the past few weeks when I went into sticker shock in two thrift stores in town that, I kid you not, have doubled or tripled their prices. $8 for screen printed fitted tees that came from generic mall stores in the first place? I can get them on sale NEW for that.

The following figures are for the UK, but I imagine the trend is similar in the US. Hannah Fletcher writes for the Times UK, Disposable fashion: for sale, hardly worn, two million tonnes of clothes

In the past five years, with the rise of “value retailers” such as Primark, H&M and TK Maxx, and supermarket fashion ranges, the price of clothing in the UK has plummeted by up to 25 per cent. At the same time, the amount of clothes we buy has increased by almost 40 per cent to more than two million tonnes a year.

That’s right, more stuff for less money! Two million tons in the UK alone!

textiles have become the fastest-growing waste product in the UK. About 74 per cent of those two million tonnes of clothes we buy each year end up in landfills, rotting slowly (or not at all) in a mass of polyester, viscose and acrylic blends.

74% in the landfill. And only a fraction of what doesn’t end up in landfills actually makes it to those used clothing shops, here or anywhere else.

A negligible 1.7 per cent of our annual clothing purchases will end up being sold second-hand in Britain, and on average charity shop sales account for just 10 per cent of a charity’s income.

“The rise of discount clothing and a culture of discarding have led to a clear reduction in the quality of many donated textiles,” says David Moir of the Association of Charity Shops. “This has put some pressure on donated stock for sale.”

“We have noticed more and more cheap clothes coming in but we can’t sell them in the shops,” agrees Rob McNeill, a spokesman for Oxfam. “Who would buy a second-hand Primark T-shirt for a quid when there’s a Primark down the road selling them new and probably cheaper? We can’t compete.”

Instead, Oxfam sends the clothes up to its recycling centre, Wastesaver, in Huddersfield, West Yorkshire, where a team of 45 women sorts through 120 tonnes a week. Their manager, Tony Clarke, says that their weekly record is 160 tonnes: “We’re pushing for 24-hour sorting lines. We get more than we can possibly process.”

And as the percentage of usable, valuable clothing from this donation stream decreases, it becomes less and less viable to even sort through it:

The Salvation Army Trading Company, an arm of the charity that deals solely in second-hand clothing exports, operates almost a third of the textile banks in the UK and collects some 75 million items - 34,000 tonnes - of clothing a year. All this is sent to Eastern Europe. None of it is sorted.

The most positive ecological impact in the apparel industry is the only one they refuse to entertain: just buy less stuff. This is completely ant ethical to their business models, and we’re seeing evidence of this in blinding technicolor as the financial meltdown has caused a contraction in consumption and the fashion industry is imploding.

“I had a wonderful e-mail from an American supermodel,” says Dr Julian Allwood, a lecturer at the Institute of Manufacturing and co-ordinator of the Institute’s Sustainable Manufacturing Group. “As a British male academic, it was the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.”

She offered to fly him to New York to discuss what could be done about sustainable clothing. After much soul-searching he declined the offer and advised her, instead, simply to stop changing her clothes.

We need new role models. As much as I cringe at how much fashion consumption is influenced by celebrities, it’s a reality.

“Female celebrities need to demonstrate that it’s possible to be happy while wearing the same thing,” he says. “It’s where we were 20 years ago. Lives weren’t ruined by lack of clothes. It’s a habit that we could break.

“If we spent exactly double the amount of money on each garment and bought exactly half as many garments, nobody would be impoverished by that.”

Except, of course, the vast network of retailers and mall property owners who are dropping like flies.

While the predictions for most apparel retailers slide from grim to gruesome, sales of secondhand clothes - from cheap thrift to exclusive designer vintage - are surging. Emili Vesilind writes about the secondhand scene in LA. From Secondhand clothes, with sales rising, are the new scaled-back chic:

Small boutiques are folding (Trillionaire, Twenty Two Shoes and Diabless recently called it quits in Los Angeles) and department stores are grappling with sluggish sales, but thrift, resale and vintage stores are bursting with customers and intriguing merchandise.

Retailers report that profits are through the roof. Sales at Decadestwo are up 45% from last summer, said co-owner Christos Garkinos.

Balenciaga dress featured on DecadesTwo blog

Michelle Webb, co-owner of the Catwalk boutique, which sells secondhand and vintage designer fashion (some of it on consignment), said her shop had also seen an increase in sales and that the merchandise filtering in was getting “more interesting. And there’s been an increase in people calling to consign or sell their heirlooms.”

Could it be that L.A.’s affluent are finally feeling the pinch? “I think the economy is affecting everyone,” Garkinos said. But just as likely, it’s “closet guilt” — the uneasy feeling that there is such a thing as owning too many pairs of Christian Louboutin stilettos. “We have the most well-heeled clientele in the world,” Garkinos said. “They’re taking a look in their closets and saying, ‘I don’t need all this stuff.’ “

LA fashionistas walking into their closets and experiencing pangs of eco-consumer guilt? I’m skeptical on that one. I think the more likely scenario might be buyer’s remorse, the inability to afford yet another California Closets expansion, or could it be that a few of this gals are facing a move out of a mansion?

This increase in supply in LA is a contrast to what I noted in a previous post about the donation supply going down nationwide. But perhaps LA’s well-heeled clientele isn’t simply donating these items to the Salvation Army as they might have done in the past, but word has spread about the ability to cash in via consignment. What will be interesting to see is what happens over time; if this same clientele is buying fewer new things now, and the closet purge has already happened, then will the supply stream start to taper off? (more…)