Broke With Expensive Taste
Illustration by Megan Zhang
The desire to form an original identity is not unique to only me. Rather, most, if not all, humans desire self-expression and individuality, and some way to express it. For me, fashion has served as an outlet throughout my adolescence and early adulthood as a way to express myself as outwardly as possible. In the beginning, it was primarily my mom who bought and picked out my outfits. I was much more “girly” as a child than I am now; wearing copious amounts of pink dresses and bows, with my hair braided, reflected a lot of my early fashion. Entering middle school, I reached for sweatpants and graphic tees from Bluenotes–the ones I now use to sleep in–still asking for my mom’s permission to buy. When high school rolled around, I wanted more control over what I bought and what I wore without having to ask my mom to do it for me. The first purchase that marked this transition was a pair of Doc Marten loafers I bought with my first ever paycheque. I remember trying them on in the store, walking endless laps, and staring at my reflection to make sure I was certain of buying them. It’s been 5 years and I still reach for them for fancy dinners.
Perhaps the most fun way to explore my fashion sense is through Pinterest. I’ve pinned all sorts of different clothing items, trends, celebrity outfit inspiration, movie stills, and more in an attempt to find my own individuality. While attempting to develop the style I’ve curated for myself into real life, I’ve had to come face to face with the reality of actually purchasing clothes, rather than saving them on a digital board. It’s a deeply humbling experience to finally find the website that sells your dream leather jacket, only to discover it costs roughly double my rent. I don't think it’s completely unreasonable for ethically sourced and handmade garments to cost as much, but at the same time, I would like it if they could drop at least one digit. I’ve had to let go of the idea that owning a nice leather jacket is worth spending multiple paycheques for. Almost.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, companies like SHEIN and Temu often provide startlingly accurate alternatives to the Pinterest-able clothing for much less. However, behind the $10 price listing lies cheap quality and unethical manufacturing processes, making it even more undesirable for me to buy something that might look great for a bit but will inevitably deteriorate and degrade over time. I am slightly ashamed to admit I have more than a few Zara sweaters I thought were cute 6 years ago, that are now collecting dust at the bottom of my closet. One particular purple and green yin-yang sweater I swore to myself was going to last me until university was only worn once before I neatly tucked it away into a pile of sweaters in my “donate” pile. Despite this, there are a few denim shorts I wear routinely every summer that I don’t think any other store can replicate. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.
Maybe my favourite way to build my closet is through thrift and vintage stores. I’ll spend upwards of an hour rummaging through dusty clothing racks until my eyes water, trying to find anything that stands out. Sometimes it feels like a toss of the dice to see if you’ll find something you’ll actually like, or if you’ll end up going home with something you realize is ugly 3 days later (namely a scratchy wool sweater I told myself I was going to wear all winter). I’ve been lucky enough to score a few t-shirts in my daily rotation, as well as a navy blue sweater I snagged for under $15 that I can’t help but wear everywhere. Thrifting isn’t perfect though; I still find plenty of fast fashion trends on the racks, overpriced tank tops, and jeans that could never possibly fit me. But my current favourite purchase is a jean jacket from a secondhand store. There’s a stain that won’t wash out and a hole I accidentally ripped in the sleeve, but no other article of clothing feels more me than that jacket does.
Maybe there just isn’t a perfect place to find clothes. Maybe we’re all just scavengers, getting lucky enough to find something in one place one day, and another place a different day. At the very least, the slow-moving process of building out my sense of style means I have to be more reflective of what I actually like, and not just the trends that are fed to me. If my own identity doesn’t evolve that fast, why do my clothes have to?
