The Cult of Depop and gatekeeping culture
Secondhand clothing has taken over this generation, as the art — and let’s be real, sport — of finding hidden gems in thrift stores has become a great feat. There’s no greater joy than when you can proudly respond “I thrifted it” to an enthusiastic “Where’d you get your outfit?”
One great change from past generations is the growing popularity of online reselling, especially through apps such as Depop. While there are small fashion brands who get their start from the app — which was recently bought by Etsy — such as Sarah O Robinson and Fanci Club, many other enthusiastic thrifters and resellers, like Kiko. Vintage and Marigold Touch, got their claim to fame the same way. Even big brands such as Are You Am I, Miaou and House of Sunny are starting to create Depops as a means to increase revenue or hype through exclusive drops or discounted prices for minor misprints.
I, too, am an avid Depop fan, having purchased some of my most prized wardrobe possessions from the app: my beloved Aunt.Gwen printed skirt, my upcycled Nike sweatshirt corset and the rare “faces” baby tee from Marc Jacobs’ first “Heaven” drop. I have spent hours on the app scouring for the best prices, top sellers and my dream wardrobe pieces, and I know of many others who do the same. I have a friend whose wardrobe is 90% Depop finds, only buying retail for items they absolutely love or require to be new like underwear and bras.
But, with the expansion of thrifting from a solely physical platform to also a virtual one, came an increase in gatekeeping. In pop culture it means purposely hiding something or a source to keep whatever the item is, whether it is a physical good, a service, or a resource, to yourself so other people can’t access it. It could be you don’t want anyone else to use your tutor’s service so you can keep performing better or their schedule won’t fill up and raise prices, or you don’t want anyone else to know the brand of your skirt so you can be the only person with that skirt.
Still a little confused? Well, let me give you a scenario:
I saw my sister after school one day and I love the top she’s wearing. I’m not sure if I want to buy one myself but will probably look into it later, if I even remember. I go up to her anyway to ask.
“Hey! I love your top! Where is it from?”
“Oh it’s thrifted, sorry I don’t know,” she responds.
Hmm, okay, that’s fine. I also have pieces that are thrifted and not tagged. But I also like her skirt, maybe she’ll know that.
“Ugh, so jealous, but I mean your entire outfit is to die for! Where is the skirt from?”
“Like a small boutique, you wouldn’t know it.”
Another blunt response.
“What about your shoes? I love the shape of the heel and it seems super comfortable.” My last attempt.
“Umm, I don’t remember sorry.”
*end scene*
Don’t get me wrong, sometimes people genuinely don’t know where part of their outfit comes from or can’t remember where it was purchased — and that’s fine. But it’s annoying and frustrating when you can tell that their misremembering — or disremembering — is feigned and an attempt to keep the brands and clothing to themselves. Let’s all be real here: Bad acting is an easy tell.
In the post-coronavirus world of micro-trends, everyone is out and about ready to explore and play with new silhouettes, colors, patterns and styles. We’re all here to explore and uplift each other in our fashion endeavors. As we crusade against fast fashion with conscious consumerism and buying second hand in the hopes of building a more sustainable world, why not kill off that nasty pesticide — gatekeeping — that harms communal growth and love. Without that putrid stench, we can come together, bloom and blossom as we celebrate all brands, big, medium and small.
And to those who will continue to be gatekeepers? That Oscar isn’t coming anytime soon.
Hadyn Phillips is a freshman writing about fashion in the 21st century, specifically spotlighting students and popular controversy. Her column, “That’s Fashion, Sweetie,” runs every other Tuesday.