Is our collective nostalgia more powerful than trends? Sara explores…

For the past 6 weeks, I have been staying in my mother’s freshly refurbished flat, in the middle of the city I spent half my childhood in. Everything about it is new, from the sleek yet comfortable kitchen to the book-filled shelves in the living room. One thing that remains unchanged, though: the contents of the closet. 

It feels almost forbidden to look through the dresses, skirts and low-rise trousers occupying the shelves and hangers; the same exact pieces I used to look at in awe when I was about 13. Now, a decade later, it’s strange to think that I could wear some of these pieces of clothing and not look like an excited child playing dress-up.

I have successfully managed to avoid fast fashion for two and a half years. This is more of a privilege than it should be, as having access to various charity shops and thrift stores is more common in England than it is in a lot of other places. So I chose to use the privilege I have to make a contribution, however small it may be, to the continuous fight for sustainable fashion. 

Looking at my mama’s closet, however, makes me wonder: is this where it all began? Ethics aside, does my love for preloved clothing come from knowing the kinds of stories secondhand clothes can hold? Did it begin when I was barely a teen, trying my best to look like a grownup in my mother’s concert dresses? 

Mama’s closet has stories to tell. Our styles (and body types) differ greatly, but even I can find things I would love to wear in the sea of colours that fills the drawers and hangers I’ve been stealing glances at for weeks. Without much difficulty, I can distinctly recall occasions in which I’ve seen each piece worn and meticulously combined with matching shoes, scarves and handbags. They aren’t sheltered by glass cases in a marble-tiled museum, but to me, these pieces of fabric are history. 

I haven’t lived with my mum in five years, and in that time, both our lives have changed in massive ways. But something about the constant of her closet is almost grounding; a reminder that not everything has to change so constantly and drastically. At this terrifying point in my life, with a master’s degree behind me and very little clue as to what to do next, it is surprisingly comforting to put on the purple top I used to sneak out of mama’s closet in for trips to the cinema when I was 14. 

Finding ways to link these clothes to simple snippets of the past serves as a kind of encouragement, a reminder of the simpler times and mine and my family’s history and culture. Calling my mother and asking a billion questions about pieces of fabric, listening to the sentimental tone in her voice as she answers them — it feels like a sign that things have changed since then, and they will change again. Perhaps they will get easier, less complicated. The wistfulness of looking back through mama’s clothes almost functions as a form of escapism and clinging onto hope, especially in times like the 2020s seem to be.

Is this the case perhaps more often than we care to admit? Or are the nostalgically directed Material Girl videos clogging up my For You page on TikTok, showcasing jewellery and clothing passed down through generations, really just the sign of a passing trend? 

Not so long ago, saying the word “vintage” was considered more in-line with being “fashionable” or “on trend” than it would be to say, “Yeah, I borrowed this from my mum.” Ultimately, however, the constant hunt for genuine vintage pieces does mean taking those same pieces out of someone’s mum’s closet. So what, other than nostalgia and curiosity about decades past, could explain the craving for vintage clothing that goes beyond its style and genuinely has a story to tell? 

Social media sites like Instagram and TikTok have definitely popularised proudly inheriting and appreciating clothing passed down through the family. Many of these short-form videos show people proudly displaying items given to them by parents, aunts and uncles, even grandparents; and styling them in ways that easily fit into the scope of present-day fashion, without taking away from their history and charm. Sure, these vintage, familial hand-me-downs are free of charge, but that doesn’t vouch for the genuine, priceless enthusiasm witnessed in each of these clips. 

The trends we are encouraged to follow practically change by the hour, but the sentimentality that intrinsically accessorises vintage pieces remains in place. Whether it’s dad’s leather jacket, a pair of mum’s old jeans or a blazer with shoulder pads reaching for the gods acquired in a charity shop, ethical will mostly come down to vintage, and there is a simple reason for this: we all want to become a part of a history, no matter how small. 

credits

words — sara fabek zovko

design — sâde popoola