In the last few years, Internet vernacular, pop culture trends, and political discourse have been given a thorough Generation Z makeover. Just as every generation channels the zeitgeist of its time into its aesthetics, so has Gen Z transformed the world of fashion. Skinny jeans have been replaced with wide-legged denim options à la the 1990s and early 2000s, while mixing streetwear with oversized blazers and other business casual attire has produced looks that aim for seemingly effortless glam. In a quite literal passing of the mantle, a current trend on TikTok features Gen Zers posting videos of their parents rocking their kids’ trendy fits.
Gen Z’s arrival on the fashion scene has also introduced a new ethos of consumerism shaping how the fashion industry operates. The generation is noted for its engagement with social and political issues and—if TikTok is any indication—is eager to use consumer power to combat exploitative or environmentally toxic industries. One 2018 McKinsey & Company report on spending habits, for example, suggested that Gen Z shoppers care more about the track record and values of a brand than the label itself.
And there is perhaps no better example of this phenomenon than thrifting, one of Gen Z’s latest obsessions. In contrast to the fast fashion haul videos on YouTube that many Gen Zers grew up watching, it is now commonplace for influencers to showcase their best finds “at the thrift,” as well as offer suggestions about how to become more savvy at navigating the increasingly complex realm of shopping secondhand apparel.
No longer presented primarily as a budget-friendly option for lower-income folks and edgy or artsy teens, thrifting has seen a wide expansion beyond traditional big box, brick-and-mortar stores like Goodwill, St. Vincent de Paul, and Salvation Army. There has been an increase in upscale vintage clothing stores or secondhand boutiques that sell carefully curated—and often high-priced—clothing. But most notably, the last decade delivered a wave of online resale vendors like Poshmark, ThredUP, and Depop, in addition to sites dedicated to luxury goods like TheRealReal. These platforms allow users to both buy and sell secondhand clothes, and most give sellers a lot of individual freedom in determining their own prices.
According to ThredUP’s annual report on the resale industry, the global secondhand clothing market is projected to grow 127 percent by 2026 to reach $218 billion. (As of 2022, it was at $119 billion.) North America in particular is currently experiencing the largest growth as more middle class Americans seek out secondhand clothes and goods. And while on the surface, thrifting’s mainstream arrival may seem like a massive win for environmental activists who have been pushing against fast fashion for decades, the new structure of the resale market has ultimately become less of the sustainable solution that it appears to be.
For one thing, the mainstream popularity of thrifting incentivizes vendors to offer a plethora of options—endless styles, brands, and price ranges—which, in turn, means that the resale industry has remained reliant upon the fashion industry’s overproduction as well as consumers’ overconsumption in order to grow. A 2021 Vox article aptly explains how thrifting “became problematic” as many of the secondhand influencers touting their closets full of thrifted clothes were, in fact, closer to maximalists than truly environmentally conscientious minimalists. Further, some of these influencer spaces have become rife with scamming scandals where secondhand items bought at in-person thrift stores are sold online for potentially far more than their original value.
And this discourse—over how the cost of buying certain secondhand items has surpassed the cost of buying new clothes from ultra-cheap fast fashion retailers like H&M, Amazon, or Shein—has prompted a reckoning over to whom thrift stores and resale vendors should cater. Advocates for fashion affordability have rightfully expressed concern that the people who truly benefit from secondhand apparel—such as lower-income individuals and families, those shopping for quality professional workwear on a budget, and, even in today’s vast array of fashion retailers, those still struggling to find decent clothes in plus sizing—are at risk of being priced out of their local thrift stores.
This “gentrification of thrifting” echoes an ugly history in the fashion industry of taking styles and fashion practices worn by low-income communities and communities of color and rebranding them into a middle class, predominantly white mainstream trend. Just as the “clean girl aesthetic,”—a look involving slicked-back hair worn up, simple makeup, polished, minimalistic outfits, and hoops—was especially popularized by white TikTokers after long being worn by Black and brown girls, so has thrifting been co-opted by the white middle class as a fad, with little introspection over who may be left behind.
As the resale market increasingly caters to wealthier shoppers instead of prioritizing affordability, some lower-income shoppers may turn back to fast fashion and its reliably low prices. On the Gen Z fashion corners of TikTok and Instagram, influencers promoting products from Shein, a Singapore-headquartered fast fashion retailer with a particularly questionable track record (see sidebar), appear alongside thrift shop tips and tricks for giving one’s wardrobe a more sustainable refresh.
Thrifting, of course, has never been a perfect sustainable solution: In the 2010s, when thrifting was still dominated by chains like Goodwill, documentaries like The True Cost showed the harmful side of what happens to all of the leftover clothing that Americans ultimately didn’t want or need. Massive quantities of clothes not sold by thrift stores get exported to developing countries as “donations” but end up disrupting local economies and, in many cases, sitting unused. But thrifting remains one of the primary alternatives to fast fashion, and that alternative must remain affordable for all.
While many Gen Zers strive to change the system one decision at a time, the fashion industry itself, as well as the environmental and commerce institutions regulating it globally, ultimately should bear more responsibility for this cycle of overproduction and consumption than consumers ought to.
In the meantime, thrift away, but be conscientious of who might be bearing the cost.