When I open my wardrobe, I see a seemingly endless selection: over 20 pairs of trousers, 10 jackets, 25 tops – and those are just the things that currently fit in my apartment. My summer clothes? Stored in boxes in the attic. Every year, when I replace my clothes for the new season, I'm surprised by what I find. I hardly recognize some items – they hold so little meaning for me. And yet, I constantly felt the urge to buy new things.
Since I was 15, I've regularly sold clothes on platforms like Vinted. It's become a routine: out with the old, in with the new. I tell myself it's a sustainable solution—after all, I get money for unworn or unwanted items. But my closet remains full. Why? Because I immediately buy something new with the proceeds. I don't actually save any money this way. Quite the opposite: buying and selling costs me not only money but also time.
The decision: A one-year consumption ban.
At some point, I realized I wanted to escape this cycle. So I set myself a challenge: not buying any new clothes for a year. I wanted to save money and time – and find out if I could even stick to it.
The first few months felt like going through cold turkey. I kept catching myself wanting to just "browse"—in online shops, shop windows, or while traveling. After all, you associate memories with things you buy, right? But if I was honest, I had to admit: most of my clothes mean nothing to me. If I were to lose a pair of Zara pants that cost 20 euros, I'd hardly notice. So why did I feel the need to constantly buy new things?
The realization: Less is more
Clothing and textiles used to be treated with respect. People mended, altered, and adjusted them. Wedding suits were passed down, and old bedsheets were repurposed into tablecloths or curtains. Today, we don't exchange, we replace. Advertising bombards us with images of a perfect world where a new sweater makes life better. In reality, it often just means another piece of fabric that will soon be forgotten.
With each month of my experiment, it got easier. I avoided city centers, resisted supposed bargains, and informed my friends and family about my challenge—that way, no one could tempt me. Surprisingly, I began to see my clothes differently: no longer as disposable items, but as loyal companions. I wanted them to last, to bring me joy for a long time. And over time, I felt liberated.
A new chapter: DIY instead of buying
By the end of the year, I had made it – and wanted to continue. But this time with a new idea: instead of abstaining, simply consuming more consciously. Next time, I'll sew the clothes I truly want myself. That way, I'll understand the work behind the craft, be proud of my creations, and develop my own unique style. Because true appreciation doesn't begin with buying, but with making.
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