The closet is a mirror.
Not the clean, Pinterest-perfect capsule wardrobe kind of mirror. I mean the kind that actually reflects you and your choices, your habits, your contradictions. The kind that makes you wince a little before you look away.
While studying for my Master’s at London College of Fashion, I chose to explore overconsumption, not just as a buzzword or industry sin, but as a deeply personal, culturally embedded practice. As scholar Tansy E. Hoskins writes, “Overconsumption is not just a matter of individual choice, it’s systemic, it’s marketed, and it’s rewarded” (Hoskins, 2014). Similarly, Celine Semaan in Overdressed describes fashion’s excess as a “compulsion more than a choice, a cycle of buying to feel good and discarding to feel new.”
And as I started to dig deeper into this cycle, one uncomfortable truth kept staring back at me: if I was going to critique overconsumption, I had to confront myself first.
So, I turned the lens around on my own wardrobe.
My generation…hello Millennials 👋🏾and yes, Gen Z, are often painted in extremes: either the villains of fast fashion or the heroes of sustainability. But mostly, we’re just people. People who buy. People who forget. People who discard and repeat.
And that’s where I began.
My Wardrobe Audit: A Deep Dive
So, I audited my wardrobe. Not the whole thing, as I still have clothes in storage, pyjamas, and the usual “I’ll deal with that later” drawer, but besides the clothes I barely wear, I was left with a solid, eye-opening chunk. Think outerwear, everyday wear, all the visible evidence of past shopping sprees, impulse buys, and identity experiments.
Inspired by Kate Fletcher’s Opening up the Wardrobe, I used a method rooted in autoethnography. A research approach where your lived experience becomes the case study. I catalogued 294 items, noting their size, material, wear frequency, associated memories, and place of manufacture, among other details, all of which were recorded in a spreadsheet.
It felt like peeling back the layers of my own consumer self. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t pretty.
“Fast fashion isn’t just about brands moving fast. It’s about us moving fast through clothes, feelings, and attention spans.”
The Numbers Don’t Lie (but They Do Judge)
Here’s the uncomfortable data:
- 294 items total (excluding storage + loungewear).
- 58.56% of items contain polyester (including blends).
- 112 items worn fewer than five times.
- 25 never worn at all.
- Only 76 items worn more than 20 times.
And those sustainable wardrobe benchmarks? According to Dylis Williams, director of the Centre for Sustainable Fashion, a sustainable wardrobe should contain around 74 pieces and 20 outfits. Yeah… I’m over that. By triple.
The Second Skin
I decided to group together all the clothes I’d call my “second skin” the pieces I never get tired of wearing, the ones I reach for without thinking. Clothes I could wear again and again and still feel like myself.
Seeing them all in one place was unexpectedly emotional. There was joy. Relief. A deep sense of recognition. These are the clothes that feel like me. No performance, no pretence. Just me, in fabric form.
What struck me first was the colour palette. Similar shades echoed across pieces, like visual breadcrumbs pointing back to my style DNA. There were only 21 items in this collection, but they held more emotional weight than the other 273 combined.
I felt excitement building as I imagined all the outfits I could create from just these pieces. According to Dylis Williams, a sustainable wardrobe can consist of around 74 garments and 20 outfits. That means, even starting with my 21-item skin collection, I have room to grow, intentionally, mindfully. Not impulsively.
What really hit home was how rarely I actually wear some of these favourite pieces. I save them for “good” days or special moments, when in reality, these are the pieces I should be wearing every day. This is me, why hide that?
When I compared this to my occasionwear… the trend-chasing, barely-worn pieces bought for weddings, parties, or big nights out, the difference was glaring. Those clothes felt performative, disconnected. My skin collection felt rooted.
There’s a bigger story here. It’s not just about fashion or function. It’s about identity, memory, pressure, and how we perform ourselves through clothes.
Renting occasionwear now makes total sense. I don’t need to own those roles anymore. I just need to live in my skin. Every day.
What I Learned (and Unlearned)
Doing this audit broke something open in me. It was emotional. As each item came out, I felt overwhelmed. “How did I even get here?” was a question that hung in the air, along with the slight scent of nostalgia and synthetic fabrics.
I realized that overconsumption isn’t always loud or obvious. Sometimes it’s quiet, closets bursting with “just in case” pieces or duplicate white tees. It hides in emotional buying, or trend-chasing to keep up with invisible algorithms.
And I saw how we pass these habits down or around. 8% of my clothes were from my mum, sister, or auntie. A sweet, circular kind of consumption that still counts.
But more than anything, I saw how detached I had become from the things I own.
A New Relationship with Clothing
I’m beginning a new journey. One that doesn’t chase trends but explores self-expression. One that moves slower, feels more, wastes less.
Inspired by Julia’s 7-day outfit challenge and Aja Barber’s reflection on wearing the same thing twice (from Consumed), I’m starting to wear things longer, repeat more, and worry less. It’s about rewriting the rules of how we engage with clothing, shifting from performance to presence.
Because honestly? Fashion was supposed to be fun, freeing. Not a landfill in disguise.
The Manifesto: I Quit Fast Fashion
I’m done. Not with fashion, but with fast fashion.
Because it doesn’t serve me. It doesn’t serve the planet. It doesn’t serve the garment workers. And it definitely doesn’t align with the future I want to live in.
This manifesto isn’t just a declaration. It’s a commitment to change, starting with myself.
Writing overconsumption has taken me on a journey of self-discovery. But it’s also revealed the deeper layers of consumer psychology I hadn’t fully understood before.
We live in a world where advertising rewires our desires, gently, persistently and shifting our focus from needs to wants.
We buy to fit in. We buy to feel something.
Sometimes, we buy just to feel less.
Consumption becomes a performance of belonging.
Overconsumption, then, becomes something more than a habit, it becomes a mirror, one that reflects back our identity, our discipline, and our values.
And somewhere in that reflection, I woke up. Woke up from my consumption slumber.
I now see.
“This is not just about quitting fast fashion. It’s about rebuilding something more meaningful in its place.”
So here it is.
The start of something real.
In the next issues of Wednesday’s World, I’ll be sharing my journey of quitting fast fashion and building a more sustainable future, from my wardrobe to my worldview. If you’ve ever looked at your closet and thought, “This isn’t me anymore”, you’re not alone.
We change the world by changing ourselves.
And maybe, just maybe, by starting with the things we wear.
Further Reading + References:
- Fletcher, K. (Ed.). (2016). Opening Up the Wardrobe: A Methods Book.
- Barber, A. (2021). Consumed: The Need for Collective Change: Colonialism, Climate Change, and Consumerism.
- Tolstoy, L. (n.d.). “Everyone thinks of changing the world…”
- Williams, D. (Centre for Sustainable Fashion): Sustainable wardrobe advice.
- Primark sales & scandals: BBC | Statista
- Boohoo UK-made controversy: Fashion Dive
THE JOURNEY…
As a lover of ‘High Street’ Fashion brands for all of my 20s, like other millennials, I have now decided to quit, based on a lot of the things covered in this magazine, but this Manifesto became a personal turning point for me. We hear, read, and know about things, but when fashion capitalism stares you in the face, you are compelled to take action. It won’t be straightforward, but we all need to start somewhere! I am on a mission and I’m bringing you with me!