How does the saying go? My name is Vicky, and I have a Vinted addiction.
It’s not glamorous to say you have an unhealthy habit of buying second-hand clothes – not very Sex and the City – but sadly, I’m not even unusual.
We’re living through a second-hand fashion boom. As the trend has taken off, so too have the platforms on which these clothes are sold. Vinted turned a profit of £80m last year. Depop was hot on its heels with £63m.
Both operate on the same basic premise: they’re massive online wardrobes where buyers and sellers and upload and purchase clothing. When something is bought, those items are speedily shipped over via courier. Often, these purchases are cheap – a couple of quid, perhaps.
And though they profess to be better for the planet – which is, to some extent, true – make no mistake. Just like fast fashion sites, apps like Vinted and Depop have also figured out the best possible way to part us from our hard-earned cash: hardcore gamification.
Opening Vinted is like being plunged into a video game: one with its own levels, goals and objectives. The objective? To scour the app’s seemingly endless list of items for one you like. The goal? To beat out other potential shoppers to nab it for yourself.
For sellers, things can get just as addictive. A certain amount of items listed per month will earn you a “Frequent Uploads” badge. But be warned: if you don’t keep up with your uploading “streak”, that badge can just as easily be withdrawn.
Both buyers and sellers are targeted. People are encouraged to leave star ratings for others, which feeds into an overall individual score, rather like an Uber rating. And when payments come into your account, they arrive as credit – which will automatically be deducted from your next purchase, should you choose. It’s basically free money!
Depop, on the other hand, wields scarcity value like a weapon. Clicking on a specific item will inform you how many people have ‘liked’ it, how many people have made offers to buy it and how many people have it “in their bag” – aka ready to check out.
I’m writing this article in the throes of buyer’s remorse
There’s nothing that gets the pulse racing like seeing that seven other people are competing for the same piece of clothing – or the notification that informs you when an offer is accepted. “Make moves to make the item yours”, Depop will tell me. All too often, I do.
It’s a fiendishly effective business model: no wonder these companies are doing so well. Vinted has over 100m registered users, 18m of which are based in the UK.
That includes me. My own Vinted addiction started slowly: lured in by the prospect of “cheaper” clothes, I started browsing the site in pursuit of specific items I needed. Coats. Jackets. A shirt that I’d seen in a store window but thought I might be able to get at a bargain price somewhere else.
That’s now spiralled. Sometimes I’ll open the app, just to mindlessly scroll in the same way that I would on Instagram, finger poised ready to make impulse purchases. I’m writing this article in the throes of buyer’s remorse, having just spent a sizeable amount of cash on a top that I’ve convinced myself I desperately need.
Just like social media, the second-hand clothing apps have figured out the best way to hijack our brain chemistry and get us spending.
For me, it’s too late: the hooks are in. The next step for me is to delete the apps altogether, but that would mean deleting all the clothes I already have for sale. These waters are deep. Save yourselves while you can.
Vicky Jessop is a culture and lifestyle writer
