They Don’t Make Them Like They Used To
Tags: Clothing, Vintage Clothing, Fashion, Nostalgia

They Don’t Make Them Like They Used To

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

I have an old t-shirt and it is one of my favourite things to wear; soft, airy cotton that has been washed hundreds of times and fits perfectly. It is a navy blue short sleeve crew neck, with yellow letters spelling out the name of my elementary school. I wore it to gym class, then kept on wearing it past its intended use. In college and university, it peeked out from under open cardigans and hoodies as a cool graphic tee (as was the fashion, inspired by Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn” video). As I came into my mid-twenties, the heavyweight material wore down to a deliciously soft, translucent fabric that vintage t-shirt aficionados dream of. I retired it to sleep shirt status and continue to use it to this day. The school name is still intact, although the letters have cracked. I got this shirt when I was about ten years old; I’m now forty.

There is a certain romance to garments that we reach for again and again, keeping us reliably clothed year after year. They develop a history and comfort unmatched by any trends or styles. They form the backbone of our wardrobe, the pieces that we know will never fail to keep us feeling good and looking most like ourselves. They are our sartorial personality, offering visual hints to who we are, telling a rich story. The black sleeveless button down that’s ready for any occasion, done up and tucked in when I worked in an office, then open and breezy over crop tops after I left the job. My dad’s old sweatshirt from Gros Morne National Park, which I wear as a tribute to him and his love for the outdoors and affinity for Newfoundland. The high end jeans that were my first big purchase when I made the move to a new city; a pair of dark denim bootcuts that went everywhere with me for years, from baseball games to club nights.

Why isn’t clothing made like this anymore? The question popped into my head, as I hung my 30 year-old t-shirt to dry among much younger pieces from my wardrobe. I have tops that have pilled within a few months. Sweaters that have lost their shape after a few washes. Hoodies with printed graphics that peeled off within a year of purchase. I buy garments with the intention of keeping them long term, hoping they will be with me wear after wear. But many tumble into disarray, no longer appealing or appropriate. This wouldn’t be the fault of misuse. I am a careful guardian of my wardrobe, hand-washing all delicates and never, ever subjecting my clothes to the dryer.

Why don’t we make garments that last throughout multiple wears? There are so many reasons for this, most of which we are familiar with. The lightning fast turnaround of fashion. The demand for lower prices. We want it now and we want it cheap. But it frustrates me. Fast fashion shops are not the only culprit; mid-to-high level companies are also guilty of producing lower quality garments. When I got my first career job (hello corporate!) and was bringing in a regular paycheque, I decided to invest in a pair of winter boots. Armed with a decent budget and the wisdom my dad passed on about practicality and quality, I shopped around until I found what I thought I was looking for. They were cute, they were warm, they had good traction. I added a protective spray to my purchase and put the money down. But the boots were not what I had paid for. The city salt and slush ate them up. They quickly went from my proud adult purchase to the thing I wanted to hide in the back of my closet. I was gutted. I had done the responsible thing by buying what I thought would be quality. I had fantasized about these boots being my warm companions throughout many snowy seasons, trudging the cold city sidewalks together. They barely lasted that first winter.

Our mass produced clothing has cost us so much. On an individual level, consumers are paying more by having to purchase clothing again and again and again, replacing the items that wear out faster than ever. On a global scale, we are paying the collective price of environmental damage and unsafe, unstable, low-paying work due to the demand for cheap, quick labour. These, of course, are the most important issues when talking about the price of fashion. But there’s also a loss of connection to our material possessions in the face of such disposability. We buy clothes without much thought or consideration, knowing their time will most likely be short-lived Again, it is not a dire issue but is one worth considering. What we’ve lost is the respect for our objects and the opportunity to infuse them with a nostalgia and history that only come with time. The dependability is gone and the stories are no longer there; they are now only the things we briefly put on.