The New Yorker--October 14, 2019--Your Birkin bag, your Chanel flats, your Alaïa bandage dress, your Rick Owens leather leggings—all your expensive so-called investment clothing was, in the olden days, an investment in name only. If you went up a size or down a size or just experienced a fashion rethink, there was no recourse; your wardrobe was largely illiquid. Other terrible things could happen. You might be an influencer and your followers could get tired of seeing you drag around the same Gucci clutch, but it cost so damn much that you had to wring all the value out of it. Or you might realize that you weren’t giving every Cathy Waterman stud in your collection sufficient ear time and yet were hankering for an Anita Ko climber. Read more