Is everybody wearing designer brands but me?

self reflection, musings on luxury, and a new newsletter series!

As I now fill a decent portion of my early morning scroll time with TikTok, I have discovered there’s a decent amount of viral trends I have blissfully been unaware of. Most I could do without, usually viral songs I would be happy to never hear again (i.e. that Miguel song) but there’s also the ones I can’t help but enjoy because, yes, I do feel bonita. This week I’ve seen a considerable amount of people highlighting how much their lives have changed since the pandemic began, a nice little fucked up sort of anniversary tradition. A mix of plenty of sads, a good deal of happys, with a handful of existential crises sprinkled in - it evoked one of those “we are all tiny baby humans plopped onto this giant rock hurdling through space just trying our best” feelings, which naturally led me down a personal self reflective rabbit hole.

For being painfully self aware, I don’t spend a lot of time reflecting on the paths, forks, roads, hikes, climbs I’ve navigated through life. I prefer to narrow in on a handful of cringey, cripplingly embarrassing moments, critiquing my absolutely worst decisions, and panicking on if everyone has been scared to tell me they hate me this entire time.

I’ve been ruminating over how hard it is to feel planted in that sturdy soil so many promised I would find growing into my 30s, the nirvana that comes from calling bullshit on the facades, the bullshit, the pretending, the ritual we all go through in our 20s. I think this is because I didn’t really try on all the hats other people usually try on when they’re young, wild, and free. I’ve just been floating along this entire time, worried about having my basic needs met, thinking a life where one pursues their passions is left for someone else, but surely not me. Jobs, homes, cities, they’ve all been side effects of circumstance.

While I can believe we are meant to be in times and places for reasons, I’ve never really followed a path that I forged because it spoke to my inner most desires. There are a handful of decisions I’ve made based off of hitching my life to somebody else’s plans, assuming I would find my happy ending magically along the way (while doing absolutely none of the hard work.) This is mainly referring to decisions I made from 12-20 years old, like the time I decided to move to Los Angeles at 18 because a guy I thought was ~hot n’ cool~ in high school was going to go to Santa Monica college so therefore, I would, too. I did. He never ended up leaving our hometown. He also had no idea what my name was. This is one of those aforementioned cripplingly awkward memories. Absolutely textbook.

While my fantasy self has lived many lives, all leading to fortune, some leading to mild, tame, manageable, humble fame, my real self has never found the fervor that gets my ass up and over the starting line. Frankly, it’s fear. Rejection, tears, failure. Things I have, of course, stomped through in all those other life circumstances, but never to the tune of a passion that was truly mine. Personal. Until I found myself working in luxury styling.

If there’s one main constant in my life, it’s always been fashion. My grandma was the matriarch who always had perfectly teased hair, a curated stack of jewelry, and a manicured hand holding a slender cigarette. She was the manifestation of style, opulence, je ne sais quoi, and through her skills as a seamstress and quilter, instilled in me an extreme love for the art of textiles and clothing. After little debate, but a lot of hesitation, I took a hefty pay cut to change careers from corporate office life to luxury styling and told myself “this is it, this is the part where I become the main character who risks starting over to find themselves and make it.”

False. It was the absolute fucking worst.

I could expand on that more, which I will in a future newsletter, but the main takeaway is that working with some of the wealthiest people that currently roam this planet, mixed with touching textiles, clothes, and couture that cost thousands if not tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars, really changes a person. At least, a decently self reflective person. I can say with full confidence that the adage of “money doesn’t buy happiness” is half true. It does, up until the point where you have money spilling out of your eyeballs and a closet built specifically for your hundreds Birkin bags (a real thing that I experienced) and then it really, really, really doesn’t fucking matter anymore.

The Millennial/Gen Z relationship with designer goods is strange. The birth and growth of the internet has inevitably made us consume trends and style at an alarmingly faster rate, with two day shipping, flash sales, faster fashion, new arrivals, etc etc etc. The art of picking up the September issue and flipping through the 600+ pages of ads no longer feeds the Carrie Bradshaws of the world because they’ve already seen the runway shows from the 500 different influencers they follow. Yet beyond all of this, the biggest change to the evolution of the industry is pricing. Luxury brands have increased their price tags annually by around 6%, with brands like Chanel doubling the price for their most popular handbags in the last decade. From world events to the cost of production and labor, the inflation of luxury is at an all time high — so how is everyone on TikTok wearing everything from the SSense sale and doing Net-a-Porter unboxing videos weekly?

The amount of people touting their seemingly abundant wealth on the internet is an absolute mindfuck. The obsession with Hermès handbags and scarves, Vivienne Westwood archival pieces, and insanely expensive brands like Khaite and The Row is plentiful on my algorithm. So, what am I missing? Sure, plenty of young people are single, renting, and making over six figures, but the cost of living is absolutely banana pants crazy these days. After my needs were met at my last three jobs, I struggled to think about budgeting dinner out with friends, let alone the thought of dropping $650 on a bag or pair of shoes. I have to assume while some people can truly afford the lifestyle based off of reasons that are entirely their own, there’s got to be a decent portion of people attempting to keep up with the internet Joneses in order to find acceptance amongst the fashion savvy and portray some facade that they’ve “made it” while drowning in credit card debt.

The cherry on top of hating my last job was that I styled some of the wealthiest, well connected, most successful people, yet I received little to no recognition for the work because I was working like the Wizard of Oz, tucked behind a computer screen, shopping like a mad woman on Matchesfashion for hours and hours, hoping to find a holy grail piece for some of New York’s most elite, with little to no face time with the client because I didn’t “look the part.” I couldn’t afford anything beyond Zara, not to mention I’m only 5’1” on a good day with thighs that most definitely touch, and my nepo baby boss, dripping in Cartier and Chanel (but lacking any sense of personal style), almost always got the credit for my work based solely on the fact I looked “poor.”

Reality is that we associate luxury clothing with status, despite the fact that most of it isn’t sustainable, and the constant cost inflation doesn’t equate to better quality. We assume people who wear designer goods are smarter, more sophisticated, and are living in the upper echelon of life. Chasing designer logos doesn’t make you fashionable and certainly doesn’t make you stylish and buying luxury brands doesn’t mean you’re better or worse than anyone or that you can even afford it.

Since leaving that job, I’ve struggled with my relationship with fashion because I look at influencers and social media and feel inferior because I’m not in a position in my life to spend loads of money to do “hauls” or show off some insane collection of fine leather goods. My rambling nonsense here is supposed to come full circle with expressing that I still feel like my purpose is to style and help people feel good about themselves and while yes, there are plenty of worthy luxury products out there that are meant to last a lifetime, you don’t have to be dripping in labels to feel put together. So if you’re scrolling the internet wondering if you’re the only one not wearing Loewe or Jil Sander, just know you’re not alone. And that a good deal of it is fake (but that’s for another time.)

With that, I’ve decided to punt myself into the unknown! Push past the fear, the potential embarrassment, the potential failure, the ick of the path not yet paved! I’m going to launch a series here with the knowledge and expertise I’ve gained in my time in the luxury styling world and apply it to the ethos I live by here in my little newsletter world. We’re going to explore building a secondhand wardrobe that feels opulent. Decadent. Worthy of being loved and re-loved for years to come. Each week I’ll be covering topics from how to edit your closet to how to use the RealReal to finding the perfect vintage tee on Etsy to finding your forever Cartier watch on eBay, complete with recommendations and some of my favorites.

Getting dressed should be fun! And express who you are and what you want to show to the world! Your closet should be a functioning ecosystem where pieces are worn for years to come whether they are designer, thrifted, or handmade. The world is literally becoming a flaming trash can and there are so many secondhand goodies looking for a new home and a renewed sense of life.

Let me know if there are any specific topics you want to see covered as I embark on this series (how to thrift, getting things tailored, finding the perfect vintage coat, etc.)

Thank you for reading this 1,800 word novel of my inner most thoughts. You’re the best and I’m so happy you’re here. Tell a friend if you so desire!

Next week we begin with “The Closet Edit.”

Until then,
xo,
G