Fashion Revolution Week 2020: What's In My Clothes?

I’m surprised more horror stories aren’t written about clothing. Maybe because it looks so benign, hanging there in neat rows in a shop, arriving on your doorstep carefully wrapped, or sitting inert in your wardrobe. Or maybe it’s because we don’t like to scratch at fashion’s shiny facade. As well as horrifying tales of garment worker exploitation, there’s the environmental destruction to think about. After all, have you ever really considered what’s in your clothes?

We all think of cotton as a traditional, natural fibre. But cotton’s dark history of human exploitation and misery also started to include ecocide in the mid 20th century as DDT was sprayed onto cotton crops to kill the bollworm. Rachel Carson chronicled the devastating effect on wildlife in her book Silent Spring in the early 60s. Cotton is also an incredibly thirsty crop, and attempts to divert rivers to irrigate large cotton fields in Uzbekistan have transformed the Aral Sea, once the world’s largest inland sea and a thriving location for nature, fishing and tourism, into little more than a salty dust bowl.

A fact that really shocked me is the amount of water it takes to make one cotton garment, so much so that I had to emblazon it on one of my works of wearable art - 2700 Litres. On this shirt, every sequin represents one litre of water. That figure includes water for irrigating the cotton, processing the fibre, dyeing and finishing the garment, but that’s a lot of water. XR Hammersmith and Fulham also illustrated this beautifully during their Boycott Fashion event in Lyric Square - with nine rainbow-coloured bathtubs. Unfortunately I don’t have room for nine bathtubs in my hallway, so it had to be something small but visually arresting instead. 

Since clothes started to be mass produced in the mid 19th Century, we haven’t managed to do a great job of dyeing them safely. Fortunately we’ve stopped using arsenic as a green dye, but research carried out by Greenpeace as part of their Detox Fashion campaign, published in 2012, showed that brands were using azo dyes that contain cancer-causing carcinogens. Other tests revealed nonylphenol ethoxylates or NPEs in water systems, which are widely used in cleaning and dyeing processes. These chemical compounds are toxic to aquatic life, persist in the environment and biomagnify. Commercial fabric dyes contain mercury, cadmium and lead, and in many textile manufacturing areas around the world, the rivers running past dye houses and tanneries are the only source of water for drinking and washing for local people. 

Stories of dangerous dyes from days past inspired this horror-themed blog post a while back, and the creation of an arsenic-victim Halloween costume. But it’s a horror story that persists to this day and affects millions of people worldwide. 

Polyester clothing now accounts for over 60% of garments made worldwide. What many of the owners of those garments might not know is that polyester is made from plastic, a product of the petrochemical industry. The carbon footprint of a piece of polyester clothing is more than twice that of a similar piece of cotton clothing. And polyester clothing is also creating a global water crisis of its own - microfibre pollution.

When we think of plastic in our oceans, we might be thinking of the images we’ve seen in Blue Planet 2 - plastic bottles and containers bobbing about, bags or fishing lines caught around sea birds and turtles, or the scraps of broken-down plastic in an unfortunate fish’s stomach. But there is another hidden problem - the microfibres that are shed from synthetic garments every time we wash them. Too small to be trapped by filter systems in water treatment plants, they end up in the oceans where they add to the plasticky soup being consumed by sea creatures and eventually, us too.

Again, the figures are mind-boggling, as emblazoned on my second piece, 700,000 Fibres. Individually, these microfibres are far too small to see. But when you start to think of the amount of polyester clothing each of us owns and how often we wash those clothes, it starts to become a global problem. Research by Friends of the Earth has shown that 83% of water contains microplastics. That includes bottled water and drinking water as well as rivers and oceans.

I wish I could tell you that there is a quick fix for all these problems - a perfect fabric with no environmental impact, a magical dye that leaves no chemical residue but is colourfast and never fades. Unfortunately we live in a complicated, messy world and there are no quick fixes. Sustainability-minded manufacturers are gradually starting to switch to fabrics, dyes and processing that have less of an impact on the environment, but once again we need to keep asking the big brands to change. If we all ask #whatsinmyclothes we’ll hopefully end up in a situation where no one has to worry if they are drinking the residue from some freshly-dyed fabric, or scraps of the yoga pants they washed a while back.

Fashion Revolution Week 2020: get your fashion fix!

Refashioning, upcycling and mending have been some of my favourite topics to blog about, and if you look back through my blog you’ll find a variety of projects, from adding pockets to turning skirts into trousers. I love that Fashion Revolution’s campaigns also cover our responsibility as part of the fashion supply chain - as wearers of clothes, and the people who determine a garment’s fate once it’s been bought, the way we care for our clothes can reduce our environmental impact. Being able to mend clothes, or refashion them if they no longer suit our body shape or personal style, reduces the amount of new clothes we buy and keeps wearable but well-loved clothes out of landfill.

While more and more people are embracing this new mending revolution, there are sadly still plenty of people who think of sewing as old-fashioned, and refashioning as unfashionable. To try to dispel some preconceptions I’ve selected four examples to showcase for Fashion Revolution Week, to show that there are minimalist, flamboyant, practical and even silly ways to get your fashion fix on.

Visible Mending

Darning is a traditional skill but it’s having a bit of a moment right now, thanks to visible mending artists like Celia Pym and Tom of Holland. This old cardigan was one of my first visible mending projects, thanks to its popularity with clothes moths, and I’ve recently had to mend another couple of holes in the sleeve. I love the contrast of the bright yellow darning wool with the dark stripes of the knit, and I couldn’t resist embroidering antennae and legs, adding another couple of beetles to the swarm on this cardi! 

Upcycling

My sister grabbed this silk blouse as an upcycling project for me from a sample sale - the sleeves were unhemmed and were very tight and ill-fitting but the rest of the blouse looked quite nice. I removed the sleeves, then used some fabric left over from a dress I’d made for a friend to create some frills in a contrast colour. The blouse still looks neat and smart, but the pop of colour makes it unique and eye catching.

Refashioning

I’ve featured this blouse on the blog before, but I think it’s a good example of a “minimalist” refashion/upcycle and also illustrates an important point about the relationship between our bodies and our clothes. This blouse used to be a dress, but over the years since I bought it I’ve put on some weight on my hips and the bottom half of the dress had become uncomfortably tight. The top half still fitted well though, so I simply chopped it off at the waist and hemmed it, creating a boxy blouse that looks great with trousers or a skirt. Refashioning or upcycling doesn’t have to be about adding new features, it can be about taking something away, particularly if you prefer a minimalist style. I think it’s also important to remember that we should be altering our clothes to fit our bodies, not altering our bodies to fit our clothes. 

Invisible Mending

This jumpsuit is an example of invisible mending, which is something I get asked about when clothes have ripped around the crotch! I got the jumpsuit at a clothes swap, and when I tried it on at home I noticed there was a hole at the bottom of the zip where the fabric had frayed away - right on the butt. The key to invisible mending is to patch the hole from the back, then catch down any frayed fabric or loose threads with lots and lots of tiny stitches. It’s fiddly, and you’ll probably discover you need glasses, but it’s worth it when you get a smart garment looking as good as new. 

I’ve loved learning how to sew and constantly improving over the years, and I also love teaching people to sew in a creative, relaxed way - no one is going to want to learn something if it feels like a chore. The key to getting good at sewing is practice - try out ideas on old clothes that are heading for textile recycling anyway, or master a technique on a piece of scrap fabric first before making the real thing. Your projects can be flamboyant or practical, depending on your personal style and clothing requirements. I find sewing calming and meditative, especially when my anxious brain wants me to keep endlessly scrolling on my phone. If you feel like you might need a new lockdown hobby, grab some fabric, thread and a sewing needle and see where your imagination might take you.

Fashion Revolution Week 2020: Wo Made My Clothes?

Clothing is big business. The garment industry directly and indirectly employs over 300 million people worldwide, and high street fashion has turned a handful of men into billionaires, knocking oligarchs and royalty off the top of the Forbes Rich List. It’s going to take a lot of consumer pressure to change the industry when the people at the top have such a vested interest in the status quo, but for the survival and safety of so many others, we have to try our hardest.

Fashion Revolution’s Who Made My Clothes? campaign is a simple and non-threatening way to become an activist - snap a picture of your favourite high street garment with the label showing, and post it on social media, tagging the brand and using the hashtag #whomademyclothes. As the campaign has grown year on year, brands are gradually becoming more transparent, disclosing some (but not yet all) of their suppliers. This transparency is important; it makes it harder for brands to deny responsibility if there is an accident at the factory or workers report mistreatment, while making it easier for auditors or NGOs to link bad practice with specific brands. Seeing replies from the more reputable and ethical brands (usually showing garment workers holding a sign reading “I Made Your Clothes”) helps to remind all of us that there are humans, not machines, making every piece of clothing we buy.

Earlier this year I gave a talk to a conference of public health registrars about the impact of the garment industry on global public health. I had read out a lot of statistics, big numbers and generalisations and I wanted to bring home the reality of the life of a garment worker to my audience. The next two paragraphs are from my talk, I hope they are a good indicator of why this campaign is so important.

The documentaries “China Blue” and “The True Cost” both follow a garment worker and tell her story. While 23-year-old Shima’s story is shocking, the mundane yet punishing schedule that makes up the working life of 16-year-old Jasmine seems equally unimaginable to those of us used to the European Working Time Directive. Jasmine has left her rural home for the Lifeng factory in Canton. Her working day starts at 8am and ends at 7pm… and then the compulsory overtime begins. This can last until 2 or 3am, and then it’s back to the dormitory she shares with eleven other girls. This is also where they eat their meals, as the factory does not have a canteen. It does deduct room and board from its workers, but don’t worry, each dorm room has its own cold tap! Best not to drink too much water though, as only two bathroom breaks are permitted per shift. Workers at the Lifeng factory work seven days a week, often for months at a time to fulfill overseas orders. To keep herself awake during 18 hour shifts, Jasmine and her friends clip their eyelids open with clothes pegs. Supervisors are issued with long screwdrivers to poke workers who look like they are falling asleep. The factory owner is incensed at the insinuation that he treats his workers harshly - “we give them a free snack at midnight!” He huffs indignantly. When Jasmine goes to collect her first paycheck, several weeks late, she discovers it is being kept as a “deposit”, to deter her from leaving. As the factory shuts down temporarily for New Year, many of the workers head home to see their families, but not Jasmine - she cannot afford the train fare. 

Shima lives in Bangladesh and works in a garment factory in Dhaka. Along with some of her coworkers, she formed a union and brought a list of demands to the factory owners. Later that day, she and her fellow organisers were beaten up by men hired by her bosses at the factory. Shima has a young daughter, Nadia, but in the slum near the garment district, the only place Shima can afford to live, there is nowhere for Nadia to go to school. Shima makes the decision to take Nadia back to the village where she used to live. Surrounded by friends and relatives, Nadia can get an education and won’t be alone, but Shima will only be able to visit her once or twice a year. Shima hopes that her decision will mean a future for Nadia that doesn’t involve garment work, and she gives a tearful interview to camera, saying “there is no limit to the struggle of Bangladeshi workers… I believe these clothes are produced by our blood.”

Garment workers face worsening conditions as big brands cancel or refuse to pay for orders due to COVID-19, forcing factories to close. Many of these orders have already been made and even shipped, leaving factories in low-income countries out of pocket, as the factory owners pay the wages of the workers and for the fabric. Indulge me for a moment - scroll back up to the top of this blog post and read the first paragraph again. Furious? You should be! You can sign a petition urging brands to pay up here, or urge brands to pay their suppliers as soon as possible using the hashtag #PayUp. You can also use Fashion Revolution’s template letter to express your concern - just enter the name of the brand you want to contact and sign with your name and email, activism has never been easier!

I don’t buy clothes from the high street any more, but I still have plenty of clothes in my wardrobe from brands that I believe have questions to answer. I’ll be asking #whomademyclothes throughout the day on Twitter, and gently reminding brands not to forget to pay their suppliers for all that fast fashion they have ordered. Join me, and join the Fashion Revolution!

Fashion Revolution Week 2020: the fast fashion supply chain is endangering lives during a global pandemic

It’s the first day of Fashion Revolution Week 2020, and despite a global pandemic and self-isolation restrictions in many participating countries, this vital week of action is still going ahead, raising awareness of the problems with the fashion industry and encouraging everyone who loves clothes to call for change.

Cheap fashion might seem like a harmless indulgence when the COVID-19 virus has altered our day-to-day life so drastically, but fast fashion brands are needlessly endangering lives in a number of different ways during this health crisis, and Fashion Revolution Week was actually started in response to a tragic loss of life for which the fashion industry was wholly responsible.

On the 24th April 2013, the Rana Plaza garment factory in Dhaka, Bangladesh, collapsed, killing 1138 people and injuring around 2500. The factory had been manufacturing clothing for many global fashion brands, and workers had raised concerns about the structural integrity of the building but were ordered to continue working or face losing a month’s salary. Most major fashion brands have outsourced production of their clothing to middle- or low-income countries: that's what makes fast fashion so cheap. But workers are barely paid enough to live on, and as well as dangerous working conditions they also face harassment and bullying from managers, who are under pressure from big brands to deliver garments faster and cheaper than ever before. 

Another danger they face is the insecure and precarious nature of their employment, and without union recognition every garment worker is vulnerable to losing their job at short notice. And that’s exactly what’s happened as a result of COVID-19; as non-essential businesses across the US and Europe were ordered to close to reduce the risk of spreading the virus, fast fashion brands started cancelling orders, without paying their suppliers. Many factories had finished making the garments, but with brands refusing to pay and no new orders coming in, factory bosses had to start laying off their workers. Garment work offers no opportunities for saving money, and without the safety net of a welfare state many garment workers now face starvation. 

Even here in the UK fast fashion brands are putting their employees at risk. Many brands are still trading online, but their fulfilment warehouses are not being run in a way that makes it possible for workers to remain an appropriate distance apart. This non-essential service is potentially increasing transmission of the virus. Again, workers are being forced to choose between their jobs (and the money they need to pay their bills and feed their families) and their health and safety. 

None of this is acceptable. The pursuit of profit at any cost during a global pandemic is a new low even for the fashion industry, which tends to treat its employees as expendable at the best of times. Fashion Revolution is calling on everyone who loves clothes but finds this behaviour appalling to act with them: to demand transparency from their favourite brands and a better life for all our fellow humans who make our clothes. 

You can join in by taking a photo of your favourite clothes with the label showing, then post it on social media, tagging the brand and asking #WhoMadeMyClothes ? The more pressure from customers, the more brands are likely to feel compelled to change. You can also send a letter to a brand expressing your concerns - Fashion Revolution has a template on their website.

I was looking forward to attending as many Fashion Revolution Week events as I could, but self-isolation rules mean I’m staying at home, with nothing but a huge haberdashery cabinet of fabrics and old clothes to keep me company. Since I can’t go to any exhibitions, I decided to create my own, in my hallway. I’ve created five works of wearable art, each of them illustrating problems with the fashion industry. The first, Supply Chain, is the garment illustrating this blog post. I wanted to name (some of) the problems with fast fashion and their consequences - the outsourcing and cost-cutting that has led to exploitation and misery for workers. These problems link together to trap garment workers in modern slavery - it’s impossible to simply “find a better job” if you have no savings, are dependent on your place of employment for accommodation and food, or if the only jobs going are the same, or worse, than the one you have. Currently, garment workers only receive 1-4% of the total cost of a garment, and the owners of several fast fashion brands are billionaires. The fashion industry can afford to pay its workers a fair wage, but it’s up to us to demand that it does.

Supply Chain is made from leftover fabric from one of the layers of my sister’s wedding dress, secondhand embroidery thread, and an unraveled sweater.

It's time to ask "Who Made My Merchandise?"

In the excellent costume collection at Worthing Museum in West Sussex there is a patchwork maxi skirt from the 1960s. Interspersed between delicate floral prints in apple green and buttercup yellow, there are a couple of plain rose pink panels, and on one of these the skirt’s owner has embroidered Leonard Cohen in a flowing script reminiscent of the “best handwriting” that used to be taught in schools. 

I wanted to ask the original owner so many questions - was the embroidery a spur-of-the-moment decision, or carefully planned? Was it done specifically for a certain festival or concert, or just as a general declaration of loyalty to, or love for, a favourite musician? I was intrigued by the juxtaposition of the sunny, cheerful nature of the ditsy floral prints, and the emotional intensity that I associate with Leonard Cohen songs. If I was to choose an article of clothing to represent the mood that Leonard Cohen songs evoke in me, it would not be this skirt. Was its owner finding different meanings and feelings in this shared experience of popular culture? Or was the juxtaposition deliberate, drawing attention to the fact that this brightly dressed young woman also felt intense emotions but didn’t want them to interfere with her aesthetic? 

At a time when we can buy merchandise to advertise our love of almost any musician, film, TV show or musical, customised clothing proclaiming our pop culture allegiances is becoming a cultural artefact, more likely to be found in a museum collection than at a concert or a convention. 

Mass-produced merchandise has invented its own ways of offering a personalised experience to the buyer. Band tour t-shirts are a covetable souvenir, a way to say “I was here, I experienced this particular moment with my idol”. Fan-designed t-shirts, often a mash-up of different beloved sci-fi stories, are a wearable in-joke, a way of finding your tribe, the people who unapologetically love what you love. 

But, like everything fun in life, your fave is (probably) problematic. We are getting used to asking fashion brands “Who made my clothes?” but are we asking the same questions of wearable merchandise? We are often drawn to stories because they have a message that resonates with us; they show us a way of being in the world that feels important to explore. At a time of international political turmoil, they help to realign our moral compasses, teaching us courage, compassion and strength. 

And yet, a cultural phenomenon that urges us to “do what is right, not what is easy” partners with a fast fashion brand to sell as much cheap, sweatshop-made merchandise as possible. I understand the argument that merchandise for books and films that are so meaningful for so many people should be widely available and affordable. But when an Isle-of-Wight based start-up, Teemill, is able to make affordable print-on-demand merch using natural inks and ethically sourced t-shirts with a 24hr turnaround, while running a training programme for local young people, shouldn’t some of the richest people in the world and Hollywood mega-corporations be able to do the same thing? 

I’m always excited when I’m able to buy a piece of ethical merchandise. The ongoing collaboration between the Star Wars franchise and sustainable shoe brand Po-Zu has resulted in me owning three pairs of incredibly comfortable shoes while also letting me wear a subtle logo of something I’ve loved since I was a teenager. I was also able to use “but it’s made from recycled materials!” as an excuse to buy a Hamilton tote, despite the fact that I already own approximately 50 tote bags. 

When The 1975 announced that they were going to start a recycling scheme for the t-shirts they have sold to fans, re-printing deadstock t-shirts rather than making new for each tour, a predictable criticism was thrown at them - wasn’t it hypocritical to be tackling t-shirts when they were flying to international tour dates? By that criticism, all music, TV, film and theatre is hugely environmentally damaging and we shouldn’t consume any culture at all. I have looked at the way that costume departments in film and TV are grappling with their environmental impact in a previous post, and for full disclosure I’ll point out that my day job is within this industry and I don’t want to be made jobless!  I think all forms of the arts are crucial to a healthy, functioning democracy as they give us ways to process our feelings, a window into the experiences of others and lightness and beauty in dark times. Give us bread, but give us roses too.

But at a time when we are grappling with the need to engage with the world in a fundamentally different way to avoid irreversible climate breakdown, I’d like to gently suggest that the way we engage with pop culture also needs to take on a less passively consumerist and more curious role. I’d love to include hundreds of words here about cosplay, crafts and transformative works, but that might have to be a separate blog post. Buying merchandise is a way that most of us interact with our idols, and I think it’s also a way we can advocate for positive change. Obviously I realise that the main objective of selling merchandise is to make money. But I’d like to suggest that we take inspiration from our heroes and start asking awkward questions of the people who are taking our money. Either that, or grab your embroidery kit, fabric paints or knitting needles and start making your own homages to the things you love.

The Government won't fix fast fashion. Can consumers challenge a destructive industry instead?

It’s no secret that fast fashion is bad for people and the planet. From river systems polluted with toxic dyes and the exploitation of workers at home and overseas, to microfibres from the washing of polyester clothes ending up in the food chain and even the air we breathe, our addiction to cheap clothes is causing us serious harm. 

When the Environmental Audit Committee chaired by Mary Creagh MP published its findings after an in-depth investigation of the fashion industry, many of us hoped that the government would legislate in favour of the report’s recommendations, which included a ban on incinerating or landfilling unsold stock, mandatory environmental targets for large brands and tax incentives for recycling, repairing and responsible brands. 

To the dismay of most of my Twitter timeline on Tuesday morning, the government rejected even these mild regulations in favour of allowing the industry to self-regulate. This was particularly disappointing after recent reports that fast fashion brands are not implementing the changes they had promised to. The future of the Bangladesh Accord (which aims to secure safer workplaces in the wake of the Rana Plaza factory collapse) is also uncertain, so the chance of the industry properly regulating itself is as slim as a teenage catwalk model. 

Environmentalists and climate change activists are hugely concerned about the impact that fast fashion is having on our planet, but even if you’re a fast fashion fanatic you still have reason to be worried. In Elle Magazine’s 2018 Sustainability issue, Marie-Claire Daveau, head of sustainability at Kering, gave this stark warning: “if we don’t do this now, there will be nothing around to make fashion with in 20 years”. If that doesn’t make you quake in your boots, then I don’t know how to help you. If you truly love fashion, then you know it has to change.

So what can we do? As an individual consumer with limited spending power, it’s easy to feel powerless. But if we act together, we can hit the brands doing harm where it hurts - their profits. 

Extinction Rebellion have launched a Boycott Fashion action, where participants pledge to buy no new clothes for a year. If that sounds too daunting, the Collaction Slow Fashion Season has just started, and only lasts for three months.

Both actions make it clear that only brand new fast fashion is off the table. Participants can still buy secondhand and vintage clothes and swap clothes with friends or at a clothes swap. Mending, upcycling and making new clothes is encouraged; it’s a great way of breathing new life into old clothes, and understanding the skill and hard work that goes into garment making.

But what if you really, really, really have to buy something new? Most of us don’t urgently need new clothes, but we do urgently need to change our long-term shopping habits. Instead of panic-buying the first thing we see at the last minute, we can save money in the long run and experience more satisfaction with our purchases if we put a little thought into them. 

Look into ethical and sustainable brands (I’ll put up a post soon with some links in case you don’t know where to start looking) and interrogate your reasons for buying. Is your “need” genuine and urgent (I imagine some of you are dreaming up nightmare scenarios about secondhand underwear) or are you shopping because you are bored or unhappy? Could you get the same shopping “buzz” from having a wander round the charity shops in your local area or liking clothes on Depop and Vinted rather than filling your ASOS basket? 

If you rely on a high street fashion brand for a particular bra size, for example, or your kids school uniform, write to the brand and tell them that you are concerned about the negative impact they are having on the planet. Fashion Revolution have a template letter here if you’re unsure of what to say. 

Alternatively, you can write to your MP to express your disappointment with their rejection of the EAC’s recommendations. Fashion Roundtable has a template letter here.

We need to let fast fashion retailers and the government know that we will no longer accept business as usual. Fast fashion is a recent phenomenon (it barely existed when I was a teenager!) and like any unflattering trend, it has outstayed its welcome. Most of the 20th century’s iconic fashion trends were brought about by innovation and rebellion, so say no to the status quo and challenge yourself to become an icon of rebel style!

Worn Out: the story of the clothes we throw away

Last year, people in the U.K. sent 350000 tonnes of clothes to landfill. I don’t know about you, but I find this impossible to visualise. Even breaking it down to a figure per person - approximately 5kg - it’s hard to imagine what that might look like. So I created Worn Out.

My sister and I, both recovering fast fashion addicts, had bags of clothes that we were absolutely planning to take to textile recycling. One day. When we got around to it. When we weren’t busy with something else. I combined the contents of these bags, and it turns out that this is what 5kg of clothing looks like! 

Before you ask why we didn’t donate these clothes - these weren’t clothes that charity shops or clothes swaps would accept. Threadbare pyjamas, ratty t-shirts, leggings that had burst at the seams, even (gasp!) my old knickers! These are the clothes that are most likely to end up in landfill. 

Even with the best will in the world, our clothes aren’t going to be wearable for ever. While more and more people are embracing secondhand shopping and swapping as a way of ensuring their unwanted clothes won’t go to waste, not every item of clothing is going to be a desirable pre-loved purchase. Most of us are going to end up with a collection of t-shirts, leggings, underwear or worn-out clothes that no one else wants.

While fast fashion isn’t “designed to fall apart”, the choice of cheap fabrics to keep costs down means that basic everyday clothing might be more delicate than we think it is. A washing machine cycle with a high temperature and a fast spin, or tumble drying, can wear down fabrics even faster, leading to a high turnover of clothing in our wardrobes. 

If we send these clothes for textile recycling, they are likely to be downgraded, into stuffing for pet beds, car seats or insulation. At the moment it’s a difficult process to re-use fibres from old clothes, as natural fibres need to be separated from synthetics, and most fast fashion clothing is made from a mixture of both. The shredded fibres then need to be mixed with new fibres in order to spin them into a good quality thread.

While businesses like Rapanui/Teemill and Swedish Stockings are closing the loop in their own supply chain by incentivising customers to return their worn-out clothing, this isn’t happening on a large enough scale to make our current consumption of clothes sustainable.

I’ve constructed Worn Out to show the sheer volume of fabric that could be re-used if we create a more circular fashion system. Think of the possibilities! I wanted Worn Out to look equal parts comical and overwhelming; this is a garment that wears you, and isn’t designed to look flattering (the passing resemblance to the memorable scene in Friends where Joey wears all of Chandler’s clothes isn’t entirely coincidental). The amount of clothing we throw away is absurd, and the way we are encouraged to consume clothing as though it was disposable is absurd. We can’t wear more than one outfit at once, and overconsumption isn’t making us happier or more fulfilled.

Ideally I’d like Worn Out to be an interactive piece of wearable art, something that other people can touch and even try on. It’s going to be making an appearance at the Ethical Influencers meet up and clothes swap for Fashion Revolution Week so hopefully this will be the first of many outings.

As a costume maker and a vintage fashion fan, I’m passionate about clothes as a means of storytelling. Worn Out tells a story about my wardrobe, but it's not the story of favourite clothes or treasured heirlooms. It’s the story of the hidden side of fashion, the parts we don’t show off on social media. It is partly a story of fast fashion failures; the t-shirts with warped seams, the leggings with insufficient elastic, the mistaken belief that fine jersey embellished with metal or plastic can survive a 40 degree wash and spin without ending up full of holes. But it’s also the story of the life I’ve led while wearing these clothes, and how some of them have come to the end of their useful life naturally. My body shape has changed over the years so certain bras no longer fit. Old t-shirts have been downgraded to painting clothes until they are so threadbare that paint has gone right through them. I’ve worn pyjamas for thousands of hours, despite the fact that I don’t really remember it. These clothes have kept me warm in winter, and cool in summer. Some of these clothes have travelled to different countries with me, others have never left my house.

The weight of Worn Out as it settles around your shoulders might feel like a burden, but I prefer to think of it as a reminder of our responsibilities. To look after and appreciate the clothes that hardworking people have made, and to think carefully about what happens to your clothes when you part ways with them.

In case anyone’s wondering what’s left over from Worn Out; it’s not a perfect zero waste garment but I did diligently save every scrap that didn’t make it onto the final design. This little bag of scraps creates an accessory to accompany Worn Out, and serves as a reminder that we can keep improving our ideas for a zero-waste fashion system.