Reflections on Slow Fashion October and new projects resulting from it.

I dropped the ball on posting the last two weeks of Slow Fashion October. It wasn't because I didn't have things to share, it was because my son's nasty cold/virus/teething mess lasted a full 2.5 weeks, ending right before Halloween.

My little Pileated Woodpecker on his first Halloween!

Slow Fashion October has left me with a lot of thing the sort through and inspired some decisions that I want to share. I've walked away with two sets of "tensions", I think I will call them: 2 good ideals that need to coexist, but require opposing action... or an action that could shift easily to represent 2 very different values. The first that has come up for me in this month is the idea of a capsule wardrobe/quality materials/ethical practices vs. using what I have/mending/wearing out/making do. Both are important pieces, but they often look really different and can compete to be the representing principle for our decisions, our actions. The second, is this tension I feel between integrity and a disguised consumerism... even idolatry. It's that first tension I want to focus on in this post, though certainly these tensions intermingle.

A pair of pants I cannot let go of. I inherited these pants from the Cool Older Sister of a friend in early high school. They represented some vague, seemingly unattainable essence of... Effortlessness. Nonchalance. Too-Cool-For-School-or-Fashion. I was a steward of these pants for many years, stitching my own fabric on top of her's, writing my own favorite song lyrics in the spots where her's faded. Then, I got older and my style and taste changed. I no longer feel great in these pants, but I can't let go of them either. The patches are my history: scraps from old clothing, scraps from other projects. I see the patch of fabric that I made my first serious girlfriend a bag out of. I see fabric that belonged to my mother. I have a secret hope that a child of mine might discover these in the scrap pile during their teen years and see the same potential in them that I did. A big dream, perhaps, but one I can't let go of.

 Using what we have, mending, wearing out. It is so easy not to do these things in modern society. In fact, many companies have made these practices near impossible: Our cars are full of little plastic bits and computer chips, requiring us to bring them in to the shop, rather than fixing them in our driveways. Small machine/small engine repair is near non-existant. If your blender breaks, good luck getting it repaired. It is easier, cheaper, often necessary to go to Wal-Mart and buy a new one. When it comes to our clothes, we have a bit more control, it just requires some adjusting of skill and expectation. Still, much of the clothing that can be bought nowadays is so flimsy that mending is near impossible. This same clothing is what now saturates our thrift stores, meaning that buying second hand often means you are only saving clothing from the garbage for a few extra months, rather than adding long term fixtures to your wardrobe.

My teenage obsession with Ani DiFranco is still legible on these pants, and perhaps appropriate to this post: "We get a little further from perfection every year on the road. I think it's called character, I think that's just the way it goes. It's better to be dusty than polished like some store window mannequin. Touch me where I'm rusty, let me stain your hands."

And, let's be realistic about societal expectations. As much as we may want to buck all of societal pressure to bend to consumerist practices, many people have job to keep and we can't show up in tattered jeans and stained linen tops. We also want our clothing to represent us to the world. My work on Queer Closets helped me shift my perspective on this cultural practice we engage in. Would living in a world where no one is judged or categorized by what they chose to wear be better? More fair and kind? Maybe. But we live in a big world with a lot of different people, ideas, communities. It's easy to feel lost and lonely. We desire shared life with people we share values with an so we move in the world in ways that we hope make ourselves recognizable to those people. We see this in religious traditions, we see this in queer communities, we see this in our knitting/making communities. When I chose how I want to present myself, I am choosing the way I engage with the world around me. I am, consciously or not, attracting some people and repelling others. Fitting in some communities, standing out in out in others. I am always making a statement, regardless of my intention. I am also engaging my body and how I feel in it. As a woman-identified person, it is an inherently radical action when I chose to do that in a way that is pleasing to me.

There are times to make or buy new things and, when it is time to do that, I really desire to make and buy things that will last a long time. This means I want to feel good in them and look good in them. I means I want them to be made with materials that will last. Ideally, these materials would be produced in a sustainable way, or recycle something, thus keeping it out of a landfill. And so, I have options: use fabric from my stash or buy recycled or sustainably sourced materials. As a birthday treat/SFO splurge, I've made two recent purchases: First, the 3 yards of linen from Jessica that I mentioned before. Second, 1200 yards of this lovely yarn from a small farm in West Virginia. It is a blend of Bluefaced Leicester, Romney, Coopworth, and a touch of Merino. It was a splurge, but it was also a steal. Honestly, it was less than the Quince and Co. Lark or Elsawool worsted that I had been resisting the temptation to buy, but it originated much closer to home and came from the sweetest ladies at our local Fiber Fair. A worthy splurge.

Buying beautiful stuff from producers I like is always fun and inspiring, but is buying ethically produced material really more ethical than using the stuff I already have in front of me? I don't think so (though my inner consumerist wants it to be). I am making an early New Years Resolution to make-down my stash, hopefully, until it's pretty much gone.This will be much easier for my knitting than it will for my sewing.

The thing is, about my stash, is that it isn't serving me. I own a lot of fabric, mostly cottons in lovely prints, but most of it is not stuff that serves me and my wardrobe. I would buy a yard or two of fabric I like, which amounts to a lot of money spent, a lot of space used, and not a lot of garments for me. So, what do I do with all of this fabric? Well, that brings me to my other big decision: I am going to turn it into things to sell.

For many years, I have dreamed of starting my own line of children's clothes. I want to combine my picky taste with my love for pint sized clothing and commitment to sustainable materials and I want to share the results. But, honestly, now is not the time. I don't have the time to design and sew an entire line of clothing, nor do I have the resources to start such an endeavor. Maybe someday. What I do have is an entire collection of lovely snippets of fabric and the time to design and make small things: accessories and, perhaps some toys. In an effort to kick the Hoarding Habit and support my family, I can offer people beautiful handmade items that are made with careful craftmanship. I can also promise that no extra materials (save some thread) were purchased to make these, which means that, without the cost of organic certification or sustainable labor, I can promise you aren't supporting the creation of new materials at a cost to the environment or human welfare.

I'm starting with bonnets, as the weather is cooling and babies need some warming. I will expand from there, as I am  able. I would be so honored if you would support me in this endeavor.

Presenting: LittlePennycress