I Went To The miista Sample Sale

And I have some thoughts.

IN THIS EDITION: Thoughts on sample sales — their evolution, the contentification of the experience, the mood, the vibe, where sample sales are headed. Tips and tricks on shopping at sample sales. What I bought at miista’s London sample sale. Whether or not I’d do it again, and more.

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An old lady stopped me in the queue yesterday and asked what we were all waiting for. “Shoes, lots of them, hopefully in my size”, I said. She looked at the line, which was snaking around the block, and raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested she found this spiritually unserious and that there were better things we could (read should) be doing with our time. Fair.

It was an aggressively perfect spring day in London, the kind that tricks you into thinking the city is softer than it is. I got in line at 11:15 am, telling myself it was casual, incidental even. I had other things to do, and I was in the area anyway; this was just a light detour. I read my book, listened to the chit chat of other queue goers, some of whom had taken holiday days and called in sick specifically to come to this sample sale. I bided my time. By 12:10 pm, when I finally stepped inside, I’d bonded with the queue. We’d become something between a support group and a pre-game, all the while marvelling at how so many people had time to go to a sample sale in the middle of the week.

Security was doing soft PR up and down the line: “There’ll be more stock coming out later in the week… You might want to come back… it’s on until Sunday…” Good news for Londoners with patience. Less good for those of us already emotionally invested in the outcome of a midday shoe hunt, and who live in the suburbs, so had to travel an hour and a half just to get here.

But standing there, slightly tired and quietly competitive, I couldn’t help thinking about the first sample sale I ever went to.

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It was Acne Studios, in Old Street. Same location, if my memory serves me correctly, but over a decade ago. I went with a group from my fashion uni (I went to a private uni on a full scholarship). People for whom this sort of thing was, frankly, background noise. They flicked through rails with detached boredom, the way you might browse a supermarket meal deal. Meanwhile, I was into it. These were pieces I’d spent years seeing through glossy editorials, suddenly within reach — financially, physically, existentially. It felt like cracking open a door I hadn’t realised was locked.

That was the thing about sample sales back then: they felt like secrets. Not in a gatekeep-y way, but in an if you know, you know kind of way. You heard about them through someone who knew someone; it was very word-of-mouth. They existed slightly off-grid, a quiet redistribution of fashion’s excess.

Now? They arrive via Instagram and TikTok, aggressively democratised. Cue the vlogs waiting in line, the “what I found” rundowns. Sample sale hauls now toe the line between enthusiasm and overconsumption, and it’s easy to blame the internet for changing the game. But also, I found out about this very miista sample sale on Instagram. So I’m not exactly innocent here. Credit where credit is due, miista’s social strategy is on point.