Tired of fast fashion that falls apart faster than my week five motivation, I set myself a challenge this summer: could I actually dress sustainably without bankrupting myself on a pair of Tom’s Trunks? Until now, ‘sustainable fashion’ felt like something reserved for people with £200 linen shirts and perfect Pinterest capsule wardrobes. But I wanted to see if it could work on a Cambridge student budget. Spoiler: it’s not just possible – it’s oddly fun.

This summer, I gave myself two weeks to refuse anything brand new, test out different sustainable options, and document what worked. The result: my own small-scale wardrobe revolution.

The Vinted Rabbit Hole

Apps like Vinted and Depop turn second-hand shopping into a sport: scroll, bargain, and bag wardrobe staples from the comfort of your bed. At first, I thought Vinted would be a safe bet – budget-friendly, eco-conscious, and maybe even a cure for my ASOS habit. Selling your old clothes here is just as satisfying as it functions as helping yourself and others – it declutters and lets someone else score a sustainable find.

It started innocently enough. I told myself I was “just browsing” and twenty minutes later, I was locked in a bidding war over a handbag I absolutely did not need. That’s when it hit me: while these finds don’t come wrapped in guilt (or nearly as much polyester) as my usual splurges, second-hand shopping is still dangerously addictive.

“Invest in classics and stick to natural fabrics like cotton and linen, which stand a fighting chance against the college laundry machines”

The trick is setting rules before you spiral. I only let myself scroll if I had a clear idea of what I needed (such as linen trousers for those rogue hot days, a jumper thick enough to survive the UL bookstack draft). I swore by the ‘rule of three’: if an item couldn’t pair with at least three outfits I already owned, it stayed in the basket. Lastly, student budgets often tempt us into making cheap, disposable purchases, yet one well-made piece can outlast ten fast-fashion fixes. Invest in classics and stick to natural fabrics like cotton and linen, which stand a fighting chance against the college laundry machines.

The Charity Shop Circuit

Next stop: charity shops. There’s a dangerous strip near the Grafton that acts like a black hole for your student loan. I wandered in “just for a look” and somehow came out with a vintage hat, a scarf, and a pair of formal shoes – all for less than a Pret lunch. Honestly, it felt like cheating the system.

Charity shopping, I quickly learned, is a game of patience. You won’t always stumble across the oversized knit of your dreams on the first try. But when you do, it feels like winning. And unlike high-street hauls, every piece comes with a story stitched into it.

Here’s my advice: don’t expect TikTok-worthy hauls every time. The secret is consistency and timing. Go early in the week for the best finds, train your eye for fabrics that actually last, and lean into the thrill of the hunt. Cambridge is full of these hidden gems, but beware: when student finance drops, “just one more look” is dangerously easy to justify.

Learning to Fix Things

Here’s a confession: until recently, I didn’t know how to sew on a button. If a shirt lost one, it would sit in the back of my wardrobe until the term ended, where I would bring it home and repeat the vicious cycle. But one evening, armed with a YouTube tutorial and my grandma’s sewing kit, I resurrected a shirt I’d long declared dead.

“Suddenly, the ‘unfixable’ pile in my wardrobe felt less like rubbish and more like a possibility”

The result? Questionable. My stitching looked like it was done on a moving train – but the pride of wearing something I’d mended myself was immense. Suddenly, the ‘unfixable’ pile in my wardrobe felt less like rubbish and more like a possibility.

The truth is, you don’t need to be a sewing prodigy to keep clothes alive longer. Learn the basics (think buttons, hems, tiny tears) and let YouTube do the rest. And if you’re more social, Cambridge has societies for knitting, crocheting, and just about every craft under the sun – a great way to pick up skills while meeting new people. For the rest of us, 2 a.m. tutorials work just fine.

The Art of Letting Go

Sustainable fashion isn’t just about what you buy – it’s about what you don’t keep. My drawers are always bursting, never quite closing because I insist on hoarding “maybe I’ll wear this again” clothes. One rainy afternoon, I finally tackled the pile. It was weirdly emotional saying goodbye to the dress I wore once in Freshers’. But once I started reselling some pieces and donating others, it felt less like a loss and more like a reset.

I realised how easy it is to hoard in the name of a ‘future use’ that never actually comes. Now, clearing out feels like part of my routine, not just a desperate panic when I run out of hangers. Even high-street shops like H&M run garment recycling schemes – drop off your clothes, get a discount. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than letting things languish in a bin bag.

“Letting go of clothes you don’t wear feels like making space for a new version of yourself”

If you’re tempted to try, start small. Sustainability doesn’t have to be all-or-nothing; sometimes it’s just making sure your old jumper gets worn again, instead of being forgotten in the back of a drawer.

What I Learned

After two weeks of experimenting, I realised sustainable fashion is messy, funny, and occasionally frustrating. Sometimes you lose a bidding war on Vinted. Sometimes your ‘upcycling project’ produces an unwearable tote bag. Sometimes you still scroll ASOS’s new-in page like it’s an old flame.


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But it is possible. Second-hand shopping feels less like a shame spiral and more like a treasure hunt. Fixing clothes yourself can be clumsy, but it’s deeply satisfying. And letting go of clothes you don’t wear feels like making space for a new version of yourself.

What surprised me most is this: sustainable fashion doesn’t mean looking worse, spending more, or denying yourself fun. It means slowing down, thinking twice, and falling in love with your clothes again.