Okay so I’m literally the person who’s always calling out fast fashion and telling people to shop more sustainably, but here I am about to confess that I absolutely fell for the Primark co-ord that’s been all over my FYP for like three weeks straight. I know, I know – hypocrite alert. But listen, when you see literally everyone from micro-influencers to actual fashion editors wearing the same £28 matching set and looking like they spent ten times that at & Other Stories, your resolve starts to crack a little.
The whole thing started because this girl I follow who has incredible style posted herself in this sage green linen-looking co-ord, and I genuinely thought it was from COS or maybe even Arket. The comments were going absolutely wild – people begging for the details, asking if it was designer, the usual chaos that happens when something looks way more expensive than it actually is. When she revealed it was Primark, my jaw literally dropped. Like, I screenshot that post immediately and sent it to my group chat with the caption “no fucking way.”
I tried to resist for about a week because, you know, principles and all that. Plus I’d been doing really well with my no-buy challenge – hadn’t bought any new clothes in like two months which is honestly a personal record for me. But then more and more people started wearing it, and the FOMO was getting real. My friend Emma who works at a magazine and definitely knows her stuff posted it styled with these amazing vintage Levi’s and suddenly I was spiraling into that classic Gen Z overthinking cycle where you convince yourself you NEED something you’d never even heard of a month ago.
The breaking point came when I was walking through town and saw it on this girl ahead of me at Starbucks. From behind, she looked so put-together and expensive, and I was like okay, that’s it, I’m going to Primark. Which is embarrassing to admit because I literally made a TikTok last month about how we need to stop impulse buying based on social media trends. The irony was not lost on me, trust me.
Getting to the actual Primark was an experience in itself. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a city center Primark on like a Wednesday afternoon, but it’s genuinely chaotic. I’m talking elbows flying, people grabbing stuff out of your hands, the whole changing room queue stretching halfway across the store. I felt so out of place because everyone there seemed to know exactly what they were doing while I’m wandering around trying to find where they keep the viral co-ords.
When I finally found the section, it looked like a bomb had gone off. Clothes everywhere, sizes all mixed up, hangers on the floor – it was giving post-apocalyptic movie vibes but make it fashion. I managed to find the shirt in a size medium after literally digging through a pile of rejected items, but the matching trousers were nowhere to be seen in my usual size 10. I ended up grabbing a 12 because honestly, wide-leg trousers are supposed to be oversized anyway, right?
The changing rooms were their own special kind of hell. Forty-minute wait, harsh fluorescent lighting, and everyone around me taking mirror selfies for their Instagram stories. But when I finally got to try the thing on… okay, I have to admit, my first thought was “this actually isn’t terrible.” The fabric wasn’t as scratchy as I expected, and the shirt had a decent boxy shape that looked intentional rather than just badly made.
Don’t get me wrong, it definitely felt synthetic – like that slightly plasticky texture you get with polyester blends – but it wasn’t the absolute worst quality I’ve encountered from fast fashion brands. The shirt sleeves hit at a good length, the neckline was flattering, and paired together they did have that effortless matching set vibe that looks so good on social media.
The trousers were trickier. The size 12 was definitely too big around the waist, but the length was perfect and they had that trendy wide-leg silhouette everyone’s obsessed with right now. I figured a belt would sort out the sizing issue, and for £14 I wasn’t exactly expecting a perfect fit anyway. So I bought it. Twenty-eight pounds for a full matching outfit – less than I usually spend on a single top from Urban Outfitters.
Walking out of Primark with my little bag, I was already planning how I’d style it for content. Maybe with my chunky gold jewelry to make it look more expensive, definitely with good lighting to hide any cheap fabric tells, probably from that angle by my bedroom window that makes everything look editorial. The content creator brain never switches off, honestly.
But here’s where reality hit. When I got home and tried it on again in my normal bedroom lighting, it looked… different. Way more obviously synthetic, for starters. Under my ring light it had looked almost linen-like, but in natural light there was definitely a shine to it that screamed “polyester blend.” Still not unwearable, but definitely not as convincing as it had seemed in-store.
I decided to give it a proper test run, so I wore the full co-ord to meet some friends for brunch. Styled it with my best accessories – gold hoops, a vintage belt to cinch the trousers, my white leather platform sandals from Zara that everyone always asks about. From a distance, the overall look was actually pretty good. That relaxed but put-together vibe that makes co-ords so appealing in the first place.
The problems started about two hours in. First, the trousers began stretching out even more – what had been merely loose was becoming genuinely baggy, and my belt was working overtime to keep things decent. Then there was the sweat situation. Despite looking lightweight and breezy, the synthetic fabric was basically creating a personal sauna. I was genuinely uncomfortable by the time we moved from brunch to walking around the shops.
My friend Jess, who’s brutally honest about everything, took one look at me and was like “cute outfit but you’re literally glowing with sweat.” She felt the fabric and immediately made that face you make when you touch something unexpectedly synthetic. “It looks good from far away though,” she added, which I guess was supposed to be encouraging but actually just confirmed that it only worked as an Instagram outfit, not for actual real-life wearing.
I tried wearing the pieces separately over the next few days to see if they worked better that way. The trousers with a cotton t-shirt were actually decent for lounging around – comfortable enough and the bagginess seemed more intentional when they weren’t paired with the matching top. The shirt worked okay with jeans, though it definitely needed to be styled carefully to avoid looking too obviously cheap.
The real test came when I decided to create content with it. I set up my ring light, found my best angles, picked a cute backdrop, and honestly? The photos looked great. Posted them with a caption about affordable finds and the response was exactly what I expected – loads of comments asking where it was from, people saying it looked so much more expensive, the usual engagement you get when you find a good dupe for something trending.
But filming try-on content was harder because video picks up things that photos don’t. The way the fabric moved looked obviously synthetic, and under different lighting angles you could see that telltale polyester shine. I had to be really strategic about angles and lighting to make it look as good as it did in everyone else’s content.
After wearing it a few more times, here’s my honest verdict – it’s complicated. For the price, it’s actually not a terrible buy if you know what you’re getting into. The cut is surprisingly good, especially on the shirt, and with the right styling it can definitely look more expensive than it is. But the fabric quality is exactly what you’d expect for £28, which means it’s not going to be comfortable in warm weather, probably won’t last beyond a season, and definitely won’t fool anyone who gets close enough to actually touch it.
Would I recommend it? Depends what you want it for. If you need something affordable for specific photos or a one-off event, then yeah, it serves that purpose well. But if you’re looking for pieces you’ll actually want to wear regularly and feel good in, then honestly save your money and invest in better quality basics that won’t make you sweat through your foundation.
I’ve washed it once since buying it, and it’s definitely showing signs of wear already. The shirt is holding up okay but needs proper ironing now, and the trousers have lost even more shape around the waist. I’m predicting maybe three more washes before it becomes unwearable without major alterations.
The whole experience has made me think about how social media warps our perception of what’s actually worth buying. On Instagram, styled perfectly with good lighting and expensive accessories, this co-ord looks like a genuine bargain find. In real life, wearing it for more than two hours in anything above 20 degrees, it’s a sweaty synthetic nightmare that stretches out of shape before your eyes.
I’m not saying don’t buy it – fast fashion is complicated and everyone’s budget is different. But maybe don’t expect it to be the miracle dupe everyone’s claiming it is. Sometimes viral fashion moments are viral for a reason, but that reason isn’t always that the item is actually good. Sometimes it’s just that we all want to believe we can get designer-looking clothes for Primark prices, even when deep down we know that’s probably too good to be true.
Anyway, I’m keeping both pieces because waste is worse than buying fast fashion in the first place, but they’ll probably end up as lounge clothes rather than proper outfit pieces. And I’m definitely not fighting any more teenagers in Primark changing rooms anytime soon, even if the next viral find looks absolutely incredible on my timeline.
