Long gone are the days of aggressively excessive, 100% polyester Shein hauls that found their way into every other video of the average ‘For You’ page – a real contrast with today’s obsession with frugality.
Once upon a time, these videos dominated our feeds: bedroom floors covered in plastic packaging with creators celebrating just how far their money could stretch. Nowadays, this kind of content feels almost embarrassing, existing as reminders of an era before sustainability became fashionable.
In 2025, there was a noticeable shift in fashion trends. Rather than quantity, we’re told to value quality. Instead of impulse purchases, we’re now urged to ‘invest’. Wool, linen, cashmere and cotton, blended with a neutral colour palette – the frugal-chic aesthetic promises a wardrobe full of clothes that will last and consumption that seems somewhat moral. On the surface, it all looks sensible. But if frugal-chic really is about buying less and buying better, why does it still feel like we’re being prompted to constantly shop?
When frugality becomes a trend
The frugal-chic aesthetic is easy to spot: trench coats, smart trousers and shoes (often loafers), and expensive-looking knits. It’s framed as timeless rather than trendy, but more importantly, it’s both fashionable and virtuous. Dressing frugal-chic signals a sense of maturity and awareness – it suggests that you’re no longer a mindless consumer.
But this is where the contradiction begins. Frugality only really works when it isn’t performative. If we make “frugal-chic” a trend, then it isn’t actually frugal at all. Rather than buying fewer clothes, we just buy different – often more expensive ones – to keep up with the aesthetic.
The logic is as follows: if I’m investing in high-quality staple pieces, then buying more is justified. After all, I’m not wasting money, I’m building a wardrobe.
But what happens when the next trend rolls around, as it inevitably does? Suddenly, the “timeless” pieces aren’t so “timeless” anymore. Perhaps the cut is just too long or too short, or maybe the colour is slightly off. And thus, the cycle begins again. Just because we now focus on quality, it will not reduce our consumption; rather, it encourages it under a more respectable guise.
The Illusion of Consuming Less
This is where the popular phrase “buy it nice or buy it twice” begins to collapse. In theory, it makes sense: spending more on high-quality pieces means you won’t have to purchase replacements. In practice, however, consumer behaviour often fails to accomplish this intention. While 73% of EU citizens reported that the environmental impact of a product was “very important” or “rather important” when making purchases, very few consumers actually seem to follow through on these statements. In fact, last year it was found that we consume 400% more clothing than what we did 20 years ago, and apparently, us Brits only wear 20% of our clothes regularly.
If you overshop, you’re still going to end up with a wardrobe full of clothes you don’t wear, regardless of how nice they are. Habits don’t magically disappear just because we adopt a new aesthetic. An expensive jumper can be just as redundant as a cheap one if bought for the sake of fitting into a short-lived trend.
Influencer culture plays a significant role in perpetuating the cycle. Every six months, it seems that someone is rediscovering their personal style. Frugal-chic and slow fashion often present themselves as an escape from this constant reinvention, but when we eventually get bored, we’ll have already moved on to the next big thing by next year, or even in a few months.
At one point, the idea of a capsule wardrobe made underconsumption feel tangible. A limited number of pieces that could be worn repeatedly and mixed and matched, until they genuinely reflected your own personal style rather than your algorithm. Somewhere along the line, this idea became diluted – something you had to keep updating to remain in the loop. What started as a way to consume less quietly became another way to consume more.
Recently, ‘deinfluencing’ has emerged as a supposed solution. Fewer “run don’t walk” videos, and more creators telling you that you don’t actually need that product. On the surface, this appears to be progress, but de-influencing still influences, working in reverse. Even when the advice is “don’t buy this”, the product remains the focal point, and escaping influence online starts to feel almost impossible.
So, what does frugality actually mean?
This isn’t an argument against buying new clothes or enjoying fashion. Clothes are expressive, and for many people, quite fun. The issue isn’t consumption itself – it’s the way that every attempt to do it “better” somehow ends up being part of the same endless trend cycle. True frugality isn’t aesthetic; often, it’s quite boring and requires shopping less to actually work.
Perhaps true frugality is re-wearing pieces already in our wardrobe and finally relieving ourselves of the pressure to constantly refine our looks for the sake of what we are fed online.
