There’s something peculiarly satisfying about clothes made from dead-stock cloth.
I suppose it’s similar to the appeal of a limited edition: it’s restricted, special, never to be made again. You’re part of an exclusive club that will remain exclusive, rather than promising as much and then opening up to new membership a year later.
Even if the product is part of a run of 100, that number pales in comparison with the volume of clothing made every year. The club is still small and select. In an age when everything must be available now, instantly, clickable and shoppable as soon as you see it on your preferred social feed, this is an exception.
The feeling is of its time, I suspect, as well. The excess consumption of the 2000s, and the accessible luxury of brands pushing perfume and sunglasses has created a backlash that you see in the growth of personalisation, of limited ‘drops’ of clothing, and of the appeal of vintage.