Are Vinted and Depop just a type of fast fashion under a greener guise?

Are platforms like Vinted and Depop encouraging a more sustainable future, or simply enabling the same overconsumption under a greener guise? Holly Warren investigates 

Keziah Platt, with some of her vintage stock. Picture: Moya Nolan

In a remarkable shift for fashion retail, Vinted, the Lithuanian-born secondhand fashion app, has dethroned Amazon, Shein, and H&M as France’s most visited retail site. Depop, another resale giant, is equally embedded in youth style culture, with upwards of 30m users and strong influence in the Gen Z aesthetic.

What was once a domain of thrifters and vintage lovers has now become a major industry itself. The rise of these platforms is being hailed as a revolution in fashion consumption, proof that we’re rethinking our habits in light of the climate crisis and textile waste. 

But as secondhand shopping becomes faster and more trendy, a more complicated picture is emerging: Are platforms such as Vinted and Depop encouraging a more sustainable future, or simply enabling the same overconsumption under a greener guise?

The shopping experience of these online platforms is strikingly similar to fast fashion: fast, frictionless, and endlessly replenished. The availability of “bundles” and time-limited “offers” mirrors the urgency found on fashion sites such as Shein, while influencers post “unboxings” and secondhand “hauls”. 

Cost is also a factor — €8 here and €5 there feels harmless, but small purchases can quickly add up, both financially and environmentally.

Are these sites really encouraging more thoughtful consumption, or just providing another way to get our dopamine hit with less guilt?

Meet the vintage sellers

Keziah Platt, with some of her vintage stock that she will sell on Vinted. Picture: Moya Nolan

“I remember when Vinted first came out and people were buying hundreds of packages,” recalls Keziah Platt, a Depop seller with a Y2K-focused shop. “You’re buying secondhand, but it’s still overconsumption.”

It’s easy to see how users can fall into old habits, but for many vintage sellers, their journey doesn’t start with a business plan; it is about the love of fashion and the desire to pass on one-of-a-kind pieces.

Hazel O’Malley, owner of Hazel’s Nuts About Vintage in Killarney, began her resale journey in 2014 by clearing out her own wardrobe.

“I packed it all up for a market stall,” she recalls. “It was just to see if I liked doing it before I invested in anything.”

Over time, she built a following on Depop and eventually opened a physical shop.

Platt followed a similar path. She initially began sourcing from charity shops, though looking back she says she “wasn’t happy” doing that.

“I felt really guilty about it,” she admits, having realised she could be taking from people who needed those shops more. Both sellers moved toward wholesale vintage — curated bales of secondhand clothing sold in bulk, often imported from the UK or mainland Europe. While this avoids direct competition with local charity shops, it introduces new challenges around cost, quality, and waste.

Hazel O'Malley, outside her charming vintage clothing and accessories shop 'Hazel's Nuts About Vintage' on Glebe Lane, Killarney. Picture: Valerie O'Sullivan

“You can get amazing stuff, or you can get 10 tiny skirts. Sizing can be really limited,” says Platt.

“It’s all about the relationships,” says O’Malley. “You have to find the right wholesalers — eventually, you get to a place where it works.”

Wholesale often comes with a higher price tag, which can push sellers to charge more, something that doesn’t always sit well on platforms such as Vinted, where low prices dominate. Buyers conditioned to expect bargains are often resistant to paying more, even for curated or rare vintage finds.

“Vinted is where people go for cheap things,” says Platt. “No one’s going on there to spend a lot. It makes it hard for curated sellers to compete.”

There’s also a deeper class conversation that sits beneath this. Secondhand used to be a necessity for many, not a fashion choice, but an economic one. Now, as the resale industry grows, the dynamic is shifting. When resellers buy in bulk from charity shops or discount outlets and flip them for profit, it can drive up prices and make access harder for those who relied on those shops in the first place. There’s a tension between thrift as trend and thrift as survival. And that tension is not always acknowledged in the hype around circular fashion.

Secondhand authenticity

Keziah Platt. Picture: Moya Nolan

The explosion of secondhand platforms has also birthed a new side hustle: thrift arbitrage. This is where sellers buy clothing in bulk from charity shops, vintage markets, or even source cheap items online, and resell them at a wide profit margin. While some see this as entrepreneurial spirit, others worry it can drive up prices and limit access for lower-income buyers.

Long-time thrifters now speak of feeling priced out of their own local charity shops, where trendy labels are snapped up quickly for online resale.

“I know sellers who source pieces from charity shops, but usually if they’re looking for something specific, or a bigger range of sizes.” says Platt. “If you’re doing it for the wrong reasons, I find there’s a lot of guilt surrounding it.”

Dropshipping — where sellers use AliExpress-style suppliers and list mass-produced items as “vintage-inspired” or “Y2K” — has become another grey area on resale platforms. This frustrates both buyers and genuine sellers alike. It also blurs the boundaries between secondhand authenticity and fast fashion mimicry, eroding trust in what resale is supposed to mean.

Hazel O'Malley of 'Hazel's Nuts About Vintage' on Glebe Lane, Killarney. Picture: Valerie O'Sullivan

O’Malley notes that platforms could do more to moderate this: “It’s about quality control. You don’t want someone buying a polyester bodycon and thinking that’s what vintage is. It makes it harder for the rest of us.”

In response to questions about its platform responsibilities, Depop emphasised its commitment to educating users on sustainability. “Our users care a great deal about the environment,” it said. “We help them understand the importance of their purchase decisions… We regularly let buyers and sellers know how their purchases translate into water and carbon savings.”

There’s no denying that resale platforms are reshaping how we shop. But whether that shift leads to a more sustainable fashion future, or just a faster version of the same habits, depends less on the platforms themselves and more on how we choose to use them.

Sustainability isn’t guaranteed just because something is secondhand. It depends on the intention, the pace, and the people behind it.

As Platt puts it: “You can’t be 100% sustainable anymore. But you can always try to be better.”