Apparently, there are two types of buyer: sweatshop-conscious, eco-conscious (and rich) people who buy expensive, durable, long-lasting clothes, and evil people who go to Primark and get a fresh pair of joggers every Saturday.
And then there’s me. I have an enviable wardrobe of fast fashion with all the design cues of… not this season, not last year, but five (make that ten) years ago.
Collezione Nat Handy, Edition 2021
You have to go back to about the 1950s to find references in literature to Westerners in threadbare clothing – patched-up suits and reshod shoes. But it’s amazing how much of my clothing literally falls apart around my ears.
Maybe I’m just not very good at shopping? Maybe I’m hopelessly lazy? Maybe, even, I’m an eco fashion warrior who thinks ‘Damn, if those sweatshops are going to exist, let’s make the most of every thread!’
Don’t get me wrong, I’m so vain
Carly Simon wrote that song about me. I would, like most people, happily have a fresh wardrobe with every season, sporting all the latest thrills. And I would happily have it all handmade by my own personal tailor.
Trouble is, I don’t. Instead, I buy really very reasonably priced togs and never throw them away. ‘Still perfectly serviceable’ is my motto until one morning my wife points out that you can actually see my arse. Seriously. Clear as day.
By which time we have bypassed the charity shop entirely and find ourselves with, at best, old fabric for recycling. But in the case of many a pant, even that is not worth it. There simply isn’t enough material left to dress an earthworm.
Talking of fashion, why are clothes always about the USA?
