What fashion trends define the last five years? Too many to count. Journalist Sarah Gill takes a look at how our short attention spans and fixation on micro-trends is fuelling the fast fashion industry.
The infinite scroll through inexhaustible content is - shockingly - catching up with us. According to a recent study from Microsoft, our attention spans have dropped by nearly 25% in the past few years to a meager eight seconds... What was my point again?
From shorter seasons of our favourite TV shows to viral internet memes passing by in the blink of an eye, the importance of longevity has become a thing of the past. While social media and technology in general are the crux of the problem, TikTok's short-form videos somehow manage to make three minutes feel like a lifetime.
As we speed through the life cycle of just about everything, an ultra rapid, faster fast fashion has emerged. Way back before our algorithms informed our opinions, style trends came to fruition through careful curation and would last close to a decade.
Catwalk shows, red carpet events and pristine magazine spreads ensured that certain styles remained synonymous with certain eras. We’ve moved beyond the neatly divided seasons of spring/summer and autumn/winter to a world of microtrends that come and go within a week.
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From sponsored posts to more covert advertisements, our feeds are filled with new products to buy and more trends to get behind every time we pick up our phones. A crystal clear real life example of what psychologists call the 'mere-exposure effect’, we naturally begin to prefer what we see most often.
What may sound simple takes on a more sinister quality when what we’re being constantly fed is copious amounts of unethical, unsustainable clothing that have not been made to last. On TikTok, #SheinHaul has 3.7 billion views and counting.
Videos showing anything from €200 to €2,000 worth of clothes being poured out of boxes assault the senses, and in a society that has become all too aware of the impact our shopping habits have on the planet, feels a little tone deaf.
On YouTube, the glamourisation of overconsumption runs rampant under the Buying My Dream Wardrobe trend, which sees creators bounce between various online stores, filling their cart and checking out in a frenzy of excitement without a second thought. Once the urge to shop has been satiated and their parcels are delivered, these trend-led purchases have already grown stale.
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Take the infamous House of Sunny Hockney dress as an archetype of micro-trends. Worn by Kendall Jenner in the summer of 2020, the London based, ethically-minded company's design sold out overnight. With hoards of eager consumers reticent to wait for a restock and eager to partake in the moment, dupes and knock-offs sprung up instantly.
Heralding the rise and fall of avant basic, this micro-trend now lives in the back of many wardrobes, on rails at charity shops or is hurtling towards landfill. By the time card details were processed, orders were shipped and packages were delivered, this swirl printed knit dress had become old news.
Let’s say it how it is; buying things feels nice. When we make a new purchase, our brains release endorphins and dopamine and we feel a pleasant rush of excitement in our chests. You might even be inclined to do a little dance. For many, it affords a sense of control - I got myself the thing that I wanted and it feels like a personal achievement. There’s a reason they call it retail therapy!
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While that same sensation can be unlocked by a second-hand or sustainably made alternative, the assumption that everyone has this option comes from a place of privilege. Vilifying those who shop fast fashion out of necessity is counter-productive, and to think that the second largest polluter on earth survives on low income, plus sized individuals who find second-hand shopping inaccessible is severely Missguided (pardon the pun).
So, why do we insist on using these people as scapegoats for a societal resistance to foregoing yet another haul? The act of buying a once-off piece of ethically dubious fashion every now and then is not in itself inherently bad, but the culture surrounding it has become insidious.
Our clothing choices are largely prescribed to us by what we see in the world around us, which has been majorly infiltrated by influencers. Swiping through stories or scrolling through grids, you’ll see sponsored content, affiliate links and gifted content aplenty.
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Posting #OOTDs, burning through weekly trends and promoting fast fashion to the masses only serves to glorify overconsumption and has a direct impact on the planet. As we buy more, use per item decreases and suddenly the clothes on our hangers become nothing more than place-holders for the next must-have piece.
The fact of the matter is that what’s considered fashionable is entirely subjective. One woman’s jeans and a nice top is another woman’s last resort. A hierarchy of style and the presence of shame were injected into who wore what with the sumptuary laws of the Middle Ages, which legislated dressing according to class ranking. Luxuries for the wealthy, rags for the poor.
With colour-coded rails of trendy clothing neatly arranged on the shop floor and thousands of new styles landing online daily, it’s easy to get bogged down in nihilism and chalk it all down to the 1%.
Sure, you can say "there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism", but taking part in collective action towards a common good feels a whole lot better than climate guilt, buyer’s remorse and judgemental glares from your postman.
The views expressed here are those of the author and do not represent or reflect the views of RTÉ.
