For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to live overseas.
And in January of 2025, at the ripe age of 28, I decided there was no better time to bring this dream to fruition.
With my visa secured and passport in hand, I packed my little life into a few bags and boxes and made the well-trodden pilgrimage from Australia to the northern hemisphere, settling in Paris.
A year on, my curiosity about life abroad has been more than satiated.
But amid all the adventure and growth, I've noticed a surprisingly quiet shift I didn't expect: my relationship with shopping.
Though the term has had its fair share of buzz online in recent years, I'd like to think I fall pretty firmly into the category of a "considered" shopper, someone who values ethical transparency and quality over cheap-and-cheerful trends.
I studied fashion at university, and I've been rifling through Salvos bins since age 14, so the concept of shopping sustainably is hardly a revelation.
But what began as a practical response to higher living costs and limited wardrobe space (not to mention the looming reality of eventually lugging it all back home) has evolved into a deeper recalibration of my consumption habits altogether.
In with the old
I knew a little reverse lifestyle creep was inevitable — that quiet shift where you tighten your spending to match a smaller income.
The casual purchases I once wouldn't have thought twice about (a takeaway coffee, a midweek sweet treat) suddenly felt like luxuries.
It forced me to stop and reassess where my money was going, particularly when it came to more frivolous non-essentials, like another pair of shoes I didn't really need.
With less room (both physically and financially) for wardrobe newness, I had to get creative.
Feeling like a kid in a toy store, I started playing dress-up with the pieces I already owned, rediscovering and finding joy in remixing old favourites.
Seeing my clothes in a new light, it became clear that the most dependable items were those I'd owned for years; pieces that prioritised longevity over trendiness.
The oversized denim jacket I'd owned for five years became a staple in my new-found capsule wardrobe, proof that quality and timeless design always outlive passing trends. I found myself re-energised by my clothes again, not because they were new, but because I was seeing them differently.
Learning to value the functionality of my clothes was one of the biggest shifts. I began to realise It's one thing to love an item on its own, but knowing exactly how it fits into your daily rotation is a different skill entirely.
Learning to shop slower
Surrounded by an entirely different rhythm of life, I noticed my urge for impulse buys began to fade.
When you spend enough time in the same place, surrounded by the same people and scrolling the same social algorithm, it's easy to be swayed by what everyone else is wearing, to lose sight of your own personal style and what genuinely resonates with you.
Inspired by a city so rich in history and culture, I've found real joy in wandering through the buzzing flea markets on the weekends.
The handful of pieces I've bought this year carry a story, each with a life before mine, something that now feels especially sentimental.
There's a certain thrill in hunting for a one-of-a-kind gem, knowing you can breathe a whole new life into it.
This sort of sartorial treasure hunt has given me a clearer sense of my own style, free from the constant churn of "new in" edits and "must-have" trends.
The joy of reinvention
Now my mental checklist for new purchases has become much more extensive.
Inspired by the recent Thneed movement — a playful homage to multifunctional fashion — I now look for pieces that are versatile and inventive.
A dress that can be layered over pants, a midi-skirt that doubles as a strapless top — these are the ways I'm injecting fresh energy into my wardrobe without chasing the constant need for newness.
Somewhere between Pinterest boards and laundry days, I've realised that living with less isn't about restriction, but intention.
In a world that moves fast and sells faster, slowing down became my own quiet rebellion.
Turning inward — to my habits, my home, my own sense of self — might just be the most sustainable form of self-expression there is for me.
Ella Taverner is a writer and freelance creative from Naarm/Melbourne whose work spans fashion, beauty, health and First Nations culture.
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