How many of us have found ourselves on TikTok past our bedtime, mindlessly scrolling? I have okayed my bank account countless times this way, watching #gett readywithme videos and thinking: how on earth do these influencers pull off spending so much money on the “simple stuff?” Then there’s also the fact they seem to get ready in 20 minutes flat. I’m never that glamorous before noon.
Trust me; I know how these influencers think. I’m shamelessly addicted to TikTok way more than I should admit. It began, like all my bad ideas do, at 1 AM on a Tuesday night after three glasses of wine and too many scrolls through my feed.
I was buried deep in a TikTok vortex of teenage girls reviewing urban decay eyeshadow palettes when I landed on those meticulously planned-out “Get Ready With Me” videos. Videos where impossibly airy 22-year-olds throw on $400 silk blouses ($350 off the original $750 price tag, hell yeah sales!) and $900 designer denim skirts as if they’d found hundred dollar bills on the street. “This is bullsh*t,” I said to my cat Maurice, whose gaze pierced through me from atop my neatly folded laundry. “No one wakes up and decides to wear this many expensive clothes on a Tuesday.” He responded with yet another slow blink, his eyes saying It’s not you, it’s everyone, Jenny.
You’re the problem.
The moral of the story is: I was having quite the existential crisis over… clothing.
None of it made sense to me! I was angered by this corner of the internet and also ridiculously addicted to it.
That’s when it hit me: what if I recreated these $500 Tuesday-ready looks but with thrifted items only? As someone who had written literally dozens of articles about the environmental impact of fast fashion and how we should all buy less but better, this was research, right? Content with a purpose rather than another messy, impulsive deep dive.
Maurice wasn’t having it. He merely stared at me until I fell asleep. Fast-forward thirty minutes: I had compiled a list of the top five GOAT “Get Ready With Me” TikTokers.
I had drafted an email to my editor Katherine convincing her this would be good content and possibly solve all of the world’s problems if we could prove you didn’t need to spend hundreds of dollars to get ready for a Tuesday. I had passed out face first on my iPhone. At 8 AM the next morning, I woke up to Katherine’s response: “Sounds like fun!
Keep receipts. Try not to spend over $300 total.” Ball’s were officially dropped. Skinny Jeans & Beige Linen was my first stop.
Wellness guru Aria Jenkins is basically my spirit animal with her expertly cultivated California-girl-chilling-on-a-yoga-mat aesthetic that takes zero effort… to achieve, of course. Think: lots of beige linen clothing, subtle gold jewellery, and effortlessly cool captions that make you want to scream into the void. Like “just threw this on for errands” or “lowkey woke up like this.” You get the point.
For inspiration, I landed on her most recent viral “getting ready to go home” video. The central piece to her outfit was an oat-coloured linen shirt dress from Brother Vellies that retail for $395. Normal jeans were $150.
Her face-melt was $55. Realistically speaking, we’re already $600 deep and that’s before mascara. But ANYWAY.
Armed with my screenshots and way too much confidence, I ventured out to my local Goodwill shop on Metropolitan Ave. Three hours and five thrift stores later, I was hot, frazzled, and empty handed. I couldn’t find beige linen to save my life.
What I did find was an old-timey pair of cream-coloured polyester trousers with an elastic waistband that could double as a child’s jump rope and an unmistakably faded silk blouse that definitely didn’t come from Gucci mother flagship. “Close enough,” I thought as I tossed them both into my cart along with a grandma chunky gold necklace that I was sure would leave a green ring around my neck by noon. Total damage: $23.50. I rushed home to shoot my first-ever #gettreadywithme video.
Phone balanced on top of any stable surface I could find in my bedroom, I opted for my bathroom; the warm Instagram-y light was an added bonus. All of the “glam” shots happened in front of my full-length mirror; I strategically taped my iPhone camera to the bathroom counter so only my face was visible. Slowly, I slipped into the wonder stretch polyester trousers from hell. “Hey guys!
Just getting ready for a casual day full of meetings,” I happily cooed into my phone as my makeup began to melt from the intensity of my dance moves. “These vintage trousers are so versatile!” I lied through te__ing breath as the trousers crinkled with every step I took. Upon further inspection at home, I also realised the silk blouse I chose had a noticeable yellow stain across my chest. Eye roll.
I decided to tell myself it was “part of the aesthetic.” Needless to say, I looked NOTHING like Aria did in her glamboozled final shots. When I played my video back, I barely resembled the Carefree Cali girl I was going for. More “major anxiety induced mid-2000’s editorial assistant who also is having a quarter life crisis” look.
I had failed, miserably. Lux Cashmere was clearly going to be a challenge. Madison Taylor is basically the queen of “luxury athleisure” with impeccable street-style inspo dictionaries describing her everyday uniform as literally Air Jordans and a Cashmere hoodie.
Her latest video showcased her “simple weekend look,” a $600 vintage-destroyed pair of Theory jeans and an oversized oatmeal cashmere jumper that I’m 99% sure she knit by hand. For round two, I decided to hit up some vintage shops. My favourite find was at L Train Vintage on East Village: a pair of high waisted, actually cute Levi’s from the 90’s that hit me right at the ankle.
Sure they were two sizes too big but nothing some copper riveted belt nostalgia couldn’t fix (or so I thought…)! The jumper hunt was easy; I found an actual nice merino wool jumper for $15 with one small hole under the arm. We were winning!
Recording my #gettreadywithme went smoothly, at first. “Throwing on these vintage Levi’s I got!” I exclaimed triumphantly to my phone before realising they were XXL so no belt in the world could prevent extreme nappy butt situation from happening. Oh well. Safety pins as chub rub protection were your worst friend.
I liberally pinned my trousers to my torso, stepping lightly as I made my way to my bedroom. “This oversized cashmere jumper is so soft,” I continued, waddling as gracefully as a pigeon wearing thosepants. “And pair’s so well with my vintage Levi’s!” I boasted, completely ignoring the quiet rip the trousers were audibly protesting every time I took a step. As wonderful as the jumper looked in my bathroom, it was NOT comfy. About half an hour into my shoot, I realised why it had been donated in the first place; it was scratchy.
Like, infinitely swear underneath my breath every time my arms moved itchy. By the time I got to filming, sweat was pooling under my chin and I looked liked I had conquered any innate sense of fashion I once had. I won’t bore you with details, but it involved lots of arm adjustments to hide the steadily drifting jeans and safety pins. “Madison could probably throw these on in her sleep,” I muttered to Maurice who had spent the entire ordeal watching me try things on with interest. “And she wouldn’t have unsafe steaks ripping through her skin.” Point valid.
Round three was where I started getting smarter. Zoe Chang posts outfits so hyper feminine and slightly reminiscent of Y2K fashion that they’re basically tailor-made for thrifting. Think: lots of baby tees, slip dresses, chunky jewellery, and oversized anything.
Sold. The early 2000’s aesthetic has been popular in recent years, so shops have been fully stocked with authentic OFWY goodies begging to be purchased. BOOM.
Target acquired. Bustle Vintage in Bushwick: the Holy grail. I found an ACTUAL Y2K era slip dress in the perfect shade of baby blue paired with an actually cute cropped tee to underneath.
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The only problem? Platforms. Everywhere I looked, the shoes were either a) outrageously expensive b) unforgiving on a fat calf like mine or c) garish.
I settled for a pair of super thick-soled loafers that had seen better days but weren’t falling apart at the seems. Improvement! Grand total: $48.00.
My #gettreadywithme felt like a breeze this time around. Not only did the dress fit me like a dream (thank you generous bias cut) but the overall vibe was actually something I would wear on my free time. Buoyed by my successes, I started feeling extra spicy for the camera. “Vintage throw this slip dress is 100% giving me PhD energy,” I narrated, conveniently omitting the fact it was from the juniors section at maybe Delia’s in 2002 and not Ralph Lauren’s Vintage collection at Bloomingdales.
Lowkey flex. Things started to go south, aka my rear end, about hour into wearing this perfect outfit to run some errands. Another “thrifting tip” for you all: ALWAYS cheque the transparency of your dresses and skirts in natural lighting.
What may seem totally opaque in your bathroom mirror will reveal EVERYTHING once you step outside into the harsh sunlight. I spent my entire lunch anxiously balancing my tote bag over my ass to hide the clear view of my thighs, praying my coworker wouldn’t ask me if I was comfy in my seat again. Targets four and five flew by in what felt like a montage.
Hayden Munson, a self-proclaimed streetwear savant known for her oversized vintage band shirts: Naomi Campbell wore in concert and minimalist Emily Wei, whose entire closet consists of white architectural garments bought at MASSIMO DUTTI. This time around I wasn’t trying to match their outfits exactly. I went for the vibe.
And that mindset opened up the floodgates. I ended my search with an authentic vintage Sonic Youth concert t- shirt that smelled like grandpa but had beautifully faded sleeves from ACTUAL YEARS OF HARD WORN ROUGHNESS and not some sadanderwashing machine, and an oversized men’s button-up shirt I could style similar to Emily’s Chinese-model-inspired Comme des Garcons shirt. Crisis averted.
Ok so here’s the thing about thrifting. If you go in expecting to find everything you want, you’re going to be let down. It’s half adventure, half frustration.
By this point, I had spent well over $150 and was starting to accept that I wasn’t going to nail all five of these outfits. Some days you win. Some days you eat quarters.
Luckily, I stumbled upon both of these gems on the same day at Housing Works in SoHo. moral of the story: thrift shopping takes patience y’all. Patience and tenacity. Total spent: $73.
After a full week of thrifting TikTok #gettreadywithme looks, I had compiled EIGHT outfits, spent $187, acquired two legitimate wardrobe staples I would 100% wear on days OTHER than Tuesday, gave myself a slightly rash from whatever the hell that jumper was made of, and earned approximately 583 new TikTok followers who live for the thrill of watching me sob in boutique fitting rooms. I uploaded my final ridiculous video to my real work InstagramStory, not thinking much of it. It instantly received more likes and comments than any well-researched analysis of micro trends I’d posted that year.
Katherine texted me, “Hilarious. Do you think we could turn this into a series? Monthly?” Thanks to my thrifting adventures with TikTok, I’ve learned a lot.
1. Getting ready for a weekday doesn’t have to break the bank. Major edit: Some influencers do this for fun money.
But when your highlight reel of getting ready is literally your JOB, everything looks insanely expensive because it kind of is. Trust. 2.
Thrifting takes WAY more time than buying clothes online will ever require of you. If I calculated my hourly wage as a Senior Fashion Editor against the 14 hours I spent thrifting for this stupid challenge, I essentially spent the GDP of Ethiopia. Not cool, challenge.
Not cool. 3. Stop trying to recreate get ready with me looks verbatim and edit to your style.
To be clear, I LOVED my final look with Zoe Chang. But my favourite outfit I thrifted that week wasn’t from any of these TikTokers; it was an oversized vintage men’s oxford I found at Bye Louise in Park Slope and a pair of high waisted jeans that actually fit me right. Lesson learned: Stop trying to live up to the influencer aesthetic and craft your own look.
Sure, they can give you inspo and ideas but at the end of the day, wear what makes YOU feel confident. 4. Trust me when I say to cheque for stains, always double your stretch fabrics, and smell things twice before buying them.
I cannot stress this enough. I found a hole in my favourite jumper TWO DAYS AFTER BUYING IT. 5.
Finally, as fun as it was to recreate these insanely expensive #gettreadywithme looks, I actually kind of love putting outfits together with thrifted clothing. Sure, it takes way more time than buying something off the rack at Zara but there’s something about taking pride in your thrift game and finding killer pieces that give you major high fashion vibes at a fraction of the price. Lesson here?
Try it for yourself! You might hate it. But you might also find a vintage band tee you’ll cry over if it ever gets lost.
Would I recommend this experience to everyone?
Heck no.
It takes pride time, dust allergies, and a strong ability to try on clothing in what I can only describe as felony lighting.
But would I do it again? I’d actually say yes. Despite how hectic and arduous my week was, there’s something undeniably groovy about putting together an outfit from clothes other people swore off.
Sure, I left every thrift store that week with trousers falling off of me in every which way possible. But I felt cool as fuck wearing my dad’s old high top converse finding and Maurice has never been more satisfied with his polyester sanctuary. Consider this thesis approved.
Side note: If you’re curious whether or not I told my thousands of followers of Style Compass USA everything I just told you… Yep. Did that too. Girl’s gotta brand, amirite?
Coming next week: “The Lies We Tell Ourselves About Effortless Style.” If you can’t wait for Jenny to autumn flat on her face one more time, cheque it out next Monday. Editors note: Jenny’s highest rated article to date.
