Let Go the Label Lust

I committed a crazed act of rebellion yesterday. To grasp the full weight of said act requires a brief conceptual review of what defines a Label Whore, so let’s discuss. Label Whores buy brands for brands’ sake. When you equate a garment’s label with said garment looking good on you, it’s only a matter of time before you slap down a credit card for a $300 top you wear NEVER. In your closet it sits unworn for months, possibly years. You still love the brand, but you eventually come to hate that fucking top. Yet in your closet it stays; as long as it’s there, you’re able to delude yourself into thinking you’ll wear it someday, that it will become something other than a material reminder of wasted cha-ching. It is faaaahbulous on the hanger, after all.

In theory, I’m against buying brands for brands’ sake. The only barometer for whether or not something’s worth buying is whether or not you look and feel fabulous wearing it – at least, that’s what I preach. It’s not necessarily what I practice. Case(s)-in-point: These two designer dresses.

The polka-dot mini number is Gianfranco Ferre; a brand whose dresses retail for approximately $1000. This one – at around $500 – was a very generous gift from my mother, given to me only because I was too blinded by the brand to see the dress for what it was: Way. Too. Short. I donned it for a sorority formal in 2003, felt more slutty than sexy in it, and it’s been sitting in my closet ever since.

The Diane von Furstenberg number was purchased a year ago at full retail price ($380) and also the result of parental charity. In my defense, I repeatedly told my mother not to buy it on the grounds of it being about as comfortable as a sausage casing. She insisted, assuring me I’d wear it someday; in the year since, I’ve certainly tried. It’s just that every time I’d put on the dress, things like breathing and walking became challenging. I’d waddle around in it, wheezing all the way and after ten minutes or so, unzip my way to freedom in disgust.

And so yesterday, I took a stand against holding onto brands for brands’ sake. I sold these two uber high-end dresses to Buffalo Exchange. They didn’t price them at anywhere near their original worth ($26 for the Ferre, $32 for the DVF), and I was more than okay with that; their tendency to lowball means I can actually afford their merch. Particularly when I have store credit to burn.

Ridding my closet of these dresses was more than an exercise of practicing what I preach. This act of rebellion against my inner Label Whore was a necessary contribution to the glorious world of resale, one that gives my fellow shoppers the chance to enjoy what I couldn’t. Karma, baby. Karma.