Okay, I need to tell you about something that’s going to make me sound like a complete hypocrite. You know how I’m always going on about ethical fashion and sustainable shopping and avoiding Amazon because of their labor practices and environmental impact? Well… I own this $22 brooch from Amazon that gets me more compliments than basically anything else in my wardrobe, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
I bought it three years ago during one of those late-night internet rabbit holes that happen when you’re stressed about work and maybe had too much of that natural wine your neighbor brought over. You know the kind of evening I’m talking about – I’d started by looking for genuinely necessary things like wool dryer balls and a new water filter, then somehow ended up browsing vintage-inspired jewelry at 11:47 PM while my ancient radiator made sounds like it was planning to explode.
The algorithm must have known I was vulnerable because suddenly there it was – this completely over-the-top Art Deco-style crystal brooch that looked like something a wealthy widow would wear to her third husband’s funeral. Gaudy as hell but in the most wonderful way possible. The listing had mixed reviews (always a red flag) and photos that were obviously stolen from somewhere else, but something about it just spoke to me. Maybe it was the wine talking, but I hit “buy now” faster than I’d like to admit.
When it arrived, I was honestly shocked. Instead of the cheap plastic disappointment I was expecting, it was actually… beautiful? Three inches of sunburst crystal design with this substantial weight that felt real in my hands. The metal wasn’t that terrible stuff that turns your skin green – it had this lovely vintage patina that looked authentic. I mean, it’s definitely not real vintage, but it’s a damn good reproduction.
I pinned it to my black wool coat (the one sustainable piece I’d actually saved up for and bought from a certified B-Corp company) and headed to work. By the time I got to my office, three people had stopped me to ask about it. Three! Including this woman at the coffee shop who had impeccable style and definitely looked like she knew the difference between costume jewelry and the real thing.
That’s when I realized I had a problem. Not the brooch itself – that was great. The problem was that I felt like I had to lie about where I got it. When people asked, I’d mumble something about “vintage shopping” or “oh, this old thing” because admitting I bought it on Amazon felt like betraying everything I claim to believe about ethical consumption.
But here’s the thing – and this is where it gets complicated – this piece brings me genuine joy. I’ve worn it to client meetings where I needed to feel confident, pinned it to simple sweaters to make them feel special, attached it to coat lapels on days when Seattle’s endless gray was getting to me. I bought it in two other colors (a blue version and a green one that makes me feel like I should be hosting salons in 1920s Paris) and they’ve become these little mood boosters in my wardrobe.
The brooch has traveled with me to conferences where I was networking with people way more successful than me, survived a wedding where my ex showed up unexpectedly (focusing on the sparkly thing on my lapel helped me avoid awkward eye contact), and once got mistaken for actual vintage jewelry by someone who definitely knew what they were talking about. That last one was probably the highlight of my year, honestly.
What’s weird is that this $22 piece gets more genuine compliments than items I researched for months and saved up hundreds for. My ethically-made wool blazer? Beautiful, well-constructed, exactly what I wanted – but nobody stops me on the street to ask about it. This Amazon brooch? Constant conversation starter.
I’ve developed a theory about this that I call the “personality paradox” – the things that get the most positive attention aren’t necessarily the most expensive or ethically-made pieces, but the ones with the most character. My friend Maya gets stopped constantly about these ceramic earrings she bought from a local artist for $20. My coworker’s vintage band t-shirts spark more conversations than anything designer she owns.
Look, I’m not abandoning my commitment to sustainable fashion. I still research brands obsessively, shop secondhand whenever possible, and try to buy less overall. Those values haven’t changed. But this brooch has taught me something important about the difference between perfection and progress, and about finding joy in unexpected places.
The truth is, ethical fashion is expensive and sometimes inaccessible, even for someone like me who has a decent income and the time to research brands. Sometimes you need something sparkly to pin to your coat and you can’t wait six months to find the perfect vintage piece at an estate sale. Sometimes you buy something on Amazon at midnight and it turns out to be exactly what you needed.
I’m not proud of buying from Amazon – their labor practices are terrible and I know better. But I’m also not going to pretend this brooch hasn’t been a source of happiness for three years. It’s made me feel put-together during job interviews, confident during presentations, and just a little bit glamorous on ordinary Tuesday mornings.
What I’ve learned is that true style isn’t always about making the most ethical choice or spending the most money. Sometimes it’s about wearing things that make you stand taller and smile more. My brooch does that for me, even if it came from a source I’d rather not support.
The sustainable fashion community talks a lot about “cost per wear” – buying quality pieces that you’ll love for years. By that metric, my $22 brooch has been an incredible investment. I’ve worn each version dozens of times, and they still spark joy every time I pin one on. They’ve never broken, never tarnished, never lost their sparkle.
I’m still figuring out how to balance my values with the reality of living in a world where ethical options aren’t always available or affordable. This brooch represents that tension – it’s not the choice I would have made if I’d been shopping more thoughtfully, but it’s brought me more happiness than some of my carefully-researched sustainable purchases.
Maybe that’s okay. Maybe part of being more sustainable is learning to love and wear what we already own, regardless of where it came from. Maybe it’s about celebrating the pieces that bring us joy instead of feeling guilty about every imperfect choice we’ve made.
So yeah, I own a $22 Amazon brooch that makes me look like I summer in the Hamptons (or at least shop at much fancier places than I actually do). It’s not the most ethical piece in my wardrobe, but it might be one of the most beloved. And sometimes, when I’m trying to get dressed for another day of writing reports about carbon footprints, that sparkly little burst of joy is exactly what I need.
Riley’s an environmental consultant in Seattle with strong opinions on greenwashing and fast fashion. She writes about sustainability without the guilt trip—realistic tips, honest brand talk, and a reminder that progress beats perfection.
