Is this the end?

I still remember my first fast fashion purchase. The year was 2001, the store was Mango, and it was a silky, oyster coloured racer back with pearl detailing. I wore that top for over twenty years: as a ‘going out’ top, a little something- something under a tailored jacket and as a saree blouse. I finally gave it to a friend’s daughter to wear for a party a few months ago, wincing a little when she called it ‘vintage’.  

It’s all bell-shaped

Since that first buy, my relationship with fast fashion can best be likened to a bell curve. I started out with hardly anything in my early twenties, but then snacked on Top Shop, Zara and H&M through for the rest of that decade. They were affordable, beguiling, and there was something new every time I looked. I was once the proud owner of the (in)famous Primark £3 jeans.

But as the clamour of voices around the ethics of fast fashion rang out in the press and online, I began to question the story I was being sold. What did we learn in moral science? All that glitters is not gold.

It took reading Naomi Klein’s No Logo and watching the Rana garment factory tragedy unfold in Bangladesh, that pushed me to start thinking a lot more about who made my clothes. And who paid the real price for £3 jeans. 

What goes up must come down

All of this made me turn away from the brands that had taken up space in my wardrobe after I turned thirty. I stepped away from malls and towards handwoven fabrics, masterjis who could turn them into the latest Miu Miu sundress and my mother’s OG saree collection. 

Maybe these were the initial steps I took towards creating a sustainable wardrobe, though I’m loath to say that. Because let’s be honest, it’s such a privileged, virtue signalling ‘Oh, look at me, and my hemp underwear’ thing to say. Plus, it also wouldn’t be true. My gym clothes aren’t sustainable, neither is my underwear and last month I woke up and found myself the owner of Sex Pistols t-shirt from H&M. I don’t even listen to the Sex Pistols.

What I can say is that over the years, I’ve tried to do things that ensure that I don’t go right back up the fast fashion bell curve. Here they are:

1. Ditch the guilt.

I’ve stopped getting guilt-tripped into thinking I have to throw everything out. a) Because it will just go into a landfill and b) because there are amazing NGOs like Goonj I can give my clothes too.

2. Shop from your friends.

I know someone who is always impeccably dressed on a modest non-profit job salary. Turns out, she just shops from her friends’ wardrobes: from holiday wardrobes to weddings, from jewellery to formal wear. When I asked a friend recently if they wanted a saree of mine for an event, the answer was a swift, ‘Yes, b*tch!’  

3. Talk to to yourself. No really.

“Do I really need that?” is something I ask myself a lot.  Sometimes the answer is yes, sometimes it’s no. But if the part of my brain that tells me to eat Nutella says ‘you really want this’ I cave in depending on whether or not there’s Nutella in the house.

I try to think about what I have, and what I’m adding to my wardrobe. This means I no longer have six pairs of black trousers that ‘kind of’ fit me. I have two that fit really well. And a Sex Pistols t-shirt that will look great with both of them.

4. Talk to others.

I used to hate asking brands questions before buying, because I didn’t want to come across as that annoying, pushy, ‘pp’ customer. But, after receiving purchases that did not look or feel as advertised, I got over it. Brands that are truly sustainable and want to do better, won’t mind answering all your questions. Or better yet, they put everything up front on the website and tell you where to look.

Maybe, one day in the not so distant future I will have an entire wardrobe that consists only of ethically sourced, sustainable clothes, accessories and hemp underwear.

Unless I see a Santana concert t-shirt somewhere.