What is "Fast Vintage"?

Imagine walking through a vintage market in 2035. Among tailored jackets from the 1980s and designer bags from the 2000s (which will become increasingly rare), dozens of items labeled Zara from 2023 or a pair of faded Shein jeans appear. This scene, once improbable, could very well become reality. While fast fashion continues to churn out billions of garments at a dizzying pace (according to Statista, the market is projected to grow by +74.5% by 2027), its destiny intertwines with that of second-hand. We're no longer talking about collector's treasures but "mass artifacts": garments that, although produced to be disposable, are reincarnating as symbols of contemporary consumerism. And if it’s true that fashion reflects its time, under these circumstances, it couldn’t move any faster. Based on data, as highlighted by analyses from McKinsey, not only has global clothing production exceeded 100 billion units annually, but more and more consumers are reducing a garment’s life to just seven uses. Despite the fact that more items are finding a second life in vintage markets and resale apps, indicating a potential positive turn for the environment, resale platforms start to have more and more fast fashion brands, with Zara and Shein among the leading names. Beyond those buying out of economic necessity, an entire segment of the market fuels the desire to buy more with post-hoc justification. Constantly fed by social media, the hashtag #vintage now has over 6 million mentions on TikTok. What does this trend tell us? Fast fashion is not just a phenomenon of the present: it’s shaping our collective imagination of the past, redefining what we will consider “vintage” and forever altering our relationship with time, fashion, and its value. In other words, we are witnessing a cultural oxymoron called Fast Vintage.

We must then ask ourselves what “vintage” means today. Traditionally, an item must be at least twenty years old to be considered vintage, an age that gives it a certain sense of uniqueness, quality, and a historical narrative that contextualizes it in a past era. As this concept shifts toward a mass aesthetic, the history of garments risks being reduced to mere ownership transfer, while the idea of uniqueness is overshadowed by the ease with which an object can be resold. Now that fast fashion has made its way into second-hand sites and markets, even sustainable shopping is being pushed into a continuous and increasingly rapid cycle of production and consumption, undermining the efforts of those who prefer to invest in durable, ethically produced used items. If fast fashion clothes abound in our closets and markets, what memory of value are we truly preserving? The logic of second-hand, though masked by ethics and sustainability, often ends up fueling deferred consumerism. It is no longer about buying less and better, but about buying more, at lower prices, while maintaining the fleeting desire intrinsic to fast fashion. In the luxury context, the outlook is no longer stable: even this segment subtly surrenders the quality of a distant past, focusing on the present—with which it struggles to connect, contributing to a sharp rise in prices. It seems we’ve lost the ability to think long-term, to the point that some brands seem aware that their items, no matter how exclusive, will be used briefly before being forgotten.

If clothes produced yesterday are already ready to be discarded tomorrow, we have a problem. With the boom in resale and the relentless production cycle, the fashion of the past is becoming as ephemeral as the fast fashion items that populate it. It is an aesthetic that tries to resist cultural deterioration. If the "past" becomes a superstructure of what was once "disposable," what impact will this have on how we shop and dress? Perhaps the real revolution is not choosing between fast fashion, resale, or luxury, but stopping compulsive buying. Making only thoughtful purchases, understanding the real value of clothing, and regaining a sense of time that goes beyond the algorithm of rapid consumption. If we keep scrolling through endless catalogs of low-cost items, we remain prisoners of a cycle perpetuating the same capitalism we wish to escape. The mystical era when fashion was a distant dream, though aspirational, is over: we are thrust into a pragmatic present, where society no longer needs fairy tales about enchanted worlds but functional garments capable of enduring over time. Now we face a crossroads: continue building an ephemeral present or reassess the true meaning of preserving and wearing. Perhaps to change, we just need to stop.