Who’s designing the future if we’re all buying the past?

That’s the question I keep circling back to. As I found myself mostly buying second hand or was also wondering as with every topic cause the industry is complicated to understand. With all the second-hand clothing, with everyone becoming more conscious about sustainability and consumption, what happens to designers? What happens to the economy built around them? And if we only buy what already exists, what clothes will there be for the next generation to create?

Because vintage right now is having its golden era. It’s cool, it’s responsible, it feels smarter than walking into Zara and walking out with something that already looks tired by the next week. Buying second-hand makes you look like you care — and maybe you actually do. But here’s the paradox: if all of us only buy the past, who is designing the future?

Archive energy:

Vintage has power. It gives you individuality without trying too hard. A 90s Prada skirt feels cooler than its reissue because it’s rare, it’s lived, it’s not everywhere on Instagram. And of course, it’s fun: flea markets, Depop, Vestiaire Collective — half the thrill is the hunt.

It’s not niche anymore, either. The global resale market is projected to hit $350 billion by 2027 (ThredUp). For context, that’s more than double its size in 2023 — and bigger than the entire fast-fashion industry today. In other words, resale isn’t a side hustle. It’s becoming the main stage.

Designers themselves rely on vintage, too. Nicolas Ghesquière has built whole Louis Vuitton collections on retro sci-fi silhouettes. Marine Serre upcycles scarves into dresses. And Emily Adams Bode built her entire brand on antique quilts, saying she wanted to “tell the stories of the past in the present.”

So yes, vintage feeds style. It inspires, excites, and democratizes. But it also raises a harder question.

The consumer dilemma:

Here’s the irony: people buy vintage to look unique — but platforms like Depop or Vinted often just create new uniformity. Everyone’s hunting down Levi’s 501s, Y2K baby tees, and archival Prada nylon. The result? You don’t actually stand out; you’re just repeating a different kind of trend cycle.

Meanwhile, young designers — the ones actually creating something new — struggle to break through. Why gamble on their first collection when a vintage piece feels safer, cheaper, and already validated by history?

Emily Bode’s approach is fascinating here. By using antique quilts, she doesn’t reject the past — she transforms it. Her work proves that vintage and new design can live together. But not everyone has that access to craft or storytelling. For many emerging designers, the shift toward second-hand is less romantic: it’s lost sales, lost visibility, lost chances.

So the consumer dilemma is this: are we really buying individuality, or just recycling nostalgia while starving new creation?

So…what now ??? :

If we only buy vintage, designers and their economies do suffer. The danger is a nostalgia loop where fashion keeps looking backward instead of forward. But vintage also has undeniable cultural and creative value — it inspires, sustains, and saves.

The real solution is balance. Buy vintage when it sings to you, but also invest in the designers shaping what comes next. Because vintage saves the past, but new designers build the future. And if we want both, we have to support both.

So maybe the real vote isn’t “old vs. new,” but choosing a closet that honors both: the archive and the atelier, the flea market and the graduate collection.

Because otherwise, who is designing the future if we’re all buying the past?

anyhow by writing I realise how tricky the industry is and how much effort there is to keep it alive.