Worn Once, Worth More: The New Value of Vintage
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There was a time when secondhand clothes were synonymous with necessity, a rite of passage for broke college students, punks, or your aunt who swore she found her leather jacket for $5 in 1987. Today, thrifting is no longer just about sustainability or scrappiness; it’s a lifestyle aesthetic, a badge of curated authenticity, and increasingly, a big business.
Thanks to resale platforms like Depop, Poshmark, and The RealReal, secondhand fashion has become aspirational. Not only is it more environmentally responsible, but it's also seen as exclusive, one-of-a-kind, and impossibly “cool.” The result? A booming resale economy where that “worn once” top can now be worth more socially and economically than it was when new.
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Apps like Depop have transformed the way people shop. These platforms offer more than just a place to buy vintage clothes. They work like social media, with followers, likes, and curated storefronts. The best sellers don't just thrift; they brand themselves. Their shops are mood boards, their drops are events.
This new wave of vintage resale can be seen as a rebellion against fast fashion, with people choosing to buy secondhand rather than contribute to mass production. However, inflated prices and exclusive sales have made thrift culture something nearly unattainable, completely defeating the purpose of thrifting in the first place.
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While sustainability is a significant plus for secondhand fashion, reality is a little murkier. Many sellers now buy in bulk from thrift stores or wholesalers, driving up local thrift prices and reducing access for lower-income shoppers. On platforms like Depop, it’s not unusual to find a Y2K “vintage” tank top originally bought from Shein being sold for three times the price.
This raises an important question: Is secondhand still ethical when repackaged as luxury?
Enter the influencers. Most recently, celebrities and content creators have shown off their “thrifted” Coachella looks or #vintagefinds, profiting on sustainability while wearing pieces sourced by a team of stylists from high-end vintage dealers. Their feeds are filled with throwback tees and upcycled denim, but they rarely show the hours of digging or the reality of thrift store pricing.
Take one scroll through Coachella posts and you’ll see the power of curated vintage. Celebrities aren’t just wearing vintage; they’re styling vintage. Think: archival Jean Paul Gaultier paired with cowboy boots from a Los Angeles resale boutique, or a crochet set labeled “boho,” and all of it was pulled from a PR showroom.
It creates a disconnect, where “ethical fashion” becomes performative, taken over by the same forces it was trying to resist.
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Coachella has become a showcase for the hyper-curated thrifted aesthetic that only the most well-connected can ever access. What was once a music festival now doubles as a runway for resale-fueled influencer culture, polished, posed, and anything but spontaneous.
The good news is that interest in secondhand fashion is unlikely to fade. We are more conscious than ever about the environmental toll of the fashion industry. But as vintage becomes more commercialized and stylized, buyers and sellers may need to deal with what they’re really part of: resistance, reinvention, or repackaging.
If the current moment tells us anything, secondhand fashion is no longer just an alternative; it’s a statement. Whether worn once or worn out, vintage today is worth more than just what’s on the price tag.
Strike Out,
Writer: Daniela Mendoza
Editor: Layne Schulte
Tallahassee