‘Buy it nice or buy it twice’
The “frugal chic” aesthetic is having its moment, however contradictory the concept may seem. Frugal suggests a focus on thriftiness, while “chic” oozes a sense of classic luxury.
Coined by former model and content creator Mia McGrath before trending on TikTok, this is one of the latest attempts to change how we think about clothes and disrupt our voracious appetite for fashion.
McGrath encourages Gen Z to think about the positive aspects of making do with less. For her, being frugally chic refers to an individual who values quality, high taste, and freedom. They reject this new world of overconsumption that preys on the insecurities of unconscious doom scrollers.
Frugal chic means a commitment to purchases that will last for many years and be part of a “forever wardrobe”.
McGrath calls on consumers to invest in quality – “buy it nice or buy it twice” – while blending luxury purchases with cheaper and even thrifted clothes.
McGrath is not the first to try to influence change by promoting sustainable, responsible clothing consumption.
The global slow fashion movement supports individuals to (as the name suggests) slow down clothing purchases. But simply shopping less is easier said than done.
Slow fashion is driven by an increased awareness of the environmental and societal impact of the purchases we make. It also means forming a different, deeper relationship with our clothes.
Repair cafes set up in many countries further aid this work. They offer opportunities for people to fix their clothes – whether broken zips, missing buttons, rips, or something more complex – with the help of skilled repairers.
An uptick in “capsule wardrobes” has also been framed as a responsible choice. A capsule wardrobe encourages fewer classic, high-quality items in neutral colours as staples that can be worn interchangeably with each other and with bolder accent pieces.
Each of these matters as a counterpoint to what has become a massive problem: spiralling consumption and discard rates.
In 2024, Australians alone purchased 1.51 billion items of new clothing. That’s the equivalent of 55 garments for every person each year.
Many of those clothes don’t form part of a “forever wardrobe”. Across that same year, Australians sent 220,000 tonnes of castoffs to landfills. That’s 880 million items. A further 36 million items of unwanted clothing were shipped overseas, adding to mounting global landfills.
The production, consumption, use and disposal of clothing are emission-intensive. In 2024, Australia’s per capita emissions for clothing were equivalent to driving more than 3,600 kilometres in a petrol-fuelled car.
Despite these startling figures, shopping continues.
Frugal chic has plenty of historical parallels.
More than 150 years ago, clothing did not have a single life. It could be mended, adjusted and adapted. It could be passed down from person to person. Clothing was so valuable it was often bequeathed.
At the end of its wearable life, clothing was recycled into something new. It might be cut down to fit children, pieced together and sewn into quilts for warmth at night, or torn into rags.
This considered attitude to clothing did not end in the 20th century. Global upheavals continued to underline the critical importance of long clothing lifecycles.
In the Great Depression, as rates of unemployment soared, clothing budgets plummeted. This demanded ingenuity to keep families clothed.
Austerity measures introduced during World War II included the rationing of clothing. Measures also included the control of clothing styles to save fabric, threads and buttons. Known as “victory styling”, this created a direct link between less clothing and contributing to the war effort.
Some responded by making new clothes out of old garments salvaged from the back of wardrobes. Others turned to novel materials such as sugar bags to make themselves new outfits.
Like these historical examples, the “frugal chic” aesthetic frames frugality as virtuous – aligning with the shift towards sustainability – and aspirational, signalling an intention to live more mindfully.
In today’s context, it’s also inextricably linked to the cost-of-living crisis that has encouraged a rise in secondhand clothing and dress hire.
But “frugal chic” is not without tension. For one thing, most “frugal chic” content casts frugality as a choice rather than a necessity for dealing with issues of overconsumption or low income.
For another, it could be seen as an example of the pressure placed on women to look and act in certain ways – not simply to prioritise sustainability, but to appear both fashionable and financially savvy at the same time.
Will the “frugal chic” aesthetic change how we think about our clothes? It’s hard to say, but all rallying cries for sustainable fashion consumption hold potential for much-needed change.
Lorinda Cramer is Lecturer, Cultural Heritage and Museum Studies, Deakin University. This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons licence