Finding sincere clothes
in insincere places.
written by Nabi. Nabi is a Paris- and New York-based writer, publicist, and communications strategist working in the design and fashion industries. She's often questioning what authenticity means.
What’s that quote from Charles Dickens again? It was the best of times and the worst of times. 160 years later, it still rings true. But instead of wisdom and foolishness, we get screentime and the real world, and the epochs of belief and incredulity become epochs of “quiet luxury” and “maximalist revivals”.
In an age of extremes and mass information, my abrupt discovery of a pair of ballet flats (a pair which I already owned, but was quietly contemplating repurchasing in a different color) in a nondescript secret location (I’m gate-keeping) led me down a path of middle-class nostalgia, and the uncanny realization that the thrill of the hunt, that dose of adrenaline of finding a precious diamond in a pile of coal was no longer at the overpriced, curated archive Y2K vintage pop-up. But in the unorganized chaos of the cheugy off-price retailer. Bear with me now, things have got to be cringe before they become “cool”.
The story technically begins in circa 2018. It was the age of the heinous Off-White belt. The disgusting, yet era-defining Balenciaga Triple S. PVC totes that had a delicious plastic smell. Everywhere you went in 2018, especially in New York City, a trend was there to assault your eyes around every corner. It was around this time that I stumbled into the now permanently closed :( Repetto store in SoHo. I was immediately struck by its elegance: the eyeliner black facade, and warm interior peaking through the windows. Even more compelling was the medley of ballet flats in a rainbow of handsome colors, their patent leather shimmering under the chandelier above and the sheen of the calfskin versions winking back at me. Their design was simple: an elegant, long form; a rounded, unassuming toe; and a humble (3cm max) heel. The world outside was loud and gaudy, but inside, with the shoes, there was a quiet stillness. One of grace, one of maturity. All of those corny YouTube videos of influencers preaching about “investing in classics” and embarrassing books I read about “How to be Parisian” in my tweens (they all spread the gospel of the ballet flat thanks to Brigitte Bardot) suddenly made sense. Alas, I was only 19 and had nowhere near enough money to drop on a pair of Nappa calfskin leather made in France shoes.
IYKYK
Years passed, and I was no longer a student and had a consistent salary. I was now sick of wearing boxy, oversized clothes and wanted to be taken a bit more seriously. Inject a bit of femininity and whimsy into my wardrobe after lugging around in beat-up Docs and cargo pants. Maybe even start wearing skirts. I eventually bit the bullet and bought the Camille ballet flat on SSENSE. When the package arrived in the mail, I wasted no time taking it up to my room for the much anticipated, but familiar ritual any online shopper knows all to well. Without thought, I ripped the brown DHL box open, which held the chic, black Repetto shoe box. I gingerly opened it, peeling back the delicate baby pink tissue and placed the dustbag to the side to reveal a supple and lightweight pair of ink black heeled flats.
More years past, and the soles of my Repettos wore the marks of gallivanting various city streets. The “girl” trend emerged and soon, there were no shortage of nymph-like men, women, and everything in between wearing ballet flats. Today, the Margiela tabi flat is to go-to for many fashion heads, but I stay true to the Repettos. They’re comfortable, versatile, and hold-up well as someone who walks – a lot. Margiela tabi flats are “girl”, whereas Repettos are sincere, cerebral. The thinking woman’s shoe.
This is the point where we get to the present day, where, gallivanting the streets of Paris, I stumble upon the nondescript secret location (an off-price retailer). After window shopping at a number of “vintage” and “archive” pop-ups, jaded from the exorbitant price tags slapped on ordinary old clothes, the atmosphere at the retailer brought me an uncanny sense of joy. It was cluttered — with racks of unwanted clothing bunched together — and sterile, with a soul-less interior with LED overhead lighting. But if you looked, really looked, there was a lot of cool stuff — and that’s when I saw them: the familiar medley of colorful patent leather shoes. Pairs of Repettos, with minor wear and damage, hence their presence at the retailer. It was like meeting a memory, but this time in the most unglamorus, but based places, amongst clearance racks and leftovers. And maybe that’s what I missed about vintage shopping that this off-price retailer offered: agency over my own decisions about clothes and taste. Being required to sift through stuff — lots of stuff — and deciding for myself if I really liked it or not, minus the pomp and circumstance of retail designs, branding, aura farmers, and “vibes”.
So much of what we see and buy today is wrapped in aesthetic language, making decisions for us. TikTok micro-trends, Pinterest moodboards, “cores,” and algorithms telling us what we like before we’ve even decided for ourselves. In a culture fuelled by hype, finding sincere clothing is perhaps easiest in the most insincere places — within store walls devoid of any vibes or ~ aesthetic curation ~, amongst discards and things that nobody wanted, giving you the opportunity to rewrite that garment’s narrative yourself, free from trend cycles and expectation, and connect with pieces on your own terms: quietly, personally, and meaningfully.
some alternatives
