Everything changed when the Industrial Revolution began in Britain in 1750 and rapidly spread to the rest of the world. It spurred a transformation in the way people worked, the way the economy operated and how we made and moved things.

By the mid-19th century, the business of fashion had become a force to be reckoned with thanks to the mass production of textiles. Coupled with the invention of cheaper, wrinkle-resistant, long-lasting synthetic materials such as polyester, acrylics and nylon, so began the brainwashing of fast consumption culture.

Those of us unacquainted with marketing tactics or the wider impacts of such fabrics or fashion, in general, soon found ourselves knee-deep in the world of trends, sucked further into this wear-once-and-throw-away culture with empty words such as "seasons," "trendsetting" and "fashionable."

Soon followed the deadly suffocating mentality that each garment had its "best before" date, a maximum number of days or times a single item of clothing could be worn until it was out of fashion or "so last season." For some this was a year, for some it was a season of three months, and for some, it was just one wear.

That was fast fashion in its "glory" days.

But how long can a single item of clothing actually last, in theory, and in practice?

This question popped into my mind when I was talking to Göknil Bigan, the founder of sustainable fashion brand Giyi, and asked her what the oldest item of clothing in her wardrobe was.

Bigan said it was over 20 years old, and for the items passed down from her mother and grandmother, this figure could easily be 70.

So after we hung up, I opened up my closet to have a little analysis of my own. Being back in my childhood home, of course, I’m bound to find a few older items due to my inner hoarder, but which ones do I actually still wear? That would be the real question.

I came with only a small suitcase, partly because I didn't want to carry the extra weight and partly because I knew I'd be going nowhere. I had also naively thought the COVID-19 pandemic would be under control in a few months, and one year on, I can see how off my judgment was.

I already had a very limited number of options to choose from, but I would make do with what I had and only buy what is absolutely essential to accommodate the changing weather.

I sat down and grabbed a white strappy bustier, an item gifted to me over 10 years ago, which could have practically been stitched onto me the whole summer; I practically lived in it. And now thanks to Netflix hit Bridgerton, they are all back in fashion.

An angsty teen at the time when I received this cotton top, I had banished this to the back of my closet. Fast forward a few years, I thought I’d wear it around the house, at least, as I was not sure if it was "me." It saw daylight only a few times, until last year.

When the mercury soared past 40 degrees Celsius, the items I had brought with me would only add to my misery and I needed something breezy. That's when I rediscovered it.

Pairing it with a pair of light wash denim shorts and a light blue linen shirt, it was my perfect summer ensemble.

Not only was it a perfect fit but it was also breezy, summery and instilled a sense of nostalgia in me. It had survived for over a decade in my wardrobe and dozens of washes.

But, of course, there was also the fact that I didn’t wear this every single year, which made it hard for me to assess the true endurance and quality of it. For all I know, it might fall apart next year if I continue to wear it at the same rate.

For a more apt comparison, I dug out a simple black cardigan with small buttons. It had been my mum's before I stole it at 13. I recall seeing her in it when I was in primary school, so by that math, that cardi is closely approaching two decades. I've worn that piece every single year, at least once. Consequently, it's quite possible for a garment to last well over a decade. But that's the practical side of things. What about in theory?

What is a garment's real expiration date?

When talking about the true, calculated lifespan of a manufactured item of clothing, there is one metric we need to talk about: decomposition.

When it comes to biodegradability, natural fabrics have synthetic fabrics beat. The problem here stems from the fact that over 72% of the clothes we wear nowadays are made of synthetic fibers, i.e. non-biodegradable and made of plastic. The catastrophic consequence of this reality is that when these clothes eventually end up in a landfill, they may stay intact for 200 years.

As a rule, natural fibers are readily biodegradable while synthetics, which are derived from petroleum, are not, hence the astronomical difference in decomposition rates. Here's a breakdown:

Natural materials