I still have the email from Gmail’s “Other” folder sometime around April 2016. The subject line was probably Supreme-dropped-something-or-other-IN-THREE-HOURS!! !” all capped and crammed with exclamation points. My friend Marcus had essentially delegated his life to himself by building himself an entire notification network between our phones for each drop season so that the second select few drops went live, both of our phones would simultaneously explode into five push notifications.
We coordinated down to who was refreshing which websites simultaneously, whose cards were saved on which sites, backup plans if we absolutely had to reeeeeeee-buy the item in-store, etc. We planned these Thursday afternoon notifications like it was some top-secret military operation. We ended one of those missions with Marcus bagging a navy box logo hoodie and me cop- ping some sort of camp shirt.
Both items I still wear to this day, though I barely remember how that shirt felt around my shoulders. But looking at each other over our computers after finally landing our respective goods felt like we were victorious hunters returning from some distant land with prey.
God, we were probably assholes.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m calling out my former self a bit but I also genuinely want to express how invested I was (and many still are!) in what we lovingly call “streetwear hype culture.” I’ve slept on pavement for sneaker releases. Set alarms for 2 A.M. for drops that were only going live in Japan (Japan…). Participated in some convoluted bartering schemes that probably make Wall Street traders blush.
At the peak of my hype hysteria I even kept a running Excel spreadsheet that tracked the resale values of each article of clothing I owned. I would proudly sit at my computer on Sundays and update my stock portfolio. Back when it peaked, my spreadsheet once hit $17,000+.
Seventeen thousand dollars of clothes I would only periodically wear, majority still hung up with the tags on. Pieces I knew I couldn’t sell unless I broke my own personal code of purposely underselling items on Grailed. It wasn’t until one day, out of nowhere, I just….didn’t care anymore.
It wasn’t sudden, of course. Much like any anxiety or dependence, you don’t realize you have a problem until you start to feel less of it. The initial high of getting that hard-to-find item started to diminish.
The vicious cycle of craving something new, getting it, taking one photos for proof, feeling accomplished, and then repeating felt shallow. Like I was carelessly climbing some ladder that I thought would go somewhere significant. I would later find out that I wasn’t the only one.
Marcus ended up selling 90% of his Supreme collection to buy a Japanese leather jacket I had never heard of. He wears the shit out of that jacket and it’s only learned more character with each passing year. Clothes that can age and look better with wear are far more interesting to me than stuffing them in their original packaging to preserve their resale value.
My friend gave up on rare colorways of limited-release Nike sneakers and now rocks the same handmade boots 90% of the time. Says he enjoys watching them mold to his feet more than having Jordans sitting at 100% floppage. It’s not that me and my friends suddenly gave up on wearing clothes.
God no, we put way too much time and energy into our style to just give up on it completely. But we did grow out of caring more about the newness and rareness of things. Caring about being the first to own something shifted to just caring about what we wanted to own.
The question is, how do you shift? How do you stop refreshing browser tabs every Wednesday at 11 A.M. and start something that’ll last longer than your favorite celebrity’s fresh off the press sweatshirt? For most people, it starts with burnout.
Not necessarily from sleeping outside for a new release or waiting in-line for five hours straight. But from the mental strain of always wanting something new. Remembering the second you have that limited item in your hands that you’ve been trying to acquire for months, the first thought is always about what you want next.
That’s when you know you need to slow down. I remember finally landing a pair of sneakers I had been waiting three hours in line for. Got them, took some photos, checked Instagram, uploaded to my story.
Felt absolutely nothing. Kind of embarrassed how bored I felt with items I actually tried to hunt down. For me that was when it really clicked.
After that realization, I spent an entire rain-soaked Saturday going through my closet and truly taking inventory of what I owned. Noticed I had over 30 graphic tees from various brands but would gravitate towards the same three quilted polo shirts from some brand no one’s ever heard of. They were simply constructed really well and felt great on my body.
Realized my most expensive pair of sneakers had probably seen about zero wear whereas my plain Jane New Balance 990’s looked like they belonged in a museum in comparison to my high-end kicks. There was such a stark contrast between the things I owned and wore daily. Which brings me to the next step.
What do you actually like? This sounds so easy, take a second and actually think about pieces you gravitate towards that aren’t ‘Streetwear.’ I did. And was pretty shocked at some of my answers.
Once you’ve been inundated by screamed-at-you trends for awhile, it’s tough to decipher what you actually liked versus what you thought you were supposed to like. Will you ever buy from Supreme again? Yes.
Will you ever look forward to the next daily releases? Maybe not. The biggest part about moving past streetwear hype for me was carrying over all the things I loved about the culture and ditching the things that left me feeling anxious and vain.
For me, that meant: Comfort. Music. Authenticity.
Edge. Discovery. Creativity.
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Community. The original tenants of Streetwear are what got me into the culture and what I still value today about putting clothes together. The problem with streetwear hype lies within its forced turnover.
Weekly drops. Quarterly collaborations. Articles telling you what’s “essential” to buy this month.
It’s a culture designed to have you spend. Building a more sustainable, long-term mindset focuses on curating your wardrobe instead of constantly expanding your collection. How do you actually build a wardrobe?
I’m glad you asked. Here’s what’s worked for me, as well as others who told me their story: Figure out your style grooves. What colors, fits, materials do you find yourself coming back to year after hype-season hype-season ends?
For me, that’s always been certain shades (navy, olive, burgundy, gray) and mother of pearl buttons. Oversized shirts with slim pants. Made sure my wardrobe centered around these trends that I found cyclical and would (most likely) always be in style, instead of what was currently popular that season.
Some friends developed a sort of uniform for themselves. They don’t wear the same thing every day, but they find a recipe that works for their body-type and go with it. My friend David used to own over 50 pairs of sneakers.
Now he works off of fitted pants, plain tees or Oxford shirts, around five jackets, and only three pairs of shoes. He looks sharp every day and doesn’t have to stress about what he’s wearing. Invest more in your staples.
Buy less, buy better. Sounds cliche but you truly start to appreciate the piece you knew would last you for years when you save up to buy that one great shirt over three $20 graphic tees. You learn patience.
Patience in looking, patience in buying, patience in waiting for that perfect item to find you. Shop with versatility in mind. Hype culture has produced way too many orphan garments.
Articles of clothing that may look sexy as f**k by themselves but aren’t something you’d actually wear daily, or with multiple pieces you already own. Make sure the things you’re buying work not only with your current wardrobe but future garments you intend to buy. Enjoy how your clothes wear.
This might be the best piece of advice I can give anyone reading this now. You’ll learn to love how your clothes age and are worn in. How your jeans fade uniquely to your walking patterns, or how your leather jackets darken with each month you own it.
Streetwear culture forces you to keep items in their original condition for fear of losing value. Learn to enjoy seeing your clothes worn. Think about where your clothes go when you’re done with them.
If you start buying quality items from more thoughtful brands, your clothes are more likely to hold resale value when you outgrow them or, better yet, biodegrade when you’re done. That sweatshirt you bought from some boutique brand’s monthly drop is likely sitting in a landfill for the next hundreds of years. Aside from saving the planet, trends come and go.
The key is figuring out which ones you actually like versus what you think you should like at the moment. I like to wait a month after seeing something to see if I still care about it. Nine times out of ten I don’t.
My closet today almost literally looks nothing like it did when I started this in 2016. Probably sold or gifted at least 75% of my graphic tees that were limited edition to my younger brother, who still faithfully waits in-line for HypeBeast tell him to drop. Instead, I look for three things when I know an item will remain in my wardrobe: Quality of materials and construction, versatility, and something that I know won’t look dated within five years.
And it doesn’t mean your style has to be boring or minimal. Streetwear taught me how to appreciate color and fun patterns, don’t get me wrong. I just value pieces that have worth beyond artificially inflated demand.
This will also free up your mental capacity more than you think. The amount of energy I used to put into knowing every drop date, cross referencing resale values, watching brands lose or gain cool points – it was a part time job. Letting go of that felt huge.
Helped me find other passions in life and ended a fluttery feeling in my stomach I didn’t know was even there. It even has financial benefits, though admittedly not because I’ve started spending less money. Spend more on the things you know you’ll wear daily.
That $100 you would’ve spent on a “fresh daily” tee can go towards that jacket you know you’ll wear weekly for the next decade. Trust me. “The thing I love about this jacket now is that I don’t stress about messing it up,” Marcus told me over FaceTime the other day. He was absentmindedly rubbing his palm along his leather jacket that looks better now than when he bought it three years ago. “I remember how crazy we used to get about trying to snag a pair of fresh releases.
We put way too much energy into that shit.
This jacket just keeps getting better with time. No flames necessary.” Funny how streetwear started as an anti-fashion revolution only to find itself some years later designing sweaters that cost four times the average American’s weekly income.
In trying to make high fashion accessible to the people, we invented a whole new class system within our own community. Sustainable streetwear means stripping all that back. Getting back to your roots might mean stepping away from Streetwear entirely.
Taking back the power to decide what you actually like versus what you think you should like. Building a personal style that’s reflective of you and not the amount of drops you own. I love streetwear.
I’m wearing a vintage Golf Wang tee as we speak. I just stopped letting it own me quite so much. Photo by cottonbro studio on Unsplash
