In an industry driven by speed and constant newness, Daphne Groeneveld’s Lost Labels is taking a more deliberate approach. After more than a decade modeling in New York—where she witnessed firsthand how collections are made and, just as quickly, left behind—she launched a resale platform rooted in longevity, curation and intention. Lost Labels isn’t just about vintage; it’s about reframing how we value clothing, from strong everyday basics to rare designer pieces. Here, she shares how her career shaped the concept, why exclusivity matters, and what it means to build a brand where sustainability and style go hand in hand.

You’ve built a remarkable career in fashion as a model—what turning point led you to found Lost Labels?

From a young age, I had a front-row seat to how clothing comes to life. I was doing fittings as early as 14 for Calvin Klein, watching a single piece of fabric transform into something intentional and precisely constructed. That experience sparked my love for designer clothing. Living in New York for more than 13 years—especially with limited closet space—also reshaped how I think about ownership and longevity. That led me to create Lost Labels, an online resale platform focused on giving exceptional pieces a second life. It feels both practical and essential.

Lost Labels feels as much like a point of view as a marketplace. How do you define its aesthetic and ethos?

What I value most about the vintage community is its individuality. No two curators are the same. When I host pop-ups with different sellers, it never feels repetitive—each rack reflects a distinct perspective. Lost Labels operates in that space. It’s trend-aware but grounded in past collections, bringing older pieces into a modern context. The focus is on quality: strong basics, standout designer pieces and accessories that elevate everything.

There’s a restraint to your approach—small, considered drops rather than constant newness. Why that rhythm?

Part of it is practical. I still model full time, and Lost Labels is growing intentionally. But I’m also drawn to exclusivity and curation. I don’t want the experience to feel like endless scrolling. Each drop should feel considered, seasonal and relevant—exciting without being overwhelming. It’s about quality over quantity.

How has your firsthand view of the industry shaped your commitment to circularity?

Seeing how quickly collections move—and how much gets left behind—shifted my perspective. There’s immense value in pieces that already exist, yet they’re often overlooked because they’re no longer “new.” For me, circularity is about extending their life and reintroducing them in a way that feels current. Lost Labels is built on the idea that great design doesn’t expire—and that rewearing can be as exciting as discovering something new.

Curation is central to Lost Labels. What guides your selection?

Condition is nonnegotiable. If there’s a stain, rip or damage, we won’t accept it. Beyond that, I look for relevance—pieces with longevity, quality and a sense of effortlessness. They should integrate easily into a wardrobe while still feeling distinct. I also have to want to keep the piece myself; I don’t sell anything I don’t genuinely love.

In a trend-driven market, how do you define and advocate for timelessness?

Timelessness starts with strong basics—pieces you can wear repeatedly, style in multiple ways and keep for years, even pass down. At Lost Labels, we invest in those foundations because they offer more freedom in how people dress. Timeless doesn’t mean boring; it means enduring, adaptable and personally relevant.

Pre-loved fashion carries history. How important is storytelling in your approach?

It’s central. Every piece has a past—it’s been worn, styled and lived in different ways. That history adds a dimension you don’t get with something new. At Lost Labels, storytelling becomes more tangible through pieces sourced from models’ closets. Some are samples—handled by designers, discussed in studios, part of a collection’s evolution. Others have been worn to castings or carried through different phases of a career. That context gives each item depth. It’s what makes these pieces feel personal—and why storytelling is integral to how we present them.

How do you balance aspiration with responsibility?

It comes down to consistency and honesty. The pieces have to be genuinely worth owning—well-made, well-kept and considered. At the same time, presentation matters. Secondhand shouldn’t feel secondary. Lost Labels aims to show that sustainability and style aren’t separate—they can coexist naturally when the curation is strong.

What misconceptions persist around vintage and resale?

Sustainability has become a catchall term, often loosely defined. For me, it’s about reducing waste and overconsumption in tangible ways. Even if a piece wasn’t originally produced sustainably, extending its life keeps it out of landfills. Resale isn’t perfect—shipping, for example, has an impact—which is why we prioritize in-person pop-ups when possible. It’s about making better choices and being transparent about them.

Looking ahead, how do you hope Lost Labels shapes attitudes around style and ownership?

I hope it encourages more intentional, creative shopping. To stand out, people should explore vintage, shop small and seek out pieces that feel personal. There’s real value in finding something unique—something no one else has. I want people to see clothing as something to keep, restyle and live in over time.

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