Episode 133: It’s Better To Rise Than Fade Away

Humans love an origin story. It’s not enough to know that Batman has both a cool car and a high level of athletic prowess. We need to know that he is still overcoming decades of grief and abandonment issues. We have to know that his drive for justice in a profoundly unjust world isolates him from others. He’ll never get married or have children. He doesn’t seem to have real friends or hobbies. Pets? Seems doubtful. In fact, as I’m thinking about this, I’m getting really depressed for Batman. Someday his body will force him to stop fighting crime, and then what will he have? What will he do? Okay, I am willing admit that I WOULD see that superhero movie. And as far as Batman films go, I’m officially stating that 1989’s Batman (with a super creepy Jack Nicholson as the Joker and a soundtrack by Prince) is the only Batman movie that shall be watched in my household. Yes, Dustin and I have discussed this. As I’m saying this, I’m wondering if google search results of this episode transcript will result in hate mail from Batman fanboys?

Okay, but let’s get to answering the burning question you have right now: why am I talking about Batman? Because this is episode 133 of Clotheshorse. I’m your host Amanda. And this isn’t just ANY old episode, it’s commemorating 2 years of Clotheshorse. That’s right! The very first episode debuted on July 12, 2020! I’ve learned so much over the past two years, about myself, about sustainability, plastic, landfills, stuff I once thought was good and now I think is bad (or at least “complicated), about social media and human nature and just so much! It’s been a journey to say the least…and journeys and the required changes along the way are the theme of today’s episode! Happy birthday, Clotheshorse!

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In July of 2020, my life was in shambles. I had no job. My career seemed to be over. A career that had taken priority over just about anything else in my life for years. Not because I loved my work per se, but because it paid my bills. And I had no safety net. I never had. And now I was unhireable, since the pandemic was sorta decimating the fashion industry. I was still recovering from long COVID. I was jammed into a tiny un-air conditioned row house in South Philly with Dustin, Dylan, and four cats. Even worse, the unemployment I was receiving was LESS than our monthly rent. What would happen next?

The summer was brutally hot. I felt as if we were all holding our breath, waiting for the next terrible thing to happen. Because surely it would come soon, even if we had no idea what it would be.

Clotheshorse gave me a reason to get out of bed every day. And I needed that.

In today’s episode I’m going to be telling you about my own origin story: from fast fashion buyer to slow fashion rabble rouser. As you all know by now, I am a strong believer that the personal is political. Our stories help shape the values and actions of others. I want Clotheshorse to be a platform for voices from our community. Hence the regular use of audio essays around here! Last year I worked with others to launch Clotheshorse.world as a platform for photos and written content directly from our community. It wasn’t the right time or team for that project and I definitely learned a lot from it. Until I can build a place like that again, I’m looking to use the podcast as that platform, giving voices to those who are often unheard. That’s really, really important to me.

But I also realize that if I’m going to expect all of you to share your stories, then I need to do the same! And trust me: this is not a comfortable activity for me. Way back when I started working on Clotheshorse, I told Dustin “I’m going to stop making this podcast if it gets too successful because I don’t want people to know how depressing, hard, unpretty, and anxious my life has been.” As if struggling or experiencing hard times is shameful! Well, my friends, that’s how classism and sexism gets into your brain and makes you feel embarrassed for being a survivor. In 2021, I forced myself to get uncomfortable by recording an episode where I was the interviewee, with Karrie of the defunct Clotheshorse.world blog acting as interviewer. It was a hard episode to make because I (like many of you) have built a habit of never talking about myself (lest it make someone else feel uncomfortable or sad). I’m proud of myself for doing that. And if you’re interested in learning more about my background, where I grew up, how I grew up, etc…I recommend giving that one a listen. It is Episode 78: This Is Not A Bootstrap Story.

So, in the second half of this episode, I’m going to tell you more about my sustainability journey.

But first, we are going to listen to some audio essays from members of the Clotheshorse community. I asked all of you to tell me about YOUR journey into slow fashion. I wanted to hear

What made you start to care more about sustainability, particularly in regards to things you wear?

What changes were most difficult? What were the easiest?

How do you think slow fashion could be more accessible to others?

And how do you find yourself making changes on a regular basis? Do you have any tips for others?

And wow, I received so many incredible essays. So thoughtful, insightful and inspiring! I definitely got a little teary-eyed and sentimental as I was listening to these, feeling so honored that all of you felt compelled to take the time to write and record something for me.

We are going to listen to these back-to-back, with musical interludes from Dustin. I did make one very amateur mistake when I asked you all to contribute: I forgot to tell you to introduce yourselves! So not every essay includes a name. Here are the contributors (in order):

Dani, Kimberly, Erin, Flavia, Paola, Lavanya, and Maggie. I’ll remind you of their names afterwards. And of course, you can find links to the instagrams in the show notes.

Okay, let’s get rolling with Dani!

Dani

For a long time, I didn’t feel any kind of motivation from within, to want to mend my clothes. The convenience of getting something new if a garment ripped, or a button fell off, was a good enough excuse for me to get rid of it. But I think my mentality about that changed when I actually started selling vintage clothing online, which is something I’ve been doing for the last two years now. I don’t know why that is. Maybe it has something to do with actually looking at the garment and having to assess it and put a price on it. What is this thing worth? I have a specific memory of being at the thrift store early on in my selling days and coming across this incredible leather jacket, and just kind of trying it on and being like, I can’t believe this is at the thrift store. And putting my hands in the pockets and realizing that the button to the jacket actually wasn’t attached to the jacket at all. It had fallen off and someone placed it in the pocket of the coat. I was forced to make a choice. Do I buy the jacket and try to figure out how to reattach this button. Or do I leave it here. That was a turning point for me, because I had to weigh the cost of the jacket with the cost of my own time to learn a new skill. Well, of course, I bought the jacket and I went home and bought a needle and thread without realizing how difficult it would be to work with leather and that particular style of button. And after many YouTube videos, I figured out how to reattach the button effectively. Definitely took me a few tries, but I felt proud of myself afterwards. selling vintage has exposed me to multiple experiences like this. Early on, I had a disgruntled customer who was upset that I didn’t disclose that a garment I sold her had been rehabbed. And I guess it was rehabbed pretty poorly. At the time, I felt defensive. But once the initial feeling of embarrassment passed, I felt more motivated than before to try and better understand things like garment construction, and everything I could about garment quality. I realized then, it was absolutely worth the cost of my time to learn what a really good and bad ham looks like and how to fix small issues like a fallen ham or a missing button. I feel encouraged when I see a fresh face at the Sewing Studio coming in for their very first class. Even though I don’t know that person’s underlying motivations for being there. I think it’s impossible to learn how to sew without developing a deep appreciation for the work that goes into making one single article of clothing. On the subject of underlying motivations, I don’t really consider mending or even making my own clothes to be a choice that is driven solely by sustainability. If I’m being honest, I don’t think what got me to this point was driven by a desire to be an environmentalist, which I know for some people, maybe that’s been their journey. But for me, the human element is what pulled me in and made me want to try and become a more educated consumer. At the time I started my business, I was simultaneously getting really interested in the history of the labor movement. I was listening to podcasts like Sarah Jaffe is belaboured podcast and following labor rights news closely, which meant hearing a lot of firsthand accounts from workers that were trying to unionize and putting a picture together in my mind of the working conditions that people face across industries. Sometimes a big box companies like the Amazons of the world, I started to follow movements like Fashion Revolution and see the through line between the exploitation that is the fashion industry, which I was actively supporting through my own purchases and the empathy that I was feeling towards workers at large a forced to work in horrible conditions under capitalism.

Luckily, buying new things has been the absolute easiest thing for me to let go of like a trip to Urban Outfitters or Brandy Melville after a long workday, for example. I used to be the person that would just casually stroll into a store like urban had straight to the sales section and always leave with a little something. But I don’t have the desire to do that anymore. It’s like my brain somehow rewired itself to blog. Aren’t those places out? Like I have mental blinders on when I’m walking or driving by them? I guess those sorts of places really didn’t need me more than I needed them. And for me, the nature of things like clothing swap, doing a trade, reselling, or even upcycling is the type of circularity and community that keeps my love for style and dressing up super strong and really does influence how I feel not just in my clothes, but also embodied in mind.

Kimberly

How do you Amanda. My name is Kimberly. I’m a longtime listener of the pod. And I started my slow fashion and sustainability journey. About two years ago, I was introduced to the concept of mending your own clothes through posts shared by folks on Instagram. And when I found the clothes horse podcast, all of the information I learned from you about our clothes, where they come from, and what happens after we discard them. That showed me how important it was to start mending my own clothing and slowing down my buying habits. Something I’ve discovered after learning how to mend is how much the ACT deepens my relationship with my clothing, I value the pieces I took the time to fix so much more now, to the point where even if I have an especially stubborn garment that seems to fall apart a bit more each time I wear it, I don’t have the heart to get rid of it and will look for different ways to fix something even if I’ve already tried before. In fact, my go to pair of sweat pants, which were hand me down from my mom truly seem to get a new whole each time I wear them. I’ve spent so much time fixing them though. Adding elastic to the ends to give them a snugger fit at the ankles selling patches in the butt both the knees and around where the fabric started to disintegrate around the waistband, or I would hold them to put them on there a disaster of different colored threads and patches and an ever growing number of tiny holes and they’re one of my favorite pieces in my closet. I’m going to wear them until they are literally falling off my body. Because I love sewing and fixing things. Learning how to men has been the easiest part of my journey. One thing I have struggled with though, is finding certain garments, I really do need second hand. I work as a farmhand. So we need a lot of clothing that is specific to that job, like incited overalls for winter and waterproof bibs for rainy days. These aren’t things that are easily found at thrift stores. And it’s even rare that I would find anything in a woman’s size. Even buying woman’s work for brand new can be a hassle because we are overlooked by mainstream brands. I am proud to say though, the only clothing I’ve bought new in the past two years has been for work. Another challenge I’ve run into is trying to figure out how to responsibly rehome my work clothing that no longer fits me, these are garments I would be hesitant to donate, even if I wasn’t aware of the low probability of them ever being worn by another person again, because a lot of them are quite faded or have permanent dirt stains, and they worried people would pass them by something I would love to see someday would be a workwear specific secondhand market where people could donate and buy work where that’s a little worn and dirty, but still has plenty of life. Maybe I could be the one to start that. Overall, the biggest change I’ve made, which I think makes it easier to adopt smaller changes on a regular basis is unlearning the desire to consume. It’s really hard. Even after I shifted to buying mainly secondhand, I was still buying more than I needed and I had to actively resist that desire for new new new that has been ingrained into me. Taking part in retail therapy isn’t better if you do it through Depop rather than chin you know. I’ve still learned to be content with what I have, but it’s a lot easier now that my closet full of pieces that I bought with intention. I also like to regularly look in my closet for clothing that I don’t feel excited about or wear often and see if I can alter it so I like it better and wear it more. I recently had a big dying day for Some of my garments that I found I wasn’t wearing, because I either didn’t like the colors or know how to pair them with my other garments. One of the pieces was a white tank top I hadn’t worn in probably a year, but I dyed it a really sweet dark brown color. And now it’s my go to top for work. I also like to embroider designs in my clothes or sew patches that I’ve made or bought from other artists. It feels really good to overcome that ingrained urge to buy something new, and instead put my energy into a creative outlet that results in loving and wearing what I already had a lot more. So that’s a bit of my personal slow fashion journey. Thank you so much for the chance to share this for the code source community. It feels really quite special to add my voice to something that has educated and inspired me so much over the past few years By.

Erin

Hey Amanda, it’s Erin, leaving you an audio essay in honor of clotheshorse, reaching two years. For some context. For listeners, I’ve been listening to closed source probably since it was about six months old, and they did call in a few times in 2021. I left a story about my attempt to get over a clothes shopping habit, following something traumatic, which resulted in me buying vegan leather pants that I quickly consigned out of shame. I’m still listening to clotheshorse, even though I’m behind a few episodes, that’s because I had a baby two weeks ago, and there’s no way I would be able to stay awake for an episode right now. But I am looking forward to the one where you interview Dylan, especially since I’ve been dealing with a lot of baby stuff from well intentioned people that are giving me their secondhand crap. For example, I just had to make the hard decision to throw away some of the stuff because I knew it would just be disposed of if I donated it, like this baby rocker that we could not get to work for the life of us. And just to be clear, I use my buy nothing group, my local Buy Nothing group when I can. And I’m thanks to clotheshorse for introducing me to buy nothing groups. But that brings me to why I’m leaving this audio essay, which is to say that I’m really taking the progress, not perfection, quote to heart, especially now that I’m a new parent. I think when I was younger, I would fall into the trap of if I couldn’t do something perfectly, it wasn’t worth doing. But that’s not how we’re going to solve anything, especially the clothing crisis in the world. For example, when I found out I was pregnant, late last year, and I started buying maternity clothes, I bought a lot of stuff, secondhand online, even though there were a few things that I bought new and when I did, I went for quality. And I don’t know why I put up with like terrible cheap stuff when I was younger. But I know I’m not the only one out there who did. For example, I did buy a larger bag for $100, which I would have never done in my 20s. But this is a really nice bag as a lot of compartments for baby stuff and also my stuff, but also doesn’t look like a diaper bag. I’m really happy with it. And I’m going to have it for years to come. Same with a couple of pairs of maternity pants that I bought. Since Comfort is key. I wasn’t messing around. I bought them new. And I’m going to hopefully consign them, so someone else can use them. I wish I could say my postpartum clothing shopping journey has been more sustainable, but I ended up buying all this stuff new. That’s because I was having a hard time finding what I wanted secondhand. I also like time was limited since you know I didn’t know what I was about to give birth. But I knew I needed to have some clothes ready. That’s because before I got pregnant, my personal style was you know, kind of made to show off my gym bod. I was in the best shape of my life. And that just wasn’t going to work postpartum. So I knew I needed to get some looser fitting items items that would support breastfeeding, but also be durable since I knew I was gonna be scrubbing out a lot of stains. By the way breast milk stains are no joke but um anyway I ended up buying this stuff new. But compared to my life before clotheshorse, I wasn’t shopping for the sake of shopping. I had a purpose. And I will also say that this is still a journey. For example, I took a chance on a new online store that prides itself on circularity and sustainability. I bought a buttoned down romper and a couple of T shirts. But I got to say the quality was terrible. And I’ll be honest, I did buy some new things from stores that don’t have the best track record when it comes to environmental and human impact. But the quality was what I was looking for. And I know that the things I bought will last me a long time. So I didn’t notice this morning that I started mindlessly shopping online while I was awake, and the baby was asleep. And that’s when I knew I needed to stop myself. So I’m hopefully, you know, got some stuff to get me through this period of my life until I’m back to hopefully fitting into the clothes I had before. Not necessarily because I feel like I need to get into my pre pregnancy shape up because I like the clothes I had before I was pregnant. I hope I get to wear them again. Anyway, yeah, I should mention that my son Atticus. He has a wardrobe that consists of new stuff that people gifted as well as secondhand items. I think he’s going to be a snappily dressed little man. And I really hope we can leave a good world for him. But before I get emotional, it’s another audio essay. But anyway, um, thanks from the bottom of my heart, Amanda, for putting that in the time to make clotheshorse. I know that your life has changed since you first started it you’re a lot busier so I really appreciate it and I hope you’re well. Take care!

Flavia

Hey, Amanda, and clotheshorse listeners, I heard the requests for audio essays, and I wanted to share some of my journey. Growing up, I was not a stranger to second hand, until I managed to talk somebody into paying me for work at 14. I wasn’t able or could afford to buy new clothes. I worry almost exclusively hand me downs because that’s all we could afford at the time. During this period, until my mid 20s, I typically purchased like TJ Maxx and Marshalls. That was pretty much all I could afford. But I wanted so badly to avoid being teased for what I wore to school. So even being able to access brand new clothes, even if they were a year out of fashion. It was something I valued. Although I was buying fast fashion, I did take care of my clothes really wore them until I got as much use out of them as I could. But in retrospect, it was still fast fashion. One day in grad school, I looked back at photos over the years, and I realized that most of the clothes I wore even though I took care of them were no longer in my closet. Because they didn’t survive more than 20 washers or so. This dovetailed with at the same time, learning how to Crochet and knit. And then during the pandemic’s Sewing. These skills made me realize that making clothing is difficult. Making clothing is a skill and it takes time. I began to appreciate more and more the labor behind the clothing and started looking into how to be a better consumer. I began to learn about are you Yes, our clothing trash heaps in the Global South, the growing problem of microplastics and how our plus size clothes were contributing to that with every wash cycle, I realized that I didn’t want to take part in that by wash dump cycle that was killing our planet.

Unknown Speaker

These days, I only buy what I need. I meant what I have, and I make what I can. My biggest struggle right now, what’s hardest for me is being able to afford clothing that is made ethically and sustainably. I understand why it costs what it does, and I value it at that price. But as someone making barely making a living wage in my area, with debt to pay, it’s difficult to rationalize buying an item of clothing that costs more than my entire monthly budget for food. So for now, I’ve minimized my consumption I buy secondhand first, and I meant to last. For things that don’t fit perfectly. I opt to take it to a local tailor, before looking to donate it or throw it away. And one day, I hope that I will be able to be in a financial position to incorporate high quality, sustainable and ethically made clothing into my wardrobe. My tip for people if you’re having trouble rationalizing ethical clothing costs, humor yourself with an exercise and try to make that item of clothing yourself. I think as you’re ripping a seam for the fifth time, you’ll begin to get closer to appreciating and understanding why ethical clothing costs what it does. Amanda, thank you for the opportunity to let us share our stories and thank you so much for running clotheshorse and sharing everything you know, with us listeners every week.

Paola

Think the major aha moment for me was when I saw some videos on YouTube that talked about fast fashion, and its environmental impact. And they also showed the actual conditions garment workers were in. In the back of my head. I always knew that the clothes and shoes that I wear were made by people in third world countries. And people around me knew that too. But nobody ever questioned whether there was right or if there were any issues with that. The last time I bought from a fast fashion brand was summer 2020. I had just finished my final exams at university and I wanted to hate myself for it. A few months later, I decided that I would no longer buy from those brands. But I didn’t really know what my alternatives were. So for about a year I did no buy period. I was tempted from time to time. But I deleted all shopping apps from my phone unsubscribe from brand newsletters and started unlearning everything I thought was true about fashion. And the clothes I wear. I never really was the type to go shopping often, especially because I didn’t even have the financial means to do so. And I always had my own style, or at least I bought things because I truly liked them. Not because everyone else had them too. So I guess the going from buying clothes two to three times a year to zero wasn’t that hard for me? After all, the pandemic was still going quite strong at the time and I wasn’t going out in general. So I didn’t feel the need to buy new things anyway, the whole transition in my consumer mindset when hen hen with a sustainability and environmentalist awakening, and it really felt great. It still does. I strongly believe that the choices that I make each day align with my values. In fact, I quickly realized that fast fashion and feminism are bound to each other. I identified with the garment workers because they were women, young women just like me. And I know that I would never accept such precarious working conditions. And there’s a lot of privilege behind those words I’m aware. And that’s why I stopped supporting those brands that I love so much. During my no buy period, I also learned a lot, not only about the environmental issues of fast fashion, but also about fabrics, how they are produced, I found my authentic self. For me, fashion was always about expression. I like quirky, unique, colorful items. And I love the 70s. So I also learned about vintage fashion. And in fact, the end of my no buy period was marked by a visit to a vintage tail. Probably the most significant change in my mindset was realizing the actual price and value of clothes. Before I would always go for the cheapest deals. I prided myself in having found extremely cheap coats at Zara, which everyone regarded as expensive. And the irony of this memory truly feels like a knife being stabbed into my gut. I’m not ashamed of my fashion past, I still proudly wear those clothes because it’s the most reasonable thing to do after all. I think that the best thing to do in order to change our fashion habits is to remove ourselves from anything that could lead us to impulse buys. So influencers brand pages, shopping apps, newsletters, anything, that alone is going to make you much less prone to buying things you don’t need. The slow fashion movement might not be accessible to everyone. But I think we could say that the fashion movement in general isn’t accessible to everyone. So just do your best do what you can and embrace it. The whole purpose of this movement is to slowly consume fashion and you’ve surely got quite the amount of clothes in your wardrobe anyway. Not repeating outfits is for people without the personality that constantly need to reinvent themselves. And remember, it is also a political choice to embrace slow fashion. It could even be considered a radical choice against an oppressive, capitalistic and patriarchal system, you have the power to change things, so why not do it?

Lavanya

Hi, fellow slow fashionistas, I wanted to share a couple of my thoughts on slow fashion and sustainability for this audio essay. So talking about my motivation, to care about sustainability, I think growing up in South India, we, at least back in the day, most of our clothes were stitched, tailored. And we probably got four sets of clothes a year, one for body and the rest for festival. So we learned how to take care of our clothes, maintaining and repairing was very normal. I mean, we all had sewing machines, or at least repair kit. So I think going back to the roots, is what led me towards sustainability again. And obviously, this is not an easy path. There are some changes were really easy, and some of them were really hard. I think really hard is letting go of a lot of ideas. I think it’s mostly mental, that I should not buy anything, which is not going to last for a very long time, or just because it’s a beautiful color or, or oh, I don’t really have the style anymore and just fill up the closet. And I think that’s a very big challenge for me right now. But the easiest changes was to just wear whatever is in the closet. Yeah, that’s, I think that everybody can do that mix and match. Doesn’t really matter what anybody else thinks. It doesn’t have to be color coordinated. So I think that could work for other people too. I do that a lot. And slow fashion can be accessible to others by making. Mending and repairing and sustainability accessible to everybody. I think right now. Sustainable clothes are expensive out of reach for a lot of us. Even to me, I cannot afford to pay $200 for a linen dress. But I think we can also buy secondhand not Low secondhand clothes, wearing shopping, normalize shopping at the thrift store first. And I’m sure we’ll end up changing our minds about fast fashion. And how I find myself making changes on a regular basis. Well, it’s really hard, you constantly have to be mindful about the changes that you make. But my advice would be, take it slow. I mean, it’s a lifelong process. It’s a learning curve. You don’t have to make all the changes in a single day. Yeah, you can’t quit cold turkey, whatever is happening before all the clothes shopping and the shoe shopping and the matching belts. So I think you should take it slow and not. It don’t be so hard on yourself if you can’t do it easily, but it’s definitely worth it. We have each other to take care of and the planet took care of Thank you.

Maggie

My formal introduction to sustainability was in college, where I learned a ton about feminism intersectionality, and the impact human beings have on the planet. Growing up with limited financial means meant that thrifting was really my only access to clothing resources for much of my life. It carried a lot of stigma in those days. And I internalized much of that until my teens, when I discovered thrifting as a way to express my unique personal style. As I continue to self educate on the fashion industry, and grew into my former marketing career, I started seeing more clearly the intersection of sustainability and style. It wasn’t just about thrifting for me, but doing more with less all around. I began doing more research and getting clarity around my core values. I grew increasingly frustrated with the messaging coming from the fashion industry. Like there’s no such thing as enough. There’s something wrong with your body. The key to happiness is to buy, buy, buy. And I consumed a ton of information over a period of years about garment workers rights, the pitfalls of our global supply chain, and capitalism. It wasn’t so much an aha moment as a progression of learning, and really learning by doing. Then, I took that learning and built a business around it to help others embrace sustainability in their own work and lives. Together, we seek to make more intentional, informed and mindful decisions around what we wear. And ultimately we align those choices to our core values. Beyond that, we also consider sustainability in a broader context. How can we maximize the resources we have, reduce or avoid waste, and increase return on our investments, which could be time, emotional and intellectual energy, financial resources, all of it. One of the most difficult changes for my personal style clients to make is to unlearn and dismantle their historical understanding of our relationships with clothes. It takes a lot of internal work to consciously decide to make different choices. I’ve worked with clients who have experienced shopping addiction, for example, falling prey to Instagram ads for fast fashion. Other clients have never taken the time to consider the lifecycle of their garments beyond the time spent wearing them. For some, they feel overwhelmed and pressured to transform overnight and adopt a zero waste lifestyle immediately. In all cases, I gently remind them to take things one step at a time. I practice that in my personal life as well. For me personally, one of the most difficult changes to make was responsibly donating my unwanted garments, not the act of donation itself, but learning and self educating about the thrifting economy. Finding out the majority of clothing donations end up in landfills forced me to confront my past bad habits. I cannot tell you how many garbage bags and boxes full of clothes and shoes I packed up in my lifetime, and dropped them off at large corporate donation centers without even a second thought. By learning more about the donation process and how clothing resources are distributed, I adopted a more sustainable approach. Instead of dropping things off without thinking about where they’ll end up, I look for ways to match those clothing resources with the people who need them most in my local community. Instead of taking them to corporate donation centers, I curate them and I donate through my local by nothing groups, shelters and organizations that support survivors of domestic abuse and intimate partner violence, shelters and organizations that serve people experiencing homelessness. I make phone calls, send emails, connect with small privately owned thrift stores who may need inventory, that I can help backfill with my donations.

Of course, yeah, it takes more time and effort, but it’s worth it to know those donations are going back in circulation versus being tossed away. One of the easiest changes I made was to stop shopping new or retail for any and all clothing. There are of course, a few exceptions, undergarments, even sometimes shoes. But in general, I don’t shop retail anymore at all. Even for common household things I might need. I looked to the second hand market first before other options. The more I learned about what I sometimes called big fashion and the retail supply chain, the easier it becomes to think before I purchase something. It also has engendered a fierce commitment not to support brands and companies that don’t align with my core values. If I can’t get it secondhand, my next stop is small businesses. I want to know that my hard earned dollars aren’t lining the pockets of corporate retailers who don’t give a shit about me. You know, the household names who prioritize profit over people. For slow fashion to be more accessible, I think it starts with the consumer. In particular, educating them and helping them understand the bigger picture of fashion at large. That puts the responsibility on people like me, stylists, soloists, pattern makers, designers, as well as individual brands and businesses to empower consumers with information. The average consumer today has a false sense of value when it comes to clothing in particular, they don’t think about much beyond the price tag, and if it’s too expensive, they won’t buy it. I think it’s going to take a major shift in mindset, especially in Western cultures, to help people see clothing as an investment rather than a disposable commodity. In order to start that global discourse, we need transparency from everyone in the supply chain. We need access to more data. We need to change how we think about clothing. I see every day as an opportunity to be more sustainable, and every small change adds up. That’s what I tell my clients and it’s exactly how I operate in my own life. Instead of paying attention to fashion trends, I shot my own closet. I challenged myself to style things in multiple ways, and to embrace rewiring my favorite garments. I’ve expanded my network to include alterations and tailoring professionals mending and repair professionals and professionals who can customize garments to fit my style and my body. That’s something I would encourage everyone to do. Get to know tailors in your area. Before throwing out a garment or donating it consider whether it can be repurposed somehow, if it’s damaged, consider repairing it. If you love your garments, make them last. The other piece of advice I’d give is to eliminate the term retail therapy from your vocabulary. It is so problematic for so many reasons, not the least of which is that it perpetuates overconsumption and the narrative that buying more will make you feel better. Hear me now: shopping is not therapy and it does nothing to address the underlying issues.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to write and record these amazing audio essays. I found myself nodding my head over and over again as I was editing them…yes, yes, YOU’RE SO RIGHT! So many great insights and ideas here. I’m so grateful to have the opportunity to present them to you. In order, they were recorded by Dani, Kimberly, Erin, Flavia, Paola, Lavanya, and Maggie. I’ll be sharing their instagram accounts in the show notes, so go give them a follow!

I really hate “icebreaker” activities in team building exercises and networking events. And the one that always freaks me out, fills me with just abject terror, is the classic “here’s a fun fact about me.” I never know where to begin. What IS fun about me? Yes, I’m a funny person. To add to that, I’m super clumsy so you might get the added hilarious bonus of watching me trip over something or walk right into a wall. Is that a fun fact?

Is having five cats truly a fun fact or a statement about the way people abandon pets?

Is being a super speed reader a fun fact or just a humble brag?

Is saying that I love to cook “fun” as far as facts go or is it just a relief to hear that I have accepted that I will need to eat and therefore, cooking food will be a regular part of my life?

I always end up saying “I have a Hello Kitty tattoo,” which I don’t think is particularly “fun” as far as facts go. But at least it gives an indicator of who I am and what I’m into? Right?

So hear are some basic facts that are neither fun nor un-fun? In fact, I would say they are neutral in terms of their fundamental fun-ness.

I grew up in rural Pennsylvania, in a variety of tiny towns. We moved a lot because my mom was married and divorced a lot.

I had cancer as a small child and just recently my new doctor here in Austin said to me “That must have been a really traumatic experience for you. Have you ever talked to a professional about it?” It was the first time anyone had suggested that to me…maybe “suggested” isn’t the world. Maybe “stated” is better. None of the adults in my life as a kid ever acknowledged that it might have been a frightening or damaging experience. Instead, my cancer was presented (always) as a feel-good story about how lucky I was to be alive…always followed by an intimidating statement about how it meant I had to do something special/important with my life, rather than squander all of the money and medicine that had gone into saving me. This is a great time to mention that for most of my life I have felt “embarrassed” admitting that I had childhood cancer, as if there was some shame to be found there. Our brains–or at least my brain–is really good at making me feel bad about things outside my control.

My childhood was pretty terrible and traumatic. We were poor. My mother did not (and does not) love me or even like me. I lived in a variety of trailer parks and apartments, with a steady flow of new stepfathers and traumatic experiences. All the bad things that can happen to unwanted children who are poor…well, they happened to me. I can look back and say “wow, I really bore the consequences of the decisions made by the adults in my life.” I’m still unpacking that now. And I don’t want to go into too much detail about all of that (if you want to hear more about that, you can go back and listen to episode 78), but I will say that all of my political and ethical beliefs have been shaped by that childhood and the people around me. Poverty destroys people, even if they have enough food to eat and some kind of roof over their heads. The destruction is just slower, and less obvious.

Despite all of this, I have always been an overachiever. I’m smart. I soak up information easily. I’m a good problem solver. I like thinking about things. I’m a hard worker and I won’t stop until I figure out a solution. As a teenager and young adult, I really struggled with bipolar disorder and substance abuse, but on the surface, I probably seemed like a real go-getter.

When I was 23, my partner, Ryan, died of a heroin overdose. He was at that point, and really for a very long time, the love of my life and the most magical and beautiful person I had ever met. This would have been devastating enough on its own. But to make matters more…tragic…he died just a few months before our daughter, Dylan was born.

I don’t think I’ve ever been a “bad” person. Sure, there were times I was immature or drowning in my own ennui, but I was nice. Yet Ryan’s death/Dylan’s birth changed me forever. I’ve always maintained that if you like me, if you think that I am a good, kind, thoughtful, positive, inspiring person…you should know that I became who I am that year.

It’s hard to even think about the years after Ryan died. They come to me in flashes–and I know there were some good memories–but I also remember how fucking hard everything was then. I was a single mom with no money, no financial safety net, no social network to help me…and I was in so much pain. I kinda had to jam all of my grief into a closet in the darkest corner of my brain in order to keep going. I had been storing my pain in that closet for so long. And now there were bills to pay, diapers to change, a kid to raise, and jobs to be found. Surviving ate up approximately 99% of my mental capacity. There wasn’t room for anything else. I specifically remember dropping Dylan and my mom off at the airport–they were going to visit with one another for a few weeks–taking the bus back to my suddenly child-free apartment…and just collapsing on the futon to cry. Because it was the first time I had been alone with my feelings in a really long time.

Okay, let’s talk about role models for a little bit. I didn’t have a lot of adults in my life that inspired me, outside of my teachers. I’m so grateful to all of them and yes, I was always teacher’s pet. I think (I see this now as an adult) that they knew I had so much potential, but I wore my difficult home life like a badge on my chest (even if I didn’t know it). By high school, some of my teachers knew I was effectively homeless (moving from one friend’s bedroom floor to another). And my teachers drove me to work, paid my college application fees, gave me lunch, books, encouragement. These were the adults that kept me going. If you’re a teacher and you’re listening to this, I promise you that your students are grateful for you, even if they can’t articulate it right now.

Outside of my teachers, I looked to celebrities for role models. That’s a dangerous proposition, for sure. Madonna was my first role model, and I wore black lace fingerless gloves to school every day in third grade. By high school, it was a stew of alternative icons like Winona Ryder, Drew Barrymore, Kathleen Hanna (really any woman in a band), and Courtney Love.

Now if you’re here to accuse Courtney of killing Kurt or say that Kurt wrote all of her songs or she’s a monster or whatever…well, maybe fast forward through this section.

I really, REALLY identified with Courtney Love as a teenager. She had a really fucked up childhood. She knew the kind of pain that only people like us knew at a young age. As an adult woman, she got to feel ugly and fat every single day of her life, because particularly in the heroin chic, Kate Moss-ness of the 90s, Courtney Love couldn’t help but feel that way. It didn’t help that the media (and every Nirvana fan) pointed out how unthin she was or how her dress was too small or she had acne. And I saw myself in Courtney Love. I was never going to be Kate Moss thin, even if I starved myself (which I was doing).

Side note here: a few weeks ago I was talking to Dylan–yes, that Dylan, my child Dylan–about how every time someone wants to be a real troll to me on instagram, they go right for the jugular, telling me I’m ugly. Every fucking time. And Dylan said something so smart, it made me so proud to be their parent. They said, “that’s how emotionally unintelligent people handle conflict. They can’t think of something smart to say, so they go for the lowest, most hurtful thing they can imagine.”

Anyway, this is not a Courtney Love podcast. And also, Courtney Love makes mistakes, she says dumb shit…but these are things all of us do sometimes. But after Ryan died, I found myself looking at Courtney Love again. Like, how did she survive losing Kurt in this enormously public way, dealing with the wrath of the whole world (or so it seemed)? Because I was a nobody and yet I had people implying that it was my fault that Ryan was dead. Either implicitly stating that I had directly killed him (even though I was 1000 miles away when he died) or I had taken him by the hand and lead him to that heroin overdose by being pregnant. Ryan’s mother–a woman who had been introduced to me as the wacky, fun owner of Decatur, Illinois’ premiere balloon and stuffed animal store–his mother told anyone that would listen that I was a white trash whore who had destroyed her son’s life. Strangers on the street implied as much to me, with one guy asking me “how does it feel to be a drain on the system?” A guy I was dating at one point said to me “You’re like a pair of slightly irregular pants at Ross Dress For Less. I couldn’t afford you before, but now that you’re a single mother with a dead boyfriend, I get a chance to date you.”

If I were then who I am now, I would have told all of those people to go fuck themselves.

But instead, I just took all that bullshit and stuffed it into the closet with my grief. The closet was getting fuller–now I had to use my entire body weight to close the door–but it was still contained.

And instead I leaned into this lyric from a Hole song. It’s from the album Celebrity Skin, and the song is “Reasons To Be Beautiful:”

It’s better to rise than fade away.

The world wanted me to fade away after Ryan died. His family certainly hoped that I would slip away one night to meet him in oblivion. Our mutual friends definitely thought my living days were numbered. I ran into a friend in Chicago years later and he kept saying “I just can’t believe you are still alive.” My mom definitely wanted me to give Dylan to her and disappear in one way or another.

But I was going to rise, not fade away.

I moved to Portland, Oregon when Dylan was one year old. I had a few hundred dollars in my checking account and no real plan. But the snow capped mountains and enormous trees felt so alive. The air smelled and tasted like LIFE. And I needed all of the life I could get if I was going to keep going.

Over time, I got a part time job at a big fast fashion retailer. I was paid about $1 more than minimum wage, my hours were inconsistent, but it was something. I worked hard–because I had to–and soon I became a department manager. A full time job with health insurance made me practically wealthy by early aughts Portland standards, but I think I was being paid about $28,000/ year. Barely enough to pay rent, daycare, and food. I still couldn’t afford the bus, much less a car. Strangers knew me around town as the “girl with a baby on her bike.” But I made it work. And little by little, I was coming back to life. I had friends. I had an amazing child. I fell in love. I laughed until I peed my pants, I made incredible memories, I met so many people who I now consider my family.

I felt kind of adrift, though. Working retail kinda sucks (if you know, you know) and it wasn’t a great long term plan. The company I worked for was particularly brutal and exploitative. All salaried employees (like me) were expected to work a minimum of 50 hours a week. And some days were 12+hours long. The benefits were minimal. And nobody protected you. A customer hit me and I got written up. I filed a sexual harassment claim and was told things like that wouldn’t happen to me “if [I} weren’t the way [I} was.” I thought about going back to school to be a nurse. Or becoming a teacher. And then something really unexpected happened: after a walkthrough with some executives from the home office, I was recruited to move to Philadelphia and work on the buying team.

I had no idea what buying entailed but, I knew it was a career. And a career was necessary to give Dylan a better life than I had. A career was our ticket to the middle class and all the trappings that came with it: heat in the winter time (currently I only turned the heat on in Dylan’s room and I slept in a winter coat in my bed), trips to the dentist and doctor (no more months-long ear infections for me), a car, vacations, college for Dylan.

So here’s what I’ll say about the early days of my career in buying: at first, it was confusing and lonely, then it was fun and interesting, and then it was…well, it was a job. I was an outcast from moment one because I wore thrift store clothes instead of Commes de Garcon. I didn’t have a fancy loving family that took big ski vacations or spent Christmas in Cabo. I never told people about Dylan, because I knew they would judge me. And I hated the inevitable pitying look that always followed my response to the question “where is her father?” But I was also an outcast because I read books. Because I cared about politics. Because I cared about things and thought fashion was sort of silly.

I love clothing. I love personal style. I think what we wear is a precious creative expression. But I also hate the seriousness, the self-reverence of fashion, the delusion that fashion is glamorous and more important than everything.

And trust me, working for a fast fashion brand only underscores how fashion is an industry and a business, and less an artform or creative expression.

Over the years, I worked for several really iconic brands–all of them following the fast fashion model of convincing customers to buy as much stuff as possible, as often as possible. And I’ll tell you this: I am a really talented buyer. I’m great at understanding what people want before they themselves know they want it. I have a great eye for product and trends. I understand why people shop and how to get them to shop more. I’m also exceptional at managing the financial and analytical side of it all. I can shape overarching financial and product strategy. I could teach a master’s level class in buying and branding.

And yet, all of these jobs made me sad. Sometimes even sick. Certainly stressed out and exhausted. But why, if I was so good at what I did?

It was a few things…where to even begin?

I guess we’ll start with the actual “art” of buying. Over time, it felt less creative, less satisfying. We were no longer taking the time to create product. It had to come as fast and cheaply as possible. And so we were running, always rushing to get the next delivery finalized. Seriously…I felt like I had to literally run to use the bathroom or grab lunch, lest I miss one minute of a new trend or business decision. And soon it felt as if we were buying the same stuff as everyone else, because that’s what our executives wanted us to do. Nothing felt special or intentional, just cheap, fast, and profitable.

Next, these jobs did not pay well. Sure, I was making more than I did as a department manager working retail…but not THAT much more. My first buying job paid $32,000/ year. To live in a city that was cheaper than NYC but not THAT cheap. After bills, I would have about $10 a day to live on, including meals and subway fare. Yet I would go to work and manage a business worth millions of dollars. Over time I made more, but I swear this industry will always try to get the most work out of you for the least amount of money. Raises rarely happened unless you went to another company. And even still, you were paid just enough money to get by, but never enough to truly save up to leave or find another job. They kept us all pretty desperate financially, which made us willing to take on ridiculous work loads and sacrifice any semblance of work/life balance.

And the cultures of these companies–with the exception of Modcloth, which was a truly nice place to work–the cultures of these companies were toxic. So toxic, that there has to be a worse word for it. Daily humiliations at the hands of executives, sexual harassment, disparaging remarks about your body and appearance. Screaming, throwing things, company wide emails about “bikini diets.” Emails and texts from your boss all day, all night, 7 days a week. Welcome to the glamorous world of fashion! A permanent pairing of stomachaches and headaches, all so we can churn more graphic tees and faux leather jackets out into the world.

Even worse, a few years into my career, I started to develop some concerns about the ethical and environmental impact of my job. Of helping these companies make so much money. We canceled orders right and left, even if the product was already made. We did this for any number of reasons: our sales plan changed (reducing our budget), an executive changed their mind about what we were buying, the strategy changed, etc. I always wondered “what’s going to happen to the people working in the factories? Will they still get paid if we aren’t paying for the order?” You and I both know the answer there.

And there was the constant pressure to copy other designers and brands. We’re going to talk about that more in an upcoming episode. But in my experience, if you were unwilling to copy someone else’s work, you weren’t a moral person, you were just “uncreative.” Yep, a boss really said that about me. And that’s the kind of stuff that ruins your career!

Over time the product we were making and selling was getting worse and worse…and I couldn’t help but wonder where it would all end up. Why were we making clothes that could only be worn a few times? Shoes that would disintegrate if they got wet? Bathing suits that weren’t actually intended to ever be worn near a pool or ocean.

It was a lot to keep me awake at night. Nonetheless, I had work to do. And so all of this worry, this kind of ethical queasiness…I jammed that into the closet with all of my other trauma and grief. It’s not like I was going to ask these questions at work! I would have lost my job!

But with each job, I felt more disillusioned than the previous. My first employer was a pretty blatantly evil fast fashion company that loved copying small artists/designers and did not care at all about its employees. I knew that the hard way from working in the stores. I knew they probably cared even less about the people making the clothes. But I thought maybe I could work for brands that had a “mission.” That might be more meaningful for me. I started working at Nasty Gal in the #girlboss era, thinking that maybe working for a “feminist” company would be better. It was actually even more toxic and unethical. Then I joined a small “feminist” brand based in Portland. Surely that would be better. No, somehow it was even more unethical and made me feel even sicker. At least at the previous companies I had health insurance! This job didn’t even have that. And forget about taking a sick day or vacation. It was horrible.

I felt powerless. I was a cog in a machine that would keep grinding away with or without me. And at least if I was there, I could make a living. I had no control over my life. And I had no power to change anything.

Over the years, I noticed something happening more and more: I was scrolling the internet in search of something new to buy, to cheer myself up. I would order a bunch of things, receive them, and then return all or most of them. Over and over again. I felt cheery for about five minutes after I placed the order, and then I was depressed. I ended up with a literal closet jammed full of things I didn’t care about. And it was like I needed those tangible, disappointing clothes to distract me from all the real problems jammed in my figurative mental closet.

It’s hard to say if I was happy or unhappy during these years. On one hand, work was brutal and depressing. And as I moved up the ladder, as technology made it easier for work to access me at all times, work bled into my personal life more and more. I still had amazing friends. I traveled. I read books and worked on cool stuff. I met Dustin and we got married. But after a certain point, it felt like work was always consuming most of the oxygen in every room I entered.

In 2018, I quit the horrible “feminist” company, and I felt like I could finally breathe again. My replacement (ironically) came from Victoria’s Secret, which felt particularly comedic to me. I started working as a consultant, helping small businesses. I had a lot less money, but it didn’t feel bad because I had no desire to buy things to cheer myself up. I felt pretty good. But then my first employer came a-knocking: did I want to move back to Philadelphia and lead the buying team for a new sustainable rental brand they were launching?

I don’t know why I took that job. In fact, after a series of interviews with them, I told Dustin “I don’t want that job.” And he said “that’s fine.” But a month later I took the job anyway. Money? I don’t know. We moved to Philadelphia and I knew it was a mistake right away.

The company culture was more toxic than I remembered. The company itself seemed to be even less ethical, even faster, lower quality, all the bad things. My coworkers all came from significant generational wealth and I felt ashamed of my background. Like, more than I had in a really long time. The business itself wasn’t as “sustainable” as it seemed. And I was way too experienced and talented for the job.

I was depressed and lonely. And buying more new clothes than ever. And then returning them all. In fact, I was so desperate for some kind of positive feelings, I signed up for multiple rental subscriptions on top of everything else. No matter what I wore, how many compliments I received, I felt worse than ever.

By January of 2020, I was crying every morning before work. Dustin was driving me to the office–even though I was capable of driving myself–just to sort of “be there” to make me feel better. I decided I was going to work as hard as possible to save up money through that year–some crazy medical bills and other crises during my time at the horrible “feminist” company had destroyed us financially. I was going to save up money and we would leave at the end of the year, maybe moving out to Lancaster County.

And then it was March 2020. As the coronavirus began to seem like a real threat, a few things happened. First, the week I was supposed to travel to Los Angeles for a trade show, the city of Los Angeles declared a state of emergency. That happened on Monday or Tuesday. I asked my boss if we could cancel the trip because I was frightened. I was hearing scary stories and I have an autoimmune disease (probably linked to having cancer as a child). She assured me that I was being “paranoid” and I should go. By Wednesday, we canceled the trip. Thursday we were told to go home and try working from home for a day. The president of our brand assured us that no one would be laid off.

I never worked in that office again.

I spent the next two weeks, working from home, canceling every order we had written for the rest of the year…even if it was already on its way to our warehouse. Sales reps called me to cry. Vendors freaked out. My team was unsure what to do, but pressed ahead. I expressed some concern about the ethical and financial implications of canceling everything…only to be brushed off and told that was what “everyone” was doing and it was “just part of business.”

After all of the orders were canceled, I was furloughed. No one else from my team was. It felt strangely personal and hurtful, despite the pandemic. I was one of the original employees. I had hired and trained the rest of the team. I had convinced the vendors and brands to work with us. I had helped build all of our processes.

Three months later, in the last week of July (one week after the first episode of Clotheshorse was released), I was permanently terminated. I received two weeks of severance and five extra days of health insurance. To receive this incredibly ungenerous package, I had to sign an agreement saying I would never publicly or privately speak ill of the company. A week later, the company announced a “surprise” profit of $34 million for that quarter. That profit was almost entirely made of canceled orders and unpaid wages to workers all around the world.

This–I suppose–is the moment I donned the batsuit and got down to business. Except, it was more of a cottage core floral print dress, probably found via an eBay search for “Liberty House dress.”

The door of that closet of bad feelings flew open and it could not be closed again. I cried a lot. I thought about ending my life. I wondered how I could go on. And yet…I remembered “It’s better to rise than fade away.”

It was time to fight.

I had already started this Clotheshorse thing, and I knew it was time to go even harder. To speak the truth about the industry, to educate others, and to hopefully build enough of a community to make some change in this world.

And here we are…many episodes and two years into it. I realized pretty early on in the life of Clotheshorse that I wanted it to be different from the other sustainability and fashion content out there. I wanted it to be for all of us who have felt relatively invisible to the regular fashion industry (and the sustainable fashion industry by default): whether that was because of socioeconomic background, our age, body size, body type, or personal aesthetic.

My biggest goal for Clotheshorse has been empowering others to take charge, realize their power, and get excited about making change. And I guess that’s why I am always reminding you that it’s progress, not perfection. We have so much power as consumers, workers, friends, role models, and super rad human beings.

We CAN turn things around.

We CAN get others on board.

We CAN get it done.

Over the past few years, my life has changed a lot. I’ve moved a few times. I did get another job (finally). I acquired more cats. I met lots of amazing people. And I learned a lot about myself and the world as a whole. I learned to understand and appreciate the grey area between “good/bad” and to be okay with things being “complicated” and “difficult” to figure out sometimes. I learned that anything worth fighting for is worth putting in the work. That doing the right thing often requires more effort and time. And that perfection is the enemy of progress.

On a personal level, I started line drying all of my clothing. I adopted a secondhand first way of life. I alway shop secondhand before opting for something new. I buy a lot less in the first place. I’ve reevaluated my relationship with make up and beauty products, I’ve cut out a lot of impulse purchases, and I’m always finding new ways to cut plastic and packaging waste out of my life.

When I look back at where I was in February 2020, I feel proud of where I’ve gotten and how much I have grown and learned. And I’m excited about all of the new stuff that I will learn and get to think about in the future. I’m grateful for all of you who have shown up week after week to listen to me talk, to comment on my instagram posts, to make me feel like my work means something. Thank you to all of you for keeping me going during some very difficult times.

Clotheshorse would be long gone if it were not for all of you and your support.

All of you who have rated and reviewed via apple podcasts.

Those who have chosen to support my work via Patreon are literally paying to have this podcast hosted, captioned, transcripted, etc. Thanks to them I have been able to acquire a scanner, photoshop, and pay the subscriptions to all of the sources I use for information. Thank you so much to all of you who have helped keep this afloat, especially when I was just racking up credit card debt to make this podcast!

I’m grateful to all of you who have recommended this show to a friend, shared my content on social media, or sent interesting ideas and cat memes my way.

Without all of you, Clotheshorse is just me talking into a microphone. With all of you, it is a community and hopefully part of a larger movement.

Together we really will change the world, making it better than it has been. Together, as a community, as a movement, as a collective of passionate, caring, smart people…we will rise, not fade away.

I am Amanda Lee McCarty, and this is episode 133 of Clotheshorse, the podcast for people who love clothes, but hate capitalism.

A special super big thanks to Dustin Travis White, my husband and best friend, who has patiently mixed every episode of Clotheshorse, created all of our music, helped me iron out the early visual branding, and most importantly, taught me how to edit audio and use photoshop. Clotheshorse would not exist without him. And I feel so lucky to have scored big time in the life partner department.

I will be taking next week off because I have a bunch of work travel. But I’m thinking about doing a special instagram live next week to take more questions about my journey from fast fashion to Clotheshorse.

Bye!