Kerri BridgmanI walked into Zara this morning. It’s been about 6 months since I’d stepped into a store like that—rows and rows of newness, endless styles, trendy fabrics, mannequins styled just well enough to make you second-guess everything in your own closet or in my current case - suitcase.
And for a moment, I felt it.
That urge to buy something. To shop. To grab a dress I didn’t need, or a top that might look cute in a photo. That quick, fluttery feeling in my body that says:
“Maybe this will make you feel better.”
But then something kicked in.
I used to work in luxury fashion. The kind where price points are high enough to keep almost everyone from over consuming. So, I didn’t over-shop. I invested here and there. I studied quality. I made sure every piece counted. I won’t pick up certain pieces if I can sense within 10 feet that they are not made well.
I wasn’t avoiding over-consumption because of discipline or values.
I just didn’t have easy access to it.
But standing inside Zara, I was reminded of how accessible fast fashion makes it to over-consume. You can grab five things and spend less than you would on one sustainably made shirt. It’s designed that way.
And I get it. It’s tempting. Especially when you’re tired, emotionally drained, or just looking for a little dopamine. We traveled for 12 hours via bus yesterday, my brain was looking for a fix of dopamine outside of my morning cup of matcha.
Here’s where it gets complicated for me.
I know how these garments are made. I know the margins. I know how quickly trends move. I know what’s sacrificed for that $25 price tag. And still, I felt the pull to consume. Not because I needed more clothing, my suitcase is already overweight - trust me I know I do not need more, but because the system is built to make me feel like I do.
To sell a shirt for $25, most brands need to make it for around $8 or less. That $8 has to cover fabric, sewing, packaging, and shipping. The actual labor might cost only $1 or $2. To hit that low price, brands often use cheaper materials, rush production, and overlook fair wages or sustainable practices. That’s how the pricing works, and why it usually comes at a hidden cost.
Luxury fashion is different, but not always better. A $700 jacket might cost $100 to $150 to make. You’re paying for the name, marketing, and exclusivity. Higher prices can support better materials and working conditions. You’re also paying a designer to actually design, not pull something from someone else’s shelf to knock off. But even expensive brands can overproduce or waste resources, just in a more polished way.
It’s not about guilt.
Or shame. Or even judgment.
This is about awareness.
It’s about recognizing how quickly we can get swept into the rhythm of “more”—especially when it’s placed right in front of us, styled and folded and lit just right.
So what do we do?
For me, the first step is just being honest. I’m not above the system. I’m in it, too. I’m trained by it. I’ve worked in it. I’ve contributed to it. And I’m trying, imperfectly—to unlearn some of what it’s taught me.
I still want to dress well.
I still love the fashion industry.
But I also want to remember:
I don’t have to own everything I admire.
And I don’t need to shop just because I’m feeling something.
Sometimes, the best thing I can do is pause. Notice. And recalibrate.
This morning that mean walking out of the store and back into our apartment to paint my nails.