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Only a couple of moments prior to Shein opened a flash boutique in the city this summer, graffiti were discovered on the outside wall declaring, “Shein destroys” and “exploitation, forced labour, slavery, pollution.”

However, the fierce opposition to its series of temporary outlets across France in recent years—including in several major French cities—did not stop the China-based fast fashion brand from choosing the nation for its inaugural permanent physical stores.

Recently, the brand revealed an initiative to establish stores in a prominent department store locations in multiple urban centers and also in the a well-known Parisian retailer in Paris.

Outside the mayor’s office, they are creating the new Shein megastore, which – following the decline of dozens of French brands – seeks to inundate our market even more massively with disposable products,” stated a fashion industry representative, head of the apparel trade group a French fashion federation.

An author and fashion journalist, notes: “This rapid-production approach is the extreme of wastefulness. It is built with short-lived trends, with intense promotion.”

However, she adds, France’s distaste for the business model goes even deeper: “It differs from the national custom of keeping objects, of craftsmanship – Shein holds a stigma that is ethical in nature.”

Yet in spite of this vocal criticism, including an online petition to ban Shein in the country surpassing 270,000 signatures, the country has not been immune to the company’s steady growth in recent years.

Its model, based on delivering purchases of cheap clothes straight from Chinese factories to homes, allegedly earned $1bn net profit the previous year, making it not simply a figurehead of “hyper-fast clothing”, but among its most profitable firms. That is despite concerns over its environmental impact and working practices, including allegations of forced labour that the company has denied and cases of child labour that resulted in partnerships being ended.

Its success rests with the astonishing pace and quantity with which it can produce styles, with 7,200 fresh products listed on the site daily. “It represents an entirely new way of consuming – everything is multiplied by a hundred,” says Abriat. Between late 2022 and late 2023, the brand launched 1.5 million items to the American market – roughly 37 times more than Zara and sixty-five times that than H&M, according to a news agency.

During the period of the Dijon pop-up opening, the national legislature approved a law aimed at curtailing ultra-fast fashion, particularly platforms like the brand and its ultra-low cost competitor Temu. It proposed a series of steps, from environmental levies to a ban on advertising, limits to social media partnerships, mandatory disclosure of production practices, and redirection of taxed revenues towards French sustainable producers.

The bill was praised by numerous observers as a step in the right direction, but sparked debate for distinguishing between what is termed “classical” fast fashion (established brands among others), and “ultra-fast fashion”. Indeed, the first category is subject to more lenient rules. For some, this separation seems to make mainstream brands appear more virtuous in contrast; for others, it is simply regarded as a method to weakening Chinese competition.

However France has its own history of fast fashion, rooted in the Sentier, the capital’s historic garment district in the 2nd and 3rd arrondissements. Starting in the seventies, the neighborhood, together with similar commercial zones (such as those in the port city), developed a model founded on rapid turnaround, limited runs, and localized sourcing, frequently restocked on demand instead of fixed schedules.

This fuelled the emergence of cult – and affordable domestic brands like several well-known names, which prospered during the eighties and nineties, both in France and abroad, prior to moving manufacturing abroad and ultimately fading or rebranding. Towards the end of the twentieth century, the local model was outpaced by global brands such as major chains, who relocated manufacturing and expanded sourcing and stock – a dynamic depicted in the French film saga La Vérité si je mens!, which is set in the area.

From a societal perspective, the fashion reporter compares the brand’s acceptance to the experience of the early days of H&M when it opened on a famous Paris street in the late nineties: “It was considered vulgar. Industry insiders saw it [as] devoid of taste or culture.” Today, she remarks, “these brands have become mainstream, fully accepted” while the newcomer has taken on the pariah role.

Attracting young shoppers, H&M dramatically changed its image with Karl Lagerfeld’s collaboration in 2004, which was exhausted in just a few hours. From then on, the French style scene started embracing affordable fashion as part of the modern French closet.

Other fast-fashion megabrands sought credibility by collaborating closely with renowned industry names. A former magazine editor, ex-head of a leading fashion publication, partnered with Zara as a creative consultant, while another influential editor, co-founder of Self Service magazine and current fashion editor at M le Magazine du Monde, has worked repeatedly with the brand, around creative guidance and outfit curation. Model and Chanel ambassador a well-known model walked in an H&M runway show. Another model has been featured in a Zara lookbook and publicly admitted to W magazine that she buys from the store, for essential items.

A writer and influencer, comments: “Here in Paris, it has become common to combine affordable brands, vintage, and luxury, all with a certain knowhow. Parisians don’t go to Zara for statement pieces or imitations, but for everyday essentials: classic clothing items.” Hardly anyone confesses to actually wearing the brand in daily life, though. “It’s not discussed,” notes the influencer. “Or one might remark: ‘You won’t believe it, but this is from Zara.’”

One major distinction with Shein is its digital footprint, which signifies a cultural shift for more mature shoppers. French-British influencer and writer Camille Charrière, says: “People in France still like to shop in stores, accompanied by loved ones, on the weekend. They don’t change outfits radically to go out in the evening, their purchases are less compulsive.”

Some of the attraction of hyper-fast clothing lies in its diverse sizing: for numerous shoppers, it is still the only brand that caters to a variety of figures. The plus-size market is still virtually non-existent in France, especially among premium brands.

Rapid-turnaround apparel has brought about new ways of consuming: online shopping, avoiding try-ons, and buying in quantity. Clothing items are frequently used just one time, discarded or listed on resale sites – a drastic shift in how wardrobes are assembled and maintained.

The influencer stresses that there can be a “slow” way of wearing fast fashion: “No one should feel guilty for purchasing fast fashion. I own Zara dresses from five years ago that I still wear. To me the most important thing is to make an effort to use what I buy … to ensure they are worn repeatedly.” {While that doesn