WHAT IT REALLY TAKES TO RUN A CIRCULAR FASHION BUSINESS.

The world stands at one of the greatest divides in fashion history...

On one side, platforms like Vinted are becoming some of the biggest fashion retailers in the world, now ranking as the third-largest fashion retailer in the UK.

On the other, fast fashion giants like Shein continue to dominate globally, coming in close behind.

Two completely opposite ends of the spectrum.

One built around extending the life of clothing and intentionality, the other around faster consumption, greater accessibility, and very little reason to say no.

Sometimes, it’s hard to tell who’s actually winning.

This kind of contrast can feel daunting for those of us working in circular fashion.

Are we doing the right thing? Are we doing it the right way? Is it sustainable as a business? Will there ever be a tipping point in our favour?

These are all questions we constantly ask ourselves.

The challenges that come with running a sustainable fashion model can often feel heavier than the positive returns. If I had to choose one word to describe it, it would be uncertainty, even as cliché as that may sound.

So much is uncertain, especially our product itself. At Vintage with Love, our stock is built on donations and consignment. In the simplest terms, our inventory consists of items that someone else no longer wants. Which naturally leads to the question: will anyone ever buy this?

Something I’ve learnt during my time at Vintage with Love, and something my manager Tracey constantly reminds me of, is that there is a buyer for every garment out there.

Even the pieces you think will never sell somehow find the right person eventually and I’ve seen it happen countless times.

That gives me hope.

What many people don’t see is the amount of work that happens before a garment ever reaches the shop floor. Every item needs to be sorted, assessed, steamed, photographed, priced, repaired where needed, and then marketed.

Long and often tedious processes carried out by a very small team.

I’ll say it - traditional retail just seems easier.

They work with bulk collections carefully designed around trends and seasons. Their stock is predictable. Their sizing runs are consistent. Their marketing campaigns are planned months in advance.

Our fashion, on the other hand, is made up of individual pieces - each carrying their own history, imperfections, and stories.

There is no certainty in what arrives through our doors. Some weeks bring incredible designer pieces and timeless vintage finds, while others require creativity, patience, and trust in the process. You can’t predict demand in the same way traditional retail can because every item is unique and often impossible to replace.

A sold-out item in fast fashion can simply be reproduced thousands of times over. In circular fashion, once a garment is gone, it’s gone.

And yet, that is also what makes it special.

There is something deeply human about circular fashion. Every item has already existed in someone else’s life before finding its way into yours. A jacket once worn to someone’s first job interview. A handbag carried through university. A dress bought for a wedding, birthday, heartbreak, holiday, or version of themselves that no longer exists.

The garment continues long after the original owner no longer needs it.

Sustainable fashion - or sustainable anything for that matter - is really about looking at a world where humans have damaged so many integral parts of the ecosystem and still believing that people are capable of shifting, changing, and bettering their consumption habits.

It’s believing that clothing still holds value beyond its first owner. Believing that extending the life of a garment matters, even when the industry around you moves faster than ever.

And as much as I would like to pretend that I exist completely outside of the pull of fast fashion and all the systems we try so hard to fight against, I am still human.

I too feel that instant gratification when a brown box appears at my door less than 24 hours after pressing “pay now”. I too fall into the infinite scrolling cycle late at night, consuming trend after trend until they all blur into one.

Polka dots. Chocolate brown. Funnel necks.

I want it all.

The algorithms are good at what they do.

They know exactly how to make consumption feel comforting.

Effortless.

Aspirational.

Only for me to wake up the next morning and walk into a space filled with someone’s mother’s jacket, a cousin’s dress, a friend’s handbag - pieces that have already lived full lives before arriving here. Garments that have been passed down, cared for, altered, loved, and chosen again.

And somehow, being surrounded by that every day changes you.

It reminds me constantly that there are other options. Other ways to consume fashion. I can stand neck to neck with a coworker over a designer bag bought in the 90s, or internally battle a customer for a practically brand-new high street coat that somehow found its way onto our rails.

I feel fortunate that I get those reminders. That I know there is so much more out there beyond what algorithms try to sell us. That I am encouraged daily to make the more intentional choice.

And maybe that’s what really keeps circular fashion alive? Not perfection, but proximity. Being close enough to the process to understand the value of what already exists and keeping yourself in that realm.

Because once you witness the amount of waste produced by the fashion industry, it becomes difficult to unsee it. Once you see mountains of discarded clothing, barely worn garments tossed aside for the next trend cycle, and perfectly good pieces treated as disposable, your relationship with fashion inevitably shifts.

You begin to question why newness has become fashion’s greatest currency.

Circular fashion asks us to slow down in a world designed for speed. To treasure rather than replace. To repair rather than discard. To find individuality in a culture increasingly built around sameness.

And perhaps that is why working in this industry requires such an immense amount of faith.

Faith that consumers are becoming more conscious. Faith that younger generations are questioning overconsumption. Faith that style can exist outside of constant newness.

Most importantly, faith that there are enough people willing to choose differently.

Because despite everything, there is still a huge audience out there. Millions of people are beginning to take the not-so-classic road. People who are rediscovering the joy of secondhand shopping, who value individuality over mass production, and who understand that sustainability is not about perfection but participation.

And maybe the tipping point hasn’t fully arrived yet.

But I think, slowly, quietly, garment by garment, we are getting closer to it.

For now, that hope and a lot of faith, is enough to keep going.

With love,

Lizzy.