Back to the Source

There was no shortage of outrage last year when TagWalk reported a 996% increase in fur on the AW25 runways, in spite of widespread bans in the 2010s and decades of obstinate campaigning from animal rights activists. Circumventing these bans, designers such as Maxmillian Davis at Ferragamo made known that the voluptuous caramel furs slinking down the AW25 runway were actually shearling contrived to mimic fur, proving that the “byproduct” defence is still alive and well. But here lies a necessary caveat: ask any young woman traipsing through Dalston/Williamsburg/Navigli in an ankle-length mink and she’ll assure you it’s vintage. Indeed, whilst new fur is very much still taboo, it is old fur, not faux, which has quickly become the cause celebré of this particular milieu. The mystique of a hand-me-down fur cannot be recreated on demand: the glamour rests in its history, in its survival. 

Aesthetics aside, the main argument in favour of vintage fur is that, like all clothing, it is more sustainable to use what’s already there. Faux fur, made from synthetics like polyester or acrylic, is less apt at keeping the wearer warm, and obviously environmentally problematic. And it’s not only fur that’s embroiled in this debate: all over, consumers are growing conscious of the disadvantages of synthetic fibres, on both a global and personal level. 

As the FT recently reported, nascent understanding of our skin’s microbiome has drawn attention to the presence of “forever chemicals”, or PFAS, in our clothing, with such alarming adjectives as “carcinogenic”, “toxic” and “endocrine disrupting” setting off alarm bells all over. After decades of clean skincare and clean eating, it was only a matter of time before the next frontier of clean living would be our clothing. Recycled polyester is no longer cutting it, and brands are taking note. Nero, a Manchester-born activewear company that sells merino-blend shorts for men, does not hold back in their rhetoric: “Alexander the Great conquered the world in cotton. And you’re training in polyester?” Chauvinistic melodrama aside, their campaign has been successful: last month, Nero hit $3 million in revenue, only 10 months into operation.

The virality of the Intimissimi cashmere top proves that gen-Z consumers are eager to integrate natural materials into their everyday wardrobe; in lieu of financial and job security, a fur coat or cashmere scarf can provide a semblance of control, a literal comfort. So, whilst mainstream designers like Gucci are sending models down the runway in polyamide leggings and releasing AI-generated campaigns, dozens of independent brands are marketing themselves around this demand, promising heritage techniques, transparent production and accessible price points. 

A personal favourite is Dilling, a Danish brand who have been making merino and silk undergarments for four generations. From pastel pointelle slips to sturdy woollen leggings, their pieces blend functionality with sensuality, without skimping on quality. To layer on top, &Daughter’s cashmere and lambswool knits are chic and sustainable, a manifestation of the founder’s Scottish and Irish heritage. To wear underneath it all, the much-beloved CouCou Intimates make all their pieces in 100% organic cotton, gynecologist-approved. As for the fur? If your grandmother’s wardrobe heeds no results, Vestiaire has no shortage of stoles, jackets, and accessories to bluff an inheritance and keep you warm for many winters to come.