The most astonishing feature of the fashion industry is that it exists at all. You cannot copyright clothing designs, so every seasonal runway experience is an invitation to piracy. Sometimes, within a matter of months or even weeks, you can find knockoff items in discount retail stores selling for a fraction of the price of the original.
And yet, the industry is worth perhaps $2 trillion globally. It’s the kind of industry that no intellectual could dream up. Yet there it is, thriving for a century in a world in which clothing choice is not restricted by law and anyone can look like anyone else. That’s amazing, and it raises fundamental questions about the conventional thinking concerning intellectual property.
A main driver of the industry, of course, is branding and the proprietary trademarking of the designer. No one really wants a knockoff, much less a fake, if you can have the real thing. The high markups indicate authenticity, but not only that. The consumer demand for fashion is all about staying with the times, wearing what is “in” rather than what is “out.”
The driving force behind the whole industry, even more than the desire to look good, much less to honor the occasion with what is proper, is social insecurity and the urge to fit in.
Everyone knows about this issue. It vexes us from the earliest years of school, when we see the cool kids wearing a certain brand of shoes or pants and the loser kids wearing something else. We are naturally aspirational and are drawn to such symbols. Very early, then, we are acculturated to keep up with the newest thing and dread the old thing.
As we get older, there is an interesting twist to the game. It’s never enough to wear the newest thing. The goal is really to wear the next thing, to get ahead of the pack, to be the first adopter of the future. That’s where the real cachet rests. It means that you do not have to wear what others are wearing; on the contrary, you can be alone in your fashion choice, so long as you choose with conviction.
Therein lies the secret to success. No one knows for sure what the next big thing will be. That is your opportunity. It means that you can wear almost anything of quality that looks nice (within the limits described below). If anyone questions your choice, you can simply say, “It’s coming back,” “It’s the newest thing,” “I’m getting ahead of the curve,” or “Next season, everyone will be wearing this.”
With this little secret, you can shop eBay, Facebook Marketplace, and Goodwill to your heart’s content and to the great relief of your pocketbook. Add a dash of confidence, and you are good to go.
How do I know this? I worked in the industry for many years. I started as a department store cleanup man, moved to the returns desk, and later was promoted to sales. Eventually, I changed stores and became a top salesperson, then a high-end men’s store manager, then a salesperson in a high-end women’s store, then finally a wholesale buyer at the industry’s seasonal showcases in Dallas. (I was even a runway model for a time.)
You could say that I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen ties narrow, then widen, then narrow again. I saw paisley come and go and then come again. I was there for shoulder pads, soft shoulders, and then pads again. I saw cuffs, thin cuffs, no cuffs, then widened cuffs. I saw three-button, two-button, one-button, and suddenly four-button coats.
I saw corduroy go from pinwale to wide wale and back again. There was argyle, and then argyle was out, and then it was back again. I’ve sold every length of skirt, every fabric, every color. They change with the seasons; with the shifts infused by magazines, advertisements, and runway extravaganzas; and mostly with the elusive and indefinable thing we call fashion.
The buyer’s marketplace was where I found the secret to the industry. The buyers had to pick the fall fashions in the dead of winter, the summer fashions in the fall, and so on. We had to buy them all before we could sell them, and they all had to be put together in the factory.
Every merchant was hawking his wares, always pitched as the newest thing. If you believe them when you shouldn’t, you will find yourself with a store full of nonsense.
I had mentors in this racket, so I wasn’t entirely on my own. There was a year when, for reasons unknown, it became fashionable in preppy circles to have embroidered little yellow ducks on one’s pants. I thought it was ridiculous, but my mentor overrode my judgment. He ordered hundreds for our store in a full range of sizes. To my astonishment, they flew off the shelves. We did not have enough and could not obtain any more. A few months later, Walmart was carrying similar pants, but with printed ducks.
We made a killing on that item, much to my amazement. And that’s just this one product. We had to make similar decisions about suits, ties, shirts, shoes, and belts.
At least that market was somewhat comprehensible. In the buyer’s market for women’s clothing, it was far trickier. I specialized in outerwear, so I was careful to follow trends in length, shoulder and collar size, and fabric, recalling the experience from last season with the hope of anticipating the new season.
Gradually, I came to realize that much of what we call “fashion” is really scripted and planned, not by a central power, but by big players and big names in the marketplace. There was not some Hegelian plan to which everyone had access. Rather, we e were all groping around in the dark for clues about what the marketplace would demand. Influencer culture was a major factor, but discernment and marketing also played a huge role.
I eventually concluded that while this market sector was utterly brilliant in many ways, most buyers were in fact complete suckers for nonsense. None of it meant anything really, and there was no objective, much less stable, definition of what was fashionable and what was not. It all came down to the confidence of the wearer.
That’s the telling and decisive point. A man (or woman) without confidence in his clothing will not look good in anything. I’ve often observed that men who suddenly adopt a fancier way of dressing immediately start to look stiff, uncomfortable, and stodgy. It does not look right. Men who do this really should practice by lounging around the house in a suit, going on walks, and slouching in chairs—anything to make the outfit feel more normal and natural. Once that happens, it all works. But it takes practice.
In truth, and all anxieties about fashion aside, you can pretty much wear anything of any style from the last century so long as it is a quality piece of clothing that suits the venue and occasion. The industry does not want you to know this, but it is true. Once you figure this out, you will be free of the cage that fashion fears put you in.
To be sure, there is one major exception to this: the 1970s. It’s not entirely clear what went wrong, but for a full decade, all men and women looked ridiculous and terrible. The clothing choices were egregious.
I do have a theory as to why this happened. The electric washer and dryer had recently become a household staple, and the industry had discovered the economic advantage of synthetic fabrics. For a time, synthetics seemed like the right choice, because wearers could throw everything in the wash and avoid both the iron and the dry cleaner’s.
Fashion adapted itself to wash-and-wear everything. The only problem: Everyone looked terrible. Once the industry and the people figured that out, everything from a full decade of fashion was discredited. By 1982, nobody looked anything like they had looked in 1976.
That decade is the exception. But otherwise, for at least a century, there have been consistent standards for what constitutes enduring and classic clothing. Stick with those, eschew all fashion trends, and you will come out on top.
Again, I say this as someone who has been there and done that, both as a consumer and a wholesale buyer for retail inventory. The industry wants you intimidated, weak, and so afraid of being unfashionable that you will go deep into debt just to keep up. They win, but you lose. The winners walk away from the racket, and embrace that which stands the test of time.
