With the rise of second-hand shopping comes a new trend towards the middle. The wealthiest students at elite institutions don’t dress to stand out, they dress to blend in. 

Imagine. You put in your earbuds, favorite song blasting, blocking out the frantic pedestrians and honking traffic. The wind lifts your hair with each step, the red stop light changes to green as you step one foot onto the street, and you walk diagonally across the intersection. You’re walking a runway at New York Fashion week. The passerbyers envy your impeccable fashion sense, and you like to think of yourself as somewhat of a fashion icon on your college campus. It’s an expression of personality and confidence, and crossing that diagonal path right at the moment your song’s beat drops is one of the few times you feel like a movie star, romanticizing your life in the way your younger self always dreamed about. Except that you overdressed - It’s winter and everyone else is in sweatpants.

Welcome to the fantasies of a teenage college girl.

I thought attending an Ivy League institution would look something like Gossip Girl. I imagined sorority girls comparing Cartier Love Bracelets, prep school guys walking to class in their stylish business casual, and Louis Vuitton Neverfulls sitting at the feet of my expat classmates. And while my assumption was not entirely false, students certainly aren’t boasting the Upper East Side aesthetic I pictured.

The Ivy League is aware of its financial inaccessibility and has made major strides in bolstering financial aid, accepting more diverse students, and prioritizing, or at least preaching, the values of inclusivity, diversity, and easing financial stress. In 2021, Yale eliminated the student income contribution that required students on financial aid to contribute anywhere from $3,700 to $5,950 for their tuition through work study programs or summer jobs. All the Ivies now promise to meet 100% of a family’s demonstrated financial need without requiring student loans, but even then, the club fees, housing, meal plans, and books add up. Many students sacrifice free time to take on part-time jobs, live on tight budgets, and for those with limited financial aid packages, change their entire way of life to pay $87,150 per year for the Ivy name.

So would you dare show up to class with a designer handbag, a subtle “flex” of wealth?

This was my fear when my mother asked if I wanted a (fake) Louis Vuitton Neverfull. It’s either an obnoxious display of wealth or, to those who can tell the difference, fraudulent.

If there’s one thing that’s true about fashion, it’s that there will always be a more expensive, more exclusive version. Fashion trends on campus weren’t all plaid pleated skirts and sweater vests. They were somewhat of an uncanny representation of my own closet: crop tops, straight leg jeans, oversized hoodies, and dirty sneakers. At first glance, similar styles, but the longer you stare, the more you notice that your clothes aren’t quite the same. A more expensive fabric, superior fit, the stitched designer logo. But as I crossed my diagonal catwalk to class, my dirty, creased, Macy’s sale sneakers passed its more desirable cousin: The Golden Goose Sneaker.

Frequently featured in Sorority Rush Tik Tok’s “Outfit of the Day” trend, Golden Goose Sneakers' rise to fame came from teen girls all across the country showing off their outfits for each day of the rush process.

“My dress is from Revolve and for my shoes you know I have to wear my Golden Gooses!”

Golden Goose sneakers retail for anywhere between four to six hundred dollars and are only sold in luxury retailers like Nordstrom, Newman Marcus, and Bergdorf Goodman. They’re immediately recognizable by the large “superstar” logo on the side and worn in look. Yes, that’s right, they come out of the box with dyed grey laces, scuff marks, creases, and stains, creating a shoe that effectively looks, but doesn’t feel, like an old, dirty sneaker.

What does it mean to buy a designer item intentionally designed to look “pre-worn?” While Golden Goose is certainly not the only offender (Balenciaga sells a $1250 sweatshirt covered in holes), but their price tag makes them comparable to more outlandish fashion trends, like the Balenciaga crocs, while appearing to be obtainable. Designers transform even the most ordinary items into luxury: Supreme’s $22 blemish patches, Prada’s $185 paper clip, Tiffany & Co. 's $650 ping pong paddles, and Dolce & Gabbana’s $34,000 hand painted fridge. It’s no surprise that dirty sneakers joined the list.

The desire to disguise wealth has something to do with the aestheticization of the middle class. The Golden Goose sneaker’s intentional “vintage finish” gives all the trendiness of a care-free sustainable “thrifter” without the stigma of buying second hand. They pair these three hundred dollar sneakers with the free canvas totes given out from art galleries, festivals, and flea markets as a subtle proclamation of their sophistication under the guise of sustainability.

But even thrifting is less accessible now. As of 2023, The U.S. secondhand market is worth $43 billion, with $23 billion from traditional donation based thrift stores and $20 billion from resale accounts. Goodwills are replaced with high-end “upcycled” hipster stores that resell old t-shirts for twenty, thirty, fifty dollars. Saying that you “thrifted” something just sounds cooler. It brings an added layer of exclusivity in knowing that no one else will have an item quite like yours. In a 2021 article from Vox, Nguyen described the “gentrification of thrift stores,” a phenomenon that began with “thrift haul videos on YouTube and Tik Tok” that introduced thrift shopping to “a generation of teenagers, even those who can afford to buy new items.” Gentrified thrifting is when shoppers take these finds from stores like Goodwill, and upsell them for profit on sites like Depop and Poshmark. Flipping items for profit is not unheard of, but Nguyen writes that the problem is, “resellers and bulk buyers are inadvertently raising the prices of thrifted goods by purchasing items they don’t personally need.”

There’s a common misconception that buying used makes prices more affordable, but in reality, buying from Depop is more comparable to boutiques than thrift stores.

The division of wealth at Yale is a deep-seated difference in upbringing with a hint of nepotism. It’s most visible in the small things: Who uses the laundry service, whose parents show up in Teslas (or Porsche Cayennes), who posts spring break photos from a yacht. 

But for the rest of us, our Shein knock-offs and hand-me-down Converse are scrutinized by the modern day fashion police in the name of activism. Shein receives much critique, and rightfully so, in reference to their unsustainable factory practices, extensive use of polyester and nylon, massive impact on climate change, plagiarizing small designers, and lack of transparency when asked about their inconsistent adherence to child labor laws. Still, Shein is estimated to make over 30 billion a year in revenue.

Students are certainly anxious about fast-fashion, the lack of sustainability, overconsumption, but why do they keep purchasing it? It comes as a response to a desire to keep up with rapid trend cycles. With social media and particularly themed parties and events around campus, students feel the need to buy more clothing to feel included and keep up with trends. A friend recently shared with me that she felt out of place in dance rehearsals when nearly everyone on the team was wearing the Lululemon Dance Studio Pant. And for students who want to treat themselves to one new item for a special occasion, stores within walking distance to campus offer limited options. We have small boutiques, a Lululemon, an Urban Outfitters, and now, a new two-story Second Street, a second hand clothing store for “high quality designer and vintage items.” This all comes in response to the wealthier fashionista’s willingness to co-opt a “thrifted” aesthetic and pivot that into a luxury status symbol as well.

The upscale “thrifter” aesthetic they’ve crafted is just the manifestation of a much larger problem in the Ivy League. It’s the desire to appear effortlessly approachable, working-class, when in reality they can jet off to Paris for the weekend and take a train out of town when feeling stressed. It’s about seeming relatable to appease their peers, until the tougher moments, when they break their laptop and buy another without hesitation, or despise the dining hall food so they order thirty dollars of takeout each night.

Yale still prioritizes legacy admission. The Dean of Undergraduate Admissions, Jeremiah Quinlan, testified in support of legacy admissions in 2022, and it’s estimated that about 10-15% of Ivy League admits are legacies. After the Supreme Court’s decision to overturn affirmative action in 2023, Yale was forced to reevaluate legacy admissions as well. Quinlan held firm on their stance that ending legacy preference would not necessarily make the university more diverse.

This practice of legacy admissions has historically catered to the wealthy and elite students with more resources than First-Generation Low Income students.

 When your suitemates discuss their summer plans, internships with investment firms, ushered in by well-connected parents, spending the summer in Capri at their family home, and studying abroad in New Zealand, the Golden Goose sneakers mean nothing more than the fake Neverfull at your feet. You can buy the sneakers, but not the lifestyle.

There comes a point when designer items are no longer for crafting a personal aesthetic. Brands experiment to see how much their most loyal customers will buy and intentionally make statements about wealth through their products. The Prada paperclip was never intended to be practical - It was created for media attention and purchased as an art piece.

So, are Golden Gooses a heinous display of wealth? No. They’re a hot item representative of the middle-class aesthetic in the Ivy League. They’re a fad like many other fashionable, trendy items. There will be students who covet them, and there will be students who couldn’t give a damn. What’s more concerning is the growing wealth gap that limits economic opportunities for young people entering the workforce, and how we can create more equitable fashion for those that want a decent winter coat without breaking the bank. 

With earbuds in, you strut to class in your thrifted top, Target jeans, and Payless sneakers, just as muddy as the Golden Geese trotting alongside.