An Oxymoronic Anti-Consumer Making a Substack About Consumption

A vulnerable note on the ethics of being a shopping Substack

A few days ago, I was approached by

AMANDA

for a feature coming out on

Certified.

this Sunday (💕). She asked me a few thoughtful questions about my writing process, which made me pause and reflect on the ethos of this newsletter, and how the more success it sees, the clearer I try to be about what Driving Shoes is actually here to do.

At its core, this newsletter centers the circular fashion economy. That means celebrating vintage design. Uplifting emerging brands. Creating more accessible ways to engage with high-quality fabrics, tailoring, and designers. And offering thoughtful alternatives to a deeply exclusionary industry, both in cost and mindset.

Because, from the outside looking in, fashion can feel incredibly intimidating. It often presents the idea that to get your foot in the door—or become an influencer, or get hired by a top brand—you have to already be wealthy. Entry-level roles at legacy companies are notoriously low-paying, even sometimes not providing insurance, and are still highly competitive. Often, they require 1–2 years of full-time, unpaid internship experience. Which usually comes down to… who you know (or who someone’s parents know). And is sustained by the idea of whether you have the external financial support to even accept said job that likely doesn’t cover big city bills.

Even showing up to those jobs can feel like a test. I felt the need to fashion-flag, class-signal—thread the needle of having just enough designer items (a four-stitch here, a subtle logo there) to appear “effortless” and in-the-know five days a week. And if you’re pursuing fashion content creation, it’s hard not to feel like you need a constant stream of new pieces just to keep up. Even the kind of *je ne sais quoi* we associate with a well-dressed cool girl doing a TRR haul on TikTok often comes from the idea that they don’t have to think about the cost of it. And maybe that’s just my perception—but I’ve shared it with friends and peers, and I know I’m not alone.

So here’s what I am trying to do:

Champion emerging brands

The (in-progress) Shop Small series is a place to highlight independent designers I love. Many of these pieces are expensive (sometimes upwards of $500), but the point of the edit isn’t to drive sales. It’s to celebrate artistry. To create a reference point. And to remind readers that you can love fashion without buying a thing.

A friend of mine from high school visited me in New York recently, and I took her to Bergdorf’s—what I consider the perfect lazy day activity. After twenty minutes or so of wandering through the floors, she looked at me and said, “The difference between us is that you could do this all day, and I don’t really care to look unless I’m taking something home.” I bring this up not to shade her, but to say: we experience fashion differently. She probably wouldn’t be a religious Driving Shoes reader—and that’s okay. But if you are here, chances are you understand that design, symbolism, history, and even political statement can live inside a garment. And that obsession alone is enough.

Share pre-owned finds and affordable alternatives

I want Driving Shoes to offer a way into the world we love, without going into credit card debt to get there.

The cost of everything is insane right now. Rent. ConEd. Even Zara tops are $60. Fifteen years ago, a new Louis Vuitton Neverfull was under $800. Now it’s over $2,000. A new Bottega bag is $5K+. What is going on?! (That’s another post for another day, lol.)

I started shopping secondhand because I couldn’t afford to walk into Bergdorf’s and blow out The Row floor. Admittedly, I like to think even if I could, it’d still be going primarily pre-owned. Over time, I taught myself how to spot quality, how to find better fabrics, and how to stretch a tight budget while still indulging my love of design. I want to pass that on to you.

Rather than spend $60 on your next summer top from Zara, I hope to offer a more sustainable, better-made secondhand alternative—something you’ll want to keep, and maybe even resell later. That’s the real mission.

My relationship with shopping is complex.

There have been times I’ve spent way too long weighing a purchase I know I can’t justify—going back and forth for weeks over a pair of shoes or a vintage bag, refreshing endlessly to see if the price drops. I’ve returned things I technically could afford and bought things I couldn’t, only to feel anxious about it later. I’ve had full-blown panic attacks weeks after a purchase, convinced I could’ve found it cheaper if I’d just waited for the next sale. That feeling even creeps in with gifts—like I’ve failed if I didn’t time it perfectly. I’ve cried on Christmas over this!

This is the reality behind the screen.

I’m always navigating what feels aspirational vs. what’s actually sustainable for my life in its current state. I don’t always know where the line is between loving beautiful things and feeling consumed by them. I’m still figuring that out. And I guess that’s part of what this post is for.

Most of us already have more than we need. And yet, even within the concept of a sustainable “capsule wardrobe” movement, we convince ourselves into $100 white T-shirts and $500 sweaters because we’re sure if we get this one, we’ll never need another one again. And once those boxes are checked, there’s always a new DONNI pant or subconscious shift to chase. I can admit I am guilty of contributing to this, too.

So I want to say this clearly:

• I don’t think buying something every week is normal, expected, or financially/sustainably healthy.

• I am in a near-constant circulation of selling/donating pieces I no longer wear/fit to make room (and money) for something new. I really only get a new big ticket item when I have just sold one. This does make it look like I am adding a new handbag to my collection every month, but what I’m not sharing is what I sold to afford it.

• I’m 25. I’m unemployed after a recent lay-off. I’m incredibly fortunate to be in a position where I can pour my time into this newsletter—sharing shopping edits twice a day and pushing content like a crazy person. But I also want to be transparent about what’s real for me: I’m in and out of this industry, aspiring to more, but feeling fiscally stuck by it. Maybe you are too.

I’m still figuring this all out. And if you are too, I hope you feel less alone in that.

We can want beautiful things and still be critical.

We can love fashion and still not know what to wear sometimes.

That’s part of the joy, too.

If nothing else, I hope Driving Shoes reminds you that you don’t need to buy something to belong here. Loving fashion is enough. And if you feel that internal tension sometimes, you’re not a hypocrite. You’re human. Social media just has a way of making us forget that.

Love you.

—Taylor