How I Got Into Slow Fashion

From a very young age, I knew what fair trade was. I’m Mennonite and a tenet of our faith is James 2:17 “Faith without works is dead,” which is basically a fancy way of saying actions speak louder than words.

There are many arms of the Mennonite church that are actively doing all sorts of wonderfully practical things, but what is particularly spectacular to me is the store Ten Thousand Villages. This was my introduction to fair trade and the idea that providing quality employment is one way to be a conscientious member of humanity.

Then a few years ago I became frustrated with well-off churchgoers bubbling about their cheap score from Walmart, so I wrote an article for the national church’s magazine arguing that our donations and our purchases should work towards the same goals: let’s not create a problem with our shopping that we then have to solve with our charity.

I like pretty things

I have a lifelong association of fashion with creativity. When I was a kid, my mom did a lot of sewing for me. As I grew up, I had more opinions about what she made. By the time I was in high school, I would draw dress ideas and then ask (demand?) her to make them for me. In university I started doing my own sewing. I didn’t do much, and it usually involved a phone call to my mother who lived a province away to do “tech support,” but I was learning. Pretty quickly I got bored of following patterns and started mixing in my own ideas.

In high school, TLC’s What Not to Wear changed my life. I was obsessed with that show, and became fascinated by the impact that our clothes and sense of self have on each other. Week after week I watched Stacy and Clinton create beauty and depth out of clothing – and watched it have a profound impact on the contestants.

Plus I just love pretty things. And I don’t think that makes me shallow.

And then there was Rana Plaza

Since high school I have loved trendy neighbourhoods with independent shops, but since they were usually more expensive than the places I’d go in the mall, I tended to only get special pieces there every once in awhile (or when my mom had her wallet out).

The Rana Plaza factory collapse in 2013 was a pivotal moment for me. From that moment on, I was keenly aware of the effect fast fashion had on the people who made it. I wandered into the Joe Fresh store on Toronto’s Queen Street West thinking, “I can do it. I can buy something stylish for cheap.” And then I would walk out empty-handed, too guilt-ridden to even try anything on.

That feeling hasn’t changed. Holding a piece of fast fashion still makes me hurt and I can’t shut off that part of my brain long enough to buy a $5 shirt. I see the person who made it and effects that the garment industry has had on them and their children. I haven’t thrown out all of my fast fashion (that would kinda defeat one of the goals of reducing waste), but I can’t bring any more into my house. And so last summer I decided to swear off fast fashion.

Also, I really wanted a pair of Poppy Barley boots and I needed to be able to justify the price (ha).