Fast fashion is getting pricier — and maybe that's a good thing

Every spring, I get the urge to buy something new: a sundress, a pretty blouse or something hopeful after a long, drab winter. This year, though, something made me stop mid-scroll: the prices.

Fast fashion is about to get more expensive, and maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

With new tariffs on the horizon and the de minimis loophole set to close, ultra-cheap imports from platforms like Shein and Temu could soon cost significantly more. These companies have flooded the U.S. with low-cost items by exploiting a trade policy that exempts shipments under $800 from duties. But the loophole, which has helped fuel the fast fashion boom, is set to close for shipments from China and Hong Kong starting May 2, per CBS News. Shein and Temu have announced price increases beginning Friday in response to these changes, according to USA Today.

This is not just a trade dispute. It might mark the start of a cultural shift.

For years, we’ve been encouraged to buy more, wear occasionally and move on. First, it was mall brands like H&M and Forever 21. Then came Zara. And now, Shein and Temu, where buying clothes feels more like scrolling than shopping. These platforms are often associated with Gen Z, but as a middle-aged woman I’ll admit I’ve bought from them, too. When money was tight or I needed something fast, the price and convenience were hard to ignore.

But what are we really buying? Most of these garments are made from synthetic fibers like polyester, which are essentially plastic. A 2023 Reuters report found that 75.7% of Shein’s products are made from polyester, with only 9.9% from cotton. These materials are designed to be cheap, trendy and disposable. And in my experience? They are.

When I ordered the $12 dresses, what arrived looked nothing like the photos. The seams twisted. The fabric itched (and often didn’t feel like actual fabric). Buttons fell off after one wash.The clothes weren’t built to last — and they didn’t.

Now, with prices rising, I’ve started to rethink how and why I shop. And I’ve realized how often I’ve used clothes to escape.

I grew up wearing handmade clothes when I was small because my mom, who was raised in poverty, knew how to create a wardrobe with little money. This was practical and personal. But I always saw clothing differently. I loved vintage pieces, and saved up for higher-quality items when I could. Clothes, to me, were expressive: They helped me feel more like myself.

Still, even with that mindset, I’ve made impulsive purchases. When you're overwhelmed, a $12 dress can feel like a luxury, even if it unravels and literally falls apart at the seams.

There’s also something seductive about newness. In a world where everything feels uncertain, in our finances, our health and even our safety, there’s comfort in something new — even if it’s wrapped in plastic. It’s easy to believe a new piece can change your mood, and sometimes it does. But the feeling is fleeting. And the dress usually doesn’t last, either.

Lately, I’ve stopped chasing the thrill of an instant purchase. Instead of filling my online cart, I’m digging into my wardrobe. I’m shopping secondhand more. I’m asking better questions: Will this last? Do I love it? Does it fit my life?

Another shift that’s helped is leaning into secondhand platforms like ThredUp, Poshmark and Re/Skinned. These platforms make it easier to shop sustainably. But I’ve also found treasures at small local thrift shops, the kind of surprises that don’t show up in an algorithm.

Which brings me to what might seem like an old-fashioned idea: shopping in person. While online shopping has its place, there are things you just can’t replicate through a screen. The feel of a fabric, the fit of a jacket — there’s something about that moment when you see something unexpectedly work. Shopping in person helps me reconnect with how I actually want to dress.

And surprisingly, I’m spending less. When I don’t default to quick-fix purchases, I spend more intentionally and less often. I also feel better about what I wear.

When I think of the most fashionable women I’ve known or admired from afar, they rarely chase trends. They tend to follow a more European model: fewer pieces, better made. Style, for them, is about deliberate choices. Fabric, cut and color all serve the person wearing them, not the other way around. Accessories shift with mood or season. Many mastered the capsule wardrobe long before it became trendy.

As a New Yorker, I know I’m lucky. I can browse racks at a thrift store with vintage Diane von Furstenberg or a fun vintage Pucci dress. I’m surrounded by access. In smaller towns, especially those without department stores, Shein and Temu offer something tangible: affordability, variety and sizing that other brands often overlook, which can be an attractive and convenient option.

But as the cost of fast fashion rises, I wonder if this is a moment for all of us, myself included, to rethink what we value. Is it speed? Quantity? The thrill of newness? Or are we finally ready to value longevity, craftsmanship and emotional connection to what we wear?

A few months ago, I went through my closet and counted 20 items I’d worn once or not at all. Some still had tags and I barely remembered buying them, as they sat in bins. That’s when I realized: I don't need more clothes. I need a better relationship with the ones I have.

I found a local tailor who mends with precision and fell in love with pieces that I forgot I even had. I’ve found boutiques where salespeople give honest advice and I’ve learned to be my own fashion stylist (with varying degrees of success). I’m not doing it perfectly, but I’m trying.

Fast fashion has never been truly affordable. We just haven’t always counted the cost.

Clothing has always been about expression, but it’s also about memory, intimacy and comfort.

Maybe it’s time to stop dressing like everything is disposable, including ourselves.