Among the questions the authors tackle are,

* Is wearing a fashion from an oppressive time period indeed a symbol of that oppression?
* Is there such a thing as "reclaiming" these fashions so that they are symbols of power rather than domination?
* Should we only make patterns from the eras that were the least oppressive to women?
* If wiggle skirts and the like are offensive to those with feminist sensibilities, what is the alternative? I mean, what could we possibly wear that would establish us as feminists to those who view us?
* Are 50's wiggle skirts really that different from modern pencil skirts?
* What about current fashions that are restrictive? Stilettos, Spanx, etc? Skinny jeans? Are these symbols of oppression towards women?

Of course, these are questions that bedevil discussions of fashion of any era, but become particularly stark when the clothing is (literally) cloaked with context, that can't be dismissed. Call it ironic, call it homage, call it reclamation - there's no getting away from a statement of some kind. And there's also the draw many women feel to a silhouette that, often, is more flattering than those of a theoretically more sartorially-enlightened time. And even that becomes problematic: when we say "flattering," we still mean "showing off bodies in a traditional way." In short, it's a minefield! The blog quotes Gertie Lang:

But why do I like these looks? I hope it's not some sort of self-loathing that makes me want to wear a symbol of women's oppression. I simply prefer the silhouette of vintage fashions as opposed to the current styles offered by pattern companies. I think the design is better and the lines are more flattering. If you want to oppress me, try to make me wear a pair of skinny jeans!...I should also note that I like vintage patterns because I'm interested in the historical and archival aspect of it. I think that sewing my way through Vogue's New Book for Better Sewing is connecting me to women of the past. Doing this project, and researching the evolution of home sewing (women's work, no doubt), is a way for me to honor the lives of women past (however painful) rather than pretending they didn't exist.

Some people are put off by the idea of wearing used clothes; others love the ghosts they carry. (I've read that some psychics can't go into thrift or vintage stores because the barrage of information is too much.) And that's just the physical history; the intellectual is going to make for some timely debate.

On The Politics Of Vintage [Threadbared]

We all understand why dress codes exist: lack of distraction, safety, sometimes even to discourage conspicuous economic disparities. To show that school is serious business. Some schools ban gender-bending dress as a means of discouraging harrassment, which however suspect it may seem, at least is rooted in tragedy. (As the Times reminds us, "safety is a critical concern. In February 2008, Lawrence King, an eighth-grader from Oxnard, Calif., who occasionally wore high-heeled boots and makeup, was shot to death in class by another student.")

And then there's what happened at Morehouse last month. As Fox explains,

Recently Morehouse College, an all-male black private university in Atlanta, released its "Appropriate Attire Policy" that banned do-rags, caps, hoods and sunglasses in class and "decorative orthodontic appliances." But it also specified the following — "No wearing of clothing associated with women's garb (dresses, tops, tunics, purses, pumps, etc.) on the Morehouse campus or at college-sponsored events."..."The image of a strong black man needs to be upheld," Cameron Thomas-Shah, student government co-chief of staff, told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution . "And if anyone sees this policy as something that is restrictive then maybe Morehouse is not the place for you."

Dicta like this - and, to an extent, the highly-publicized Ceara Sturgis Tuxedogate - are obviously somewhat arbitrary. As long as the clothing is neither dangerous nor out of bounds (ie, the same length and neckline rules would, one suppo, nor one the ACLU is disinclined to pursue. Should a boy dress like a drag queen for class? Well, neither should a girl - that does qualify as "distracting." An administration might argue that cross-dressing was, by its nature, distracting. I'd say, maybe for the first week. But then you get used to it. High school may be rigid, but young people are also flexible and, as we have read time and again, far more liberal-minded about issues of sexual identity than any prior generation. However insubordinate kids might be, they still ultimately take their cues from an administration - and can tell when something's arbitrary or unfair. Lawrence King, after all, was not shot because of the way he dressed, but because of the ignorance, fear and hatred of his attackers. (And, by the way, we're guessing Chinos wouldn't have guaranteed a blissful school existence.) It may be harder for a school to address this than the clothes - but surely it's also a crucial part of an education.

School Dress Codes Homophobic? [Fox]
Can a Boy Wear a Skirt to School? [NY Times]

Related: "That's Just Who I Am. I Don't Dress Like A Girl. I Don't Even Own Any Girl Clothes."

Jenny Sanford has not been terribly cooperative with the media. When, we wonder, will we get the confessional, the tearful appearance, the angry tirade we're clearly ready to believe? Since, amazingly, she hasn't felt like doing this in the ten days since her world came crashing down, we're forced to search for clues - the reliable "friends and family" (who seem to think she's okay) and, obviously, the wardrobe. This is tricky, because unlike the tight-lipped spouses who resentfully stand by their men in a comfort armor of pearls and suiting - de facto First Lady Wear - Sanford has continued to dress as she did before the furor, in a relaxed vacation wardrobe that gives nothing away. But aha! According to the Washington Post's Robin Givhan, this is in fact more revealing: There is, she says

"something splendidly defiant in the wardrobe Jenny Sanford, the wife of Gov. Mark Sanford, has been wearing the past few days...when she appeared before the cameras she was dressed like she'd just come in from a leisurely bike ride amid the wildflowers, during which she did not perspire. Mrs. Sanford did not look stern or brokenhearted. Mostly, she seemed about as aggravated as if she'd run out of sunscreen. One photograph has her in white pedal pushers and a blue paisley peasant blouse. In another, she's again wearing white shorts but this time with a coral-colored, flower-print tunic. Another photograph catches her in the kind of loose-fitting paisley tunic one might wear over a swimsuit. She's wearing sunglasses, carrying a large shoulder bag and showing a little thigh. But what's most noticeable is that she's not looking like a constrained — or strained — political wife who uses clothes like a suit of armor. Instead, it's just the opposite. She comes across as a woman set free. Everything about her style is breezy.

The hieroglyphics of a public woman's grooming are complex, the paparrazzi archive is our Rosetta stone. When we feel for her - or are supposed to - a woman's blithe relaxation can be a sign of empowerment and independence. But how about when the shoe's on the other foot? Take the reviled Ruth Madoff. One rarely reads an account of her in which her impeccable presentation is referenced - "carefully groomed," a New York feature calls her, while Madoff's secretary described her as "meticulous." Now, we gleefully read about her gray roots and her demotion to jeans. This deterioration is regarded, not as a sign of a liberation from a charade, but as the cracks in the careful facade. Says New York,

In the public eye, Ruth has come to represent the spoils of her husband's criminal activity: The lifestyle, the furs and jewelry, the fancy hair salon, the clinking glasses at parties, the trips around the world-they all seemed like they were her domain, orchestrated and enjoyed more by her than by the stone-faced, withdrawn Bernie. It didn't matter that Ruth came from modest beginnings; something about the way she carried herself-her highlighted hair, the upturned collar and petite physique-played into the stereotype of the pampered, free-spending wife.

There's similarly little to go on with both women - both have been media-shy, giving terse sentences and avoiding the press, while newshounds depend on guarded, or gleeful, statements from tenuous acquaintances. One is a victim, one an accomplice - or so they are perceived in the popular imagination, whatever the reality of Madoff's situation. Sanford promptly distanced herself from her husband's tax-fueled antics; Ruth has failed to renounce her ill-gotten gains to anyone's satisfaction. The women have nothing in common save an accident of time-frame and a distaste for the public eye. So why are both reduced to their grooming?

Maybe it's because they're both figures who are defined, for us, in relation to their husbands. Weirdly, while Sanford has thrown his wife under the "soul mate" bus, Madoff has done his damndest to keep his wife out of it, whatever her crimes - is part of it our contempt for letting someone protect her? Maybe a part of the collective consciousness feels, unfairly or not, that if we are to accept these women as living on their husband's terms, they have earned this kind of superficial, traditionally feminine scrutiny. Whatever the reason, there's something depressing about it. But here's something that, through all the mishigas, has managed to consistently put a smile on my face: Franni Franken. Franken is obviously not a political wife by vocation; she's a free-spirited woman who dresses like my mom - which is to say, acreatively-tinged boomer. And yet, check her out on the podium when Al spoke to the press about his election: she was in a First Lady costume! A boxy, Chanel-style suit and a scarf, less! It looked completely strange, and unnatural, and yet was unspeakably endearing. Probably because, at the end of the day, it actually had nothing to do with who she is, said nothing about who she is, save that she's new to politics and is trying to match the dress code. She was smiling and laughing and totally unguarded, and as a result, you didn't need to analyze the clothes, any more than you would a man's suit. And that was refreshing.

In Hubby's Time Of Trouble, She Can't Be Bothered [Washington Post]
How is Jenny Sanford coping? [GMA via Politico]
Poor Ruth [New York]
What The Secretary Saw [Vanity Fair]
Daily Show [Min 21]

The sari has been worn on the sub-continent since at least 2800-1800 BCE (from which era the first known image dates.) But in recent years, hand-loom cotton saris, which used to be standard daywear, have fallen out of favor with young Indian women, who see them as special-occasion clothing. And fancy versions, the expensive Banarasi and Kanjeevaram silks which can take weeks to hand-weave, are faring no better. Although saris are still de rigeur for fancy occasions, younger women tend to favor designer, rather than hand-loom, models. The result is devastating for India's hand-loomers, many of whom have been in the business for generations. And as a result, fewer young weavers are learning the art.

While we may mourn the loss of such a stunning traditional craft, to many Indian women, this sartorial sea-change is a positive one. Explains one student, "There is a general perception that you would consider a woman in western formal wear more empowered than her more traditional counterparts." Below, a gallery of sari images - both functional and, ahem, special occasion.


Dust storm, New Delhi, May.


Miss India World Pooja Chopra, in a sari by designer Ritu Kumar, at the Pantaloons Femina Miss India Contest 2009.


A woman and her child, July, New Delhi.


Director Deepa Mehta at the 2007 Academy Awards.


Dressing a statue of the Hindu Goddess Durga for the Durga Puja festival, Bombay.


River bank behind Taj Mahal, Agra.


A model wears a traditional sari in a show designed to promote the work of south Indian designers, Madras.



A Bangladeshi woman shops for saris in Dhaka.


Images via Getty

The Dying Art Of The Sari [Time]

No question, anyone who's worked in retail sees it all: people trying to return worn things, stained things, torn things, battered shoes — and generally with a strong sense of self-righteous grievance. I was once at a Gap Body and watched a woman brazenly return a bra that she had obviously worn, washed, and put in the dryer — because she claimed it had shrunk spontaneously.

To some folks, I'm convinced this is some kind of deep game: a means of sharpening their using wits and guile. And that's to say nothing of those amoral souls who shamelessly buy, wear to events, and return without a qualm. Others regard buying, trying, deciding and returning as a valid means of shopping — fair enough in a large store, but hard on a smaller establishment's inventory. Then there are the guilty returns: stripped of the glamor of store lights and surroundings or the euphoria of friends' praise, people often blanch at the realization of what they've spent; that, much as they want to be the person in the floor-length velvet coat, they're not; that they have three of the same thing at home. Sometimes, in the cold light of your own bedroom, without a saleswoman's rationalizations, you realize something really is too small, or that the right underwear/judicious hemming/accessorizing really can't work miracles. Or there are those shoppers, initially delighted with a purchase, who return sheepishly the next day, deflated by a husband or friend's disapprobation.

I am one of those who finds returning difficult: I am normally a decisive shopper and am mad at myself if I end up with something against my better judgment. I also feel a tremendous sense of obligation to the salespeople who help me and hate to imply they've failed in any way, or admit that I was so weak-willed as to not know my own mind. I have made the best of more than one bad purchase rather than deal with the trauma of a return, and then curse myself again for a neurotic coward. The sad truth is, in any case, that an increasing number of small stores have store-credit only policies, so it can be impossible to undo your folly completely. In my case, too, there's often an organization deficit: I am bad at keeping track of receipts and the mechanics of returning an internet purchase are completely beyond me.

The solution is obviously careful and thoughtful shopping, budgeting, and if necessary, prompt and courteous returns. But such is not human nature — and for a real shopaholic, like those in the Post, maybe it's got to be a gradual learning curve; stopping cold-turkey would simply be too painful? That said, however embarrassed I might be to face a clerk, I would be twice as humiliated to have my boyfriend do the dirty work. Even if I had bought a dress final sale three months in advance knowing my body was going to be completely different. Cause, you know, that would be totally reasonable.

a href="http://www.nypost.com/seven/11142008/gossip/pagesix/a_job_for_guys_138567.htm">Madison Avenue Stores See Huge Increase In Luxury Goods Returns [NY Post]

My mother's style is incredibly architectural and somewhat cutting edge (there were not, nor will there ever be, mom jeans in her closet). She favors Calvin Klein suits in dark colors, and that was certainly not something I wanted to borrow when I was sixteen. However, she also had a dazzling array of expensive cotton t-shirts from Petite Bateau and Three Dot, and she wouldn't let me get anywhere near them. So occasionally I would resort to subterfuge: sneaking into my parents bedroom while they were eating breakfast and stealing the soft, cottony spoils.

Obviously I liked the clothes, but I think there was a little more to it psychologically. I look up to my mother. She's confident and successful in her career and introspective, and her understated yet elegantly structured clothes reflect that quiet confidence. Perhaps deep down I felt that by wearing my mother's clothes, I too could project that same image, that same concrete sense of self. Slatalla's argument that teens wear their mothers' clothing to look more mature wasn't true for me. I didn't want to look like baby boomers in general, I wanted to look like one baby boomer in particular.

Or maybe those t-shirts were just really awesome.

[Image via Jacques Lowe/Vanity Fair]

Those Clothes Are Indelibly Mine [NY Times]

This contrast is really stark when you consider the 50 or so 19th-century Native American garments currently on display in at New York's National Museum of the American Indian. The woman who wore these, as the NY Times puts it, "could tell you exactly who had hunted the animals from which her dress was taken. She would know who had tanned the hides, stitched them together and sewed hundreds of beads onto them, and what the pattern of those beads signified." And they could tell us a lot about how to handle a recession.

The wealth of history and biography woven into each of these dresses is amazing: the implicit trajectories of colonization and changed hunting patterns, the changes in materials, inclusion of new ones and ingenious substitutes for once-plentiful decorations. The eyeteeth of an elk were "a way for women to show off the hunting skills of male family members. New brides often wore dresses made by their mothers-in-law and adorned with elk teeth collected by their husbands over many years." Italian glass beads or woolen fabrics showed the influence of European traders. Perhaps most fascinating are the tangible and valiant attempts to keep culture alive under the threat of extinction, as in the prevalent use of American flag imagery in many of the Sioux dresses. "On the reservation, Indian ceremonies (banned by the government) were replaced by Fourth of July festivities and other patriotic celebrations," but using these motifs on traditional garments was a subversive means of bridging the gap. The use of traditional motifs in clothing was also a means of silently evoking the "ghost dances," which were banned because the government felt they evoked massacres like Wounded Knee.

In sum, writer Karen Rosenberg concludes that "it’s hard to find a better example of art, labor, storytelling and female bonding" than this exhibition. I'd add that it would be hard to find anything more relevant to current discussions of the cultural ravages of fast fashion and, even more aptly, the nascent "slow fashion" movement. We've talked a blue streak about the human and environmental costs of fast fashion juggernauts like Forever21, as well as the cultural erosion it's helped precipitate - never have we valued things or quality so little, while paradoxically been so steeped in unwholesome materialism. In this sense, the current economic challenges could hopefully provide, if not a silver lining, at least the necessity of reevaluating our priorities.

So far, slow fashion is a tiny movement — far from the natural, traditional evolution of the garments featured in Inwood, the attempt to create small-batch cottage industries from fair trade materials can feel forced and somewhat twee. Much as local and organic eating is only beginning to shake off the stigma of yuppie luxury and become a slowly-growing cultural norm, so too must clothing with a provenance. However, the movement can also be a boon for small, old-fashioned industries — the Guardian mentions a new interest in traditional, hand-woven Scottish tartans and hand-made shoes - especially since the quality of such things usually qualifies them as those hot-button recession justifications, "investments." Anyone who has ever worn something homemade, however crummy-looking, knows how much more valuable it feels than something bought for $12 on a lunch break. Even a particularly exciting thrift-store find feels more special for the work invested. Slow fashion is obviously a virtuous enterprise, but the slight taint of self-righteousness it carries is worth it; like eating a really good heirloom tomato. We are not conditioned to save and invest and buy investment pieces — we are too conditioned for easy gratification, me and my eBay habit probably as much as anyone — which is why something like this exhibit is such an excellent shot in the anonymously-clothed arm.

In Tribal Dresses, Life Stories, Intricate Labor and Female Bonding[New York Times]

Matching Outfits: Parents putting siblings in coordinating ensembles is "creating an identity for the family - and managing its public image." Not to mention undermining a child's sense of individuality! There's a reason school uniforms are good for discipline.
Translation:The Control Freak.
Offender: FLDS families, Captain Von Trapp, Joe Jackson, Four Cohans, The Shaggs

Dressing a Child Like Yourself: "The motivation behind such a move comes down to possession and identity..'It's like you are saying they are a chip off the old block. The child is a blank canvas and you are projecting yourself on to them.'"
Translation: Total narcissist.
Offender: Christmas card families, Katie Holmes, Four Cohans

Bygone Fashions: Dressing your children in the clothing of another era "is often about taking a stance against what is perceived to be declining social standards." It can also denote a wish to keep them from growing up too fast.
Translation: Delusionals who need to get some Madame Alexander dolls, stat.
Offenders: Tasha Tudor, whoever Baby Jane's mother was.

Dressing Kids Like Grownups:Putting your kid in designer duds "is often down to a parent's own unfulfilled hopes and dreams." And, 'They are turning the child into what they wanted to be, but usually didn't become.'"
Translation: Narcissists with misplaced values, but who want the best (shallow) things for their kids.
Offenders:Amanda Wingfield, Mrs. Bennett, most of Hollywood.

Gender Extremes:Putting tots only in pink or blue "can come down to trying to control who your child will become when they grow up....'Gender is a big part of this and dressing their child according to gender stereotypes sends out a message about they see them and how they want people to react to them. '"
Translation: Latent sexism and homophobia? Or just an excess of Disney movies.
Offenders: Larry Birkhead, Cathy Hilton, Barbie and Skipper's mom.

What Were Your Parents Thinking? [BBC]

First of all, I should probably come out and admit that I may have the zeal of a convert on this subject, as I have forced myself from desist from the practice. I think it's the time I've done in retail; while I love to advise friends and will certainly volunteer an opinion if asked, making a boyfriend over has never been my drug of choice. There's nothing I hate more than seeing a guy dictate his opinions about clothes to a girlfriend or wife, and I'd hate to fall into that trap. Do I wish my boyfriend didn't wear Birkenstocks? Obviously. Do I hate that vest he sometimes sports like an early 90's jazz musician? All signs point to yes. But I wouldn't really cotton to his attempts at a subtle makeover on me, so I don't feel I have the right. (Also, he's kind of a stubborn cheapskate, so it's really not worth the effort.)

That said, I do absolutely realize that men tend to be less sensitive about this stuff. Whereas we might take a criticism of an outfit as a deep insult, a guy's probably just been holding onto it for a few years and doesn't really want to think about shopping. Even the most foppish dandy — like my brother — is unlikely to have his ego very involved in such choices. Men's fashion choices seem often to adhere to a misguided idea of appropriateness rather than self-expression. And yes, obviously these are generalizations. Plenty of men need help choosing clothes, are happy to cede the responsibility, don't care, or want to please you. I have friends who have really benefited from a little tactful making-over and are deeply grateful for it.

However, as in the case of my friend, helpful advice can sometimes segue into a dangerous form of egotism. When a guy's appearance is another carefully cultivated accessory, that's just weird. It feels yucky to admit we might be embarrassed by the way a companion dresses, but I totally get it: we put so much energy into our own self-presentation, considering the ramifications and implications of each component, that such a slapdash approach can be deeply frustrating, especially when you just know someone could look so much better. But sometimes it seems like this kind of reflexive making-over becomes a form of ownership, a wish to overcome the influence of prior girlfriends, moms, even an earlier identity. Like redecorating a house, it does seem like some dames feel the need to put their stamp down.

I worry, too, that at times this making-over becomes a form of willful whitewashing: by making a guy into someone who looks like the kind of person you should be dating, you've somehow glossed over the realities of tastes, personality, even values. The power dynamic of people dressing each other is a complex one; anyone who's shopped with her mom knows that. It quickly ceases to be about the clothes and becomes a tug of war over how you see yourself versus what someone else thinks you should be projecting. Sure, guys might not be aesthetically sensitive as a rule, but anyone knows when someone thinks they're not good enough as they are. In sum: Have I hidden my boyfriend's vest? Maybe. But I am making every effort to not replace it with a simple corduroy sports coat that he really needs and would look rad — because at the end of the day, it's his closet.

Single Shot: Why so many women want to remake their man's wardrobe[Seattle PI]

When we were going to be meeting for dinner first, this was my choice. But it seems a little dressy for day, no? It's blue Swiss Dot.

Is this too sweet?

Is this just frumpy?

I don't feel my most comfortable in pants but "jeans" feels right...but is this too sexy?

-Yes. She looked like a milion bucks
-No. She looked $12 million in debt.
-Sigh. Why can't they focus on her, instead of her pantsuits?

The fact that they'd include the third option, and yet in addition to the exigesis on the orange pant suit have run no fewer than three stories on Michelle Obama's dress, hair and general style at the DNC pretty much sums up the issue. Seemingly, people can't get enough of DNC fashion, be it Caroline Kennedy's "legacy of style", the fact that both Hillary and Michelle sported beige yesterday or the opinions of Project Runway hosts Tim and Nina.

Here on Jez, we've deliberately not done some kind of DNC "fashion roundup," (not least because chronicling the infintessimal variations in these women's outfits seems to be a full-time cottage industry for at least 500 bloggers) which — given the tensions raised by the mere mention of The Pant Suit in comments these past two days — is probably a good thing. To me, it qualifies as neither politics nor fashion and certainly the less interesting end of both. But I do get why people are interested.

To the extent clothing eclipses what anyone — woman or man but usually woman — has to say, then, yes, such coverage is insulting to public figure and reader alike. And yes, we are a largely frivolous culture who take unseemly delight in anything silly — especially if it's a more "fun" alternative to boring old things like policies and budgets and wars. However, such interest in outward appearance is not only natural but probably, to a large extent, healthy.

First of all, people are interested in the clothing make politicians wear — pundits probably spilled as much ink on Obama's tie, or lack thereof, as on his energy policy - but the fact is that there are very limited variations on the masculine political uniform and risk-taking is simply not an option. It's certainly true that there is an undercurrent of real mean-spiritedness — not to say misogyny — to people's scrutiny of Hillary Clinton's pant suits, but it does seem like in a world where every public statement, expression and reaction is carefully planned, focus-grouped, rehearsed and lacquered into place, it would be very odd if people ignored one of the few visible manifestations of — well, anything — we're allowed in politics. The public is desperately hungry for information and politics are so tightly-controlled that we really get very little to work with; every clue is precious. Then too, I really believe people are eager for leadership, for influence — and while this might be unsettling, it's natural that they should look to something tangible to latch on to, something which, however unwittingly, becomes associated in their minds with a powerful woman.

What's more, although it's certainly not the weapon they would choose, women in politics have a tool, however frivolous, that their male counterparts lack: the ability to change their image with a change of clothes (see: Obama, Michelle on The View.) Yeah, it's gonna be scrutinized, but so is everything they do — this is actually one area that can be controlled, and as such confers a measure of power. Michelle Obama might chafe at this reality, but she still harnesses it and kicks sartorial ass. So, in short, chill. Taking an interest in frivolity (unless you're Karl Lagerfeld, who prides himself in not liking anything serious) need not be at the expense of substance — the women in the spotlight seem to have made their peace with this, even if it's rough for the rest of us.

First: the facts. There's no free lunch and there's certainly no $20 dresses. Well, not without a lot of people in Bangladesh's garment districts eking out a very meager existence to meet the demand. As The Daily Mail's Liz Jones puts it, "Ever-cheaper fashion... is like cheap food: it means people's lives and the environment are being violated."

Of the 2.5 million Bangladeshi garment workers, 75% are women and children, who earn approximately $5 a week. The environmental toll, which the House of Lords emphasized, is heavy too - we're throwing out literally tons of cheap clothes every year, most of which are made from, ahem, less than earth-friendly materials. The high turnover of the collections at these stores keeps us on the lookout for the new, the fresh, all the time - and this has in turn influenced the high fashion industry, which is producing more frequently in order to satisfy our restless tastes, with similar environmental and human costs.

Perhaps we can justify fast fashion to ourselves because everyone's broke — but given the life span of most of these clothes, it really is true that a slightly more expensive basic pays for itself in wears. And, seriously, are most of us going to Forever21 for our work wardrobes? Maybe a piece here and there, but for the most part you don't want to be in the office in a pencil skirt that changes color under lights. Cheap clothes are, obviously, fun. We all remember the thrill of realizing how awesome Forever21 was and thinking it was an amazing secret that only we were onto, until everyone at the office showed up in the same Marc Jacobs-esque blouse. But the sad truth is, the thrill fades quickly. The clothes fall apart, the styles change — I always justified buying "trendy" shapes at cheap places 'cause I didn't want to spend on something that would date quickly - and because they were easy come, it's a lot easier to part with them when it's time to clean closet. Yeah, you can give them to charity — but I'm guessing that $12 used poly-cotton Go for Target sweater isn't going to be anyone's first pick at the SalvA, either.

Harder to give up, probably, is the pleasure of it, one of the few affordable treats left to us. But in a sense, while it provides a cheap thrill, fast fashion degrades the shopping experience. Just as McDonald's is no substitute for a nice — or healthy — meal, a trip to Forever21 doesn't make you feel especially good. It's loud and chaotic, the sizes are all over the place, employees are often disaffected, you make poor decisions - sometimes just to avoid the hassle of a dressing-room line. Perhaps, as in the case of fast food, fast fashion is yet another degredation of our quality of life. "Cheap fashion, " says Liz Jones, "like cheap, factory-farmed salmon and chicken, has stripped away any notion we had of something being luxurious or in any way special . It has devalued all our lives, making us ever more dissatisfied, always wanting more."

More prosaically, everybody looks the same. Sure, we all have in mind the ideal of the inventive fashionista, effortlessly and creatively mixing high and low fashion into one dazzlingly chic whole. But the reality is that we are far more homogenous in our distinctively-printed designer knockoffs than we would be in simpler basics. The idea of high style comes to us pre-packaged, complete with eclectic jewelry and accessories, and I'm guessing this paradoxical illusion of the unique is at the expense of individual creativity.

Inevitably, this trend is spawning a "slow clothes" movement: locally sourced, small-batch clothing produced according to the highest standards. Equally inevitably, this is still a boutique phenomenon that doesn't come cheap and is likely to be tarred with the same 'twee elitism' brush that first characterized slow food. Realistically, this isn't an option for most of us. And to tell the truth, it'd be a serious wrench to have to give up the small after-work of pleasure of a cheap top. But you know, this is something we've become accustomed to very quickly -—such a thing would have been unheard-of a few generations ago -—and I'm guessing that, together, we can weather the withdrawal. I'm three weeks clean and counting -—one day at a time.

Should We Boycott Throwaway Fashion? [Daily Mail]