I am excited about trying new techniques to mend my clothing, in both invisible and visible ways. What remains to be seen is how welcome some of the results will be in professional settings. Even as a sustainability professional, I don’t often see colleagues wearing mended clothing, and I wonder if that is an intentional choice or the symptom of a pervasive business norm.
Most of our clothes today are made with plastic, which tends to be cheaper than natural materials but leads to pollution, climate change, negative health impacts, and more money spent in the long run compared to investing in quality garments and maintaining them. Unfortunately, many of us lack the necessary money, time, or requisite skills to opt for the more sustainable option.
I’m a sucker for marketing gimmicks, especially when they involve sustainability, which is why a new line of wool garments caught my eye. Wool is making a resurgence among outdoorsy and travel-minded communities, and it aligns nicely with principles of environmental conservation. This natural fiber is lightweight, durable, insulating, and doesn’t hold onto odors the way plastic-based performance fabric alternatives do.
Rituals can bring comfort in times of grief, but they can also be counterproductive when arbitrary standards override personal needs. While grieving a loss myself, it was interesting to explore rigid societal expectations around mourning in a time of massive technological and cultural upheaval. (And we’re not talking about the twenty-first century: this post focuses on the birth of fast fashion during the Victorian Era.)
We’re taught that recycling is a good thing, and doing it makes us feel responsible. In reality, there are serious limitations to recycling’s benefits when it comes to certain materials, especially plastics – even begging the question if new processes, such as “chemical recycling” are even possible. Unfortunately the plastic industry is banking on our trust, including when it comes to “recycling” fabrics.
Although I don’t buy a lot of stuff, I do accumulate it over time. Wanting to make the “right” decision when getting rid of it means a lot of analysis paralysis around my options. One option I thought made obvious sense with clothing donations was sending unwearable items to developing countries. In reality, that choice carries some economic drawbacks for the people I’m trying to help.
My mom’s clothes had been sitting in bags in my house for over a year, waiting for me to summon the motivation to sort through them… and do research on how to dispose of them responsibly. Clothes are such an integral part of our lives (and economies) that decisions about what to do with them once you have them are not so simple.
We deal with fast fashion on a regular basis in our lives, but nowhere do we see it more than at Halloween, when pop-up shops sell cheap costumes to be used a few times and thrown away. There are more sustainable alternatives that include making, thrifting, renting, or reusing costume components. Some of these options can be better for the environment, your pocketbook, or both.
The first step in sustainable footwear decisions is reducing how much we consume. In order to do that, taking good care of our shoes is a necessity so they stay in good working order for a long time. There are also modifications we can make to ensure they are as comfortable as possible, fitting and supporting our unique feet, keeping us happy and healthy.
If you know me, you know that I hate shoe shopping. Generally that approach saves me money because I buy fewer shoes in the long run. However, when I do buy them, I want to get something that will last a long time. I also want something that supports my values as well as my feet. As with any investment, I didn’t make this decision lightly.