Dear Anxiety: How do I stop getting sucked into fast fashion and social media?

Hi there, welcome to the very first column in our new series, Dear Anxiety, where we answer your questions and, well, anxieties. 

We always knew we wanted to write a series like this (and become your favourite agony aunts), and reading the hundreds of responses to our launch survey showed that many of you have a lot of the same worries. 

You’re wondering how to make a small budget work when you’re avoiding fast fashion. You want to know how to support garment workers who’re being exploited. You want to understand what fast fashion actually means and just how we ended up here. 

And while there might not always be a simple solution, there is power in understanding how the system works, what the potential solutions are, and what (or who) is standing in the way. That’s what we’re here for.

Got a question? No topic is off limits. No question is “silly” or too small. And Founding Members are guaranteed a response.

This week, Amy answers a reader’s question on how to resist fast fashion and social media’s constant push to consume. 

Thanks for reading,

Amy and JD

Q: How do I stop getting sucked into the “your clothes aren't good enough, you need a new this-and-that to appear current” thoughts when I browse social media? As much as social media sucks in many ways, I do adore it for the fun distraction (and also education!) I get. I just hate falling into these traps sometimes. Do I really need Frye campus boots? Do I really need a new trench coat? Am I lame because I don't own horseshoe pants? I wish I could turn off the ads. I thrift often and try to thrift whenever I need a new outfit for work or an event, but it's a mental battle to not feel inadequate when fast fashion ads are constantly assaulting my eyeballs.

A: Don’t feel bad about getting sucked in. Fast fashion and social media are machines that use behavioural psychology to keep us consuming. They drive the hunger for more even when we think we’ve had enough. 

More than a decade after working in fast fashion retail, I’m still rewiring my own brain, because even when you can see all the industry’s problems up close, buying the cool thing can still be hard to resist.

I worked on the shop floor in Forever 21 to support myself during university. The brand has long been known for the abundant trend stories or “personas” that products were categorised into in its stores. With names like Lace After Dark, Punk Princess, Plaid and Poetry, they were the precursors to TikTok’s Coastal Grandmother and Mob Wife microtrends, and all had to be memorised according to greyscale Powerpoint printouts filled with Tumblr imagery. They changed seasonally but were updated with constant new arrivals wrapped in clouds of plastic that smelled of chemicals.