Sign up to receive the Vogue Business newsletter for the latest luxury news and insights, plus exclusive membership discounts.
Last week, the internet was ablaze over a Depop listing: a pair of leopard-print, sequined Forever 21 hotpants. Originally retailed for under $30, they were listed for $298.
What could justify that price tag? The answer might surprise anyone not chronically online: the description likened the pair to one from Charlotte Russe — an old-school mall brand known for peddling low-priced fashion. The Charlotte Russe version had gone viral the month prior, as Coachella-goers tried to get their hands on a pair. (Sabrina Carpenter’s backup dancer was spotted in them on stage.)
The shorts ended up selling for $198, according to the listing, which has since been taken down. All that’s left in its stead is a common confoundment around the real versus perceived value of fast fashion items that get a second life online.
It’s also a sign of a wider trend in flipping thrift items. We’re used to inflated prices on rare sneakers or out-of-production luxury gems. But pieces from mall brands and fast fashion companies like Forever 21 and Abercrombie being sold by Gen Z for five times the original price? It’s a lot for millennials to stomach. “The thrill of thrifting, flipping and owning something that’s hard to get disconnects the real value from what people are willing to pay,” says Marta Indeka, senior foresight analyst at consultancy The Future Laboratory.
Elsewhere on Depop, an Abercrombie striped pink and white dress is on sale for $135. The description reads: “Abercrombie Fitch RARE red/hot pink vintage pin stripe mini dress, SO cute.” An Ambercrombie pink hoodie’s $360 price tag is justified with “One of the kind/Rare to find”. More reasonable “rare, vintage” Topshop pieces range from £35 to £65.
Debates about ethics of pricing, flipping and what counts as ‘vintage’ are nothing new. But as secondhand shopping becomes increasingly commonplace, this latest outburst brings to light the subjectivity of resale. What determines an item’s worth, especially in an age of viral micro-trends and heavy nostalgia? Is it ethically moral to set an item that’s the product of fast fashion — long criticised for not paying workers fairly — at such a steep upcharge, and making profit from it? If someone is willing to pay, does any of it matter?
A seller can do whatever they want, experts agree — even if it is frowned upon by circular fashion advocates. “If they can market it successfully and enter an SEO keyword dump to find the right buyer and that buyer is willing to pay, then there’s no harm, no foul in that,” says Danielle Vermeer, founder and CEO of thrifting marketplace Teleport, who previously led luxury resale at Amazon. “Even if, from an objective perspective, paying $198 for Forever 21 shorts that are not vintage or rare is ridiculous.”
But this lack of delineation makes it a tricky market to shop for those not versed in the hunt, or who may be unfamiliar with the quality and cachet of what they’re buying. “That’s what really triggered the response: it became this example of how fraught reselling is, and how confusing and challenging it is for consumers to navigate not getting scammed,” Vermeer says.
So, how long can the ‘nostalgia’ factor fuel the market for flips — and what does this mean for the consumers buying in?
Quality matters: Then vs now
Cheaper mall brands used to be better quality than what we think of fast fashion today. It’s not that the fast fashion brands of the 2000s and 2010s were high craftsmanship, Vermeer says, but you could walk into a Forever 21 and find a 100 per cent silk or 100 per cent cotton item.
What customers look for in regards to quality has changed, she says. Young consumers are known to prioritise natural materials, like silk or cotton, over brand names. Older pieces — even from fast fashion brands — are less likely to be made from synthetics.
As for whether this will impact our view on the value of fast fashion on the whole — long believed to be disposable — experts expect not. Sustainable fashion creator and consultant Scott Staniland points to the fast fashion items that crowd thrift shops and Depop listings even now. Even if one pair of shorts sells for $200, the volume of fast fashion production means that there’s an essentially endless supply of clothing that’s difficult to resell at any price.
TikTok content
The appeal of the older items that the new ones lack is scarcity, Staniland says. “It’s the facade that this item is no longer available. And it’s that price because it’s no longer available, and no one’s going to have it — even though, in reality, they could find it in places that they’re not looking.”
Cultural cues are a value add
The quality may have been better then than now, but that’s not all that’s fuelling the resale presence of outpriced, old fast fashion items.
Pricing has long been a resale pain point, Vermeer adds, often dependent on how much the seller paid, the quality, the rarity, the demand, the style and the marketing.
Also key is storytelling and context. The (perceived) value of an item is down to on both the way it’s marketed (‘rare, vintage’) and the wider cultural context in which it’s for sale. On Depop, one seller advertised a 2000s Wet Seal top as giving “Rick Owens vibes”. It sold (for a bargain $28), presumably for the vibes.
For those less versed in high fashion, Vermeer looks to the ways in which social media and pop-culture moments spur demand. The current moment’s tennis obsession, for instance, has Challengers to thank. Clothing styles tagged “tennis” have increased 7 per cent year-on-year compared to 2023, according to WGSN. US Pinterest searches for “tennis skirt outfit summer” are up 128 per cent in the last three months. And there are plenty of options on Depop.
As indie sleaze and Y2K continue to reign supreme, old pieces from brands in their heyday will benefit. Fast-thrifting on apps like Depop also fits the current accelerated trend cycle, Indeka says, meaning it’s more likely for consumers to get caught up in viral trends and want to buy in, regardless of price.
This bodes badly for consumption levels, Staniland says. While increased interest in resale is a positive, and reselling fast fashion is better than the alternative (waste), the view of secondhand shopping as trendy does nothing to change buying habits.
The case of the Forever 21 shorts show just how misleading seller-set prices for thrifted items can be. The same shorts are currently available on Poshmark for $14. It’s why there’s a need for trust and community in the resale space. “Gen Z wants to shop from people that they feel like they know and they trust,” Vermeer says. “That’s where I think the next wave of resale will really be focused.”
Staniland hopes that those in resale for the fast fashion flipping might stumble across some goodies and change course. “I hope that once they enter the world of secondhand fashion, they realise there are gems in there to be found for the same price point that are more interesting and have much better stories — and that are older and will last longer.”
Comments, questions or feedback? Email us at feedback@voguebusiness.com.
More from this author:
The list of failed indie brands is growing: Why it matters
The Fashion Workers Act is one step closer to passing in New York
From runway to art gallery: The unusual path of Jordan Gogos
