The year is 2017 - Beyoncé is pregnant, Despacito is on every radio station, and it feels like everyone (including me) is wearing Justin Bieber Purpose Tour merch and multi-colored cargo pants.

As a junior in high school, I remember those two items being my first real experience with a mass-produced microtrend. Every fast fashion store in the mall carried knockoff Bieber merch, and every Instagram “baddie” had at least one piece.

Looking back, I think 2017 was the year fast fashion got faster. Social media algorithms shifted, and suddenly we weren’t just seeing posts from friends, we were all seeing the same influencers, no matter where they were in the world. That visibility exploded the demand for trending items and helped fuel the overconsumption lifestyle we see today.

At the same time, I hated looking like everyone else. I wanted the popular items, but with a twist, if everyone was wearing ripped jeans in the front, I wanted mine ripped in the back. Back then, fast fashion was purely about style for me. I didn’t think about where the clothes came from or who was making them and honestly, no one around me did either.

I started thrifting and visiting vintage stores with friends, and it quickly became a regular part of my life. Now, most of my wardrobe is thrifted, borrowed, or upcycled. My closet feels so much more personal, every piece tells a story before I even say a word, which is exactly what little, fashion-obsessed me always wanted.

Making or altering clothing has become a labor of love. Once you experience how much time, effort, and skill it takes to create something, you gain empathy for the workers behind mass-produced garments - the ones sold for impossibly low prices. It’s also impossible to ignore the environmental destruction of fast fashion fuels. For me, once I understood the cycle, I couldn’t unsee it.