And so it begins
It was in my home economics class at school in Penang, Malaysia, that I discovered I loved making clothes. The first piece I made was a brightly coloured waistcoat, vibrantly patterned with a hideous, early 90s mix of reds and fluorescent yellows and blues and greens on the front and black on the back. Yes. I loved it, wore it everywhere and couldn’t quite believe I’d made it.
Thankfully, over the years, my style improved — although it seems the 90s have returned again in 2015 so you may just see that waistcoat again, you lucky, lucky souls — and once back home in Australia, I’d make clothes in the basement of my houseshare in Brisbane, listening to loud music and working through the night and day, timelessly, whenever inspiration struck to make items I’d wear to work and parties. I would dabble in jewellery making and knitting too — nothing quite felt like the same success of making something wearable or useable with your own hands. Just before I moved from there to London in 2004, I told my friends I wanted to study fashion design — despite being a Journalism and English literature major, with a fledging career in public relations — and do something in that space one day.
Somehow over the years, the dream didn’t quite materialise, although it was always lingering in the back of my mind. I was living a complacent, comfortable life, consulting for corporates on PR and communications, following a path that I’d started on 10 years before, and a path that I’d fallen into, was good at and therefore found difficult to leave. I loved working with organisations that did good things in the world because I could still create, with purpose — not clothes, yes, but communications channels and ways to get people interested and involved. Discovering new ways to connect great organisations with people in ways that mattered, felt good.
I’d still make clothes now and then; I also volunteered at my local Oxfam store to redesign secondhand clothes to sell. It was there that a new element of creation was sparked, that through recycling and redesigning, I — and my fellow volunteers — could enable previously unsold clothes to be valuable again to raise money for the charity. Joy. Finally, I did the course, at Central St Martins, eight years after moving to London. By that stage, I had a growing interest in ethical fashion, inspired by people like Carry Somers and Livia Firth and shops such as Beulah London. While the “how” wasn’t clear, the “what” was: I wanted to create — and participate in creating and supporting — ethical, sustainable clothes: clothes that were good in every sense.
By that point, I had become disillusioned with the projects I’d been working on and every day began to feel like the same as the one before: a groundhog day of dissatisfaction and feeling like I wasn’t on the right path. I stopped making things and would buy clothes to satisfy a need for something new and different, but once the purchase was made and I’d wear it once or twice, I’d need to buy something else. I do enjoy clothes and a part of my identity is formed around what I wear, but this was something else: a sign something was wrong with the pattern of my life and, going back to purpose of this, not particularly sustainable in any sense.
By 2013, the thought of spending my remaining days doing the same thing filled me with pure terror. The only option I had was to take a radical new direction, so I pulled the threads together of all my interests, joys and dreams — travelling, writing, clothing design, living purposefully — and set off on a journey.
It started with travel. Before they retired, my parents were teachers, a job which enabled them to travel the world, bringing my brother and I up partly overseas. I inherited their wanderlust, finding so much joy and enchantment about travelling — so much so, I’ve set up a travel community with a friend I met while travelling: yes, let’s travel. Everything about going to a new place inspires me: meeting local people, the sights, the food, the clothes, the culture, the sounds, the newness. I am at my most present when travelling and the journey always enables me to come back to myself.
In March 2014, I took a one-way trip to Mexico and travelled down the Yucatan peninsula, delighting in my first taste of the colours and textile art of the Americas I’d only seen pictures of and dreamed about previously. The inspiration I’d once had for making things and design was once again sparked. I’d go to the markets and see the bright azure blankets for sale, streaked with pinks and yellows and greens: a visual delight.
The trip continued and a month later I was in Guatemala. I’d heard about the great markets of Chichicastenango, where the local craftspeople would sell their fabric, handwoven and brightly coloured and gorgeous — of course I had to go. I had complete sensory overload there — stall upon stall of some of the most richly designed and coloured fabrics I’d ever seen sold by women dressed in embroidered shirts and patterned, sarong-like skirts. I swore I’d come back one day to the communities that made these beautiful fabrics and work with them.
Through El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama, the journey continued and I got a little lost in the adventure. Once I got to Peru, and visited the markets in Lima, I was at first delighted by the array of scarves and hats and clothes available, but soon realised that many of the stalls carried the very same items, all mass-produced somewhere. As I moved further inland to Arequipa and Cusco, the market stalls continued to sell the same items as I’d seen in Lima. While the items for sale didn’t inspire me, the selling of them — for local people to make money and support their families — did. It made me question my understanding of what “ethical” meant. To this day, I have no idea about the people that made the clothes in the factories, but at the point at which I could buy them, the small business owners, the market sellers, were making a livelihood for themselves and their families. Such strong women, working really hard every day at markets, at life, and every day wearing intricate outfits: calf-length skirts, sometime embroidered, with embroidered, colourful flowers and patterns sewn on black cloth and short jackets with completely different, vibrant designs. And then there was the carrying cloth they’d use: they would wrap their young children in a beautiful, brightly coloured striped cloth and carry them on their backs and, indeed, all other things on their backs — groceries, items to sell in markets, everything. While the other gringos and I could buy and wear the mass-produced clothes they sold, our tourist costume, the local people wore beautiful, unique items of rich colours and designs that had weathered the years. Sustainable, beautiful clothes.
The journey continued and when I hit Pisaq, in Peru’s Sacred Valley, an opportunity presented itself: a volunteer role at Artesania Sorata in La Paz, Bolivia. It’s a charity formed by a collective of local artisans who, for over 30 years, have been creating gorgeous handmade, hand-dyed knitwear and textile art from pure alpaca yarn and sheep’s wool. They were looking for volunteers to help with marketing, public relations and design. It could not have been more perfect. For all my disillusionment of communications and PR before I left, I still love it and appreciate where it’s gotten me. It remains a vehicle to help me chase and share joy — in work and in life generally.
I swiftly made my way down to La Paz and met Diane, the American expat who had placed the ad and was one of the founders of Artesania Sorata back in 1978. I worked there for a couple of months and learned so very very much. I met some of the incredible women who have worked with Artesania Sorata for many years, creating beautiful handmade items. They told me how, because of their work, they’ve been able to put their children through university and how they could access the healthcare they needed with the money they earned. They took me through how they make the clothes and artwork, dying the cloths in vats with walnut leaves for the browns, carrot tops and eucalyptus for the greens and cochineal beetles for the reds and purples. They proudly showed me their knitwear and their work — lovingly handmade and beautifully rendered — and I loved being there, with them. I also gained a real insight into what was needed to run a successful collective with heart, as well as business acumen.
And therein lies the crux for me and my focus when I approach ethical fashion: that individuals and communities are not at all harmed — but enriched and supported — through the creation of what they make and what is made. That’s where my interest lies: in people. Always people.
After six months of travelling, I left to return home to London to replenish my funds. I found work with organisations I believed — believe — in, in recognition of the despair I’d felt before I left, and my need to feel like I was working towards a higher goal. Something was missing though — life was somehow stripped of colour and felt stuck again in the holding pattern I’d been in before I left. I knew I had to do something to set myself back on the path I’d begun back in that home economics class in Malaysia. I found an amazing coach and now friend, the wonderful Kate Taylor, who helped and continues to help me understand how I can go forward with all these long-held dreams. She has been a beacon. Through her, I discovered the Happy Startup Canvas and started working out how I could fit all of my dreams into my real life.
I had a brief few weeks in India. I travelled alone, being inspired and regaining my “being present”-ness and loved every minute of it, even the challenging parts. On my last day in Mumbai, I went for lunch at Badshah Falooda, a place I saw lots of locals lining up to go into. After getting a seat at a free table and ordering, a lady sat down opposite me and we had started up a conversation. She’d just opened her own business, making her own jewellery and it was helping her earn some extra income for her family. Ah, the world gives unexpected opportunities all the time. I returned home determined to make ethical fashion my main plot line.
I was also determined to put my money where my mouth is and try to shop consciously, when I needed new things. For all the gorgeousness of the colours and fabrics in the places I had travelled to, though, there is a major difference, for me at least, between what I’d wear on the road (ethically-made, dyed MC Hammer-esque wrap pants, for instance) and what I’d wear in London. I will always enjoy wearing stylish clothes, it still forms part of my identity, but buying affordable, stylish “good” clothes remains a puzzle I want to — but haven’t yet — solve.
Anyway, with this renewed purpose, I signed up for and attended the The Happy Startup School weekender, a life-changing weekend of inspiring talks and likeminded souls, all enthusiastically motivating each other on to follow their paths. The weekend was full of lessons and gifts and one of these was meeting Justina Adom, who shared an interest in ethical fashion. She’s a Lithuanian environmentalist with a pure heart, a wicked sense of humour, an abundance of creativity and a direct manner. We became friends and soon met up with another friend of mine, quite possibly the most glamorous person I know: Leanne Wray. She’s an Australian ex-navy officer, hilarious, whip smart and believes in good fashion, in every sense. They will tell their stories in time and they are awesome. We each have a different take on what ethical style is and are also still trying to get our heads around what it really means, how it can be affordable and how to normalise it. Together, we — breathless with our enthusiasm — made a plan.
And so here it begins with style, soul, story.
It will chart our quest to understand what ethical style means, in all its forms, and how we can make it a normal part of our style. We’ll tell stories of our progress and the stories of others. I imagine my stories will be about the creation of style and the people who make — but, then, who knows where the stories will take us.
We want you on this quest too, so if you have a story to share or any thoughts on this, get in touch.
