Or: So Much Depends on a Green Backpack…                         

        Whenever I get into something – be it fair trade clothing, photography, sewing, biking, even meditation – my first impulse is to accessorize (i.e.,  shop). Before I even learned how to use my Cannon EOS Rebel, I was comparing tripods, additional lenses, and antique leather carrying cases. As soon as I decided to dust off my sewing machine, I was bookmarking patterns, fabrics, buttons, and trims I planned on ordering. And, perhaps most ironically, when I first took up meditation, I was scoping out floor cushions and Tibetan prayer chimes before I’d even memorized my mantra. This tendency is ridiculous, of course, but pervasive –especially in a society that constantly tells us that our interests, talents, affiliations, causes, and possessions define who we are.

        I am proud of my interests, and even my closet full of clothes. If my apartment burned down tonight and all of my photographs, journals, and vintage dresses were destroyed, I would probably cry my face off for weeks. But I would get over it, because these things do not define who I am. And they shouldn’t define who you are either. And you should never allow a marketing campaign, magazine, or fashion blogger to convince you that you need to buy a damn thing. 

        One of the most meaningful moments of my life occurred one Autumn afternoon during my sophomore year of college. I was broke, dressed exclusively in the cheapest thrift store duds I could find, and often coveted the clothes and accessories of my wealthier peers.  I had also just begun meditating on regular basis (a practice I have sadly fallen out of since). As I was walking to my 2pm American Lit class, I saw a flash of green – or rather, the perfect shade chartreuse that I was obsessed with at the time. A girl walking in front of me was sporting a backpack in that very shade. And not the standard grungy, college kid Jansport – an elegant, seemingly handcrafted backpack with decorative stitching and leather accents. It was gorgeous, and probably very expensive, but at the end of the day it was just a backpack.  What was so miraculous about this moment was that I found myself looking at that backpack without  wanting it. I didn’t immediately start wondering where I could buy it, or how much it might cost, or begrudge this girl for having more money than me.

         I just looked at it, appreciated it, and went to class. And that was  huge.

        As I continue to research ethical fashion options, I have to constantly remind myself that this isn’t about buying more stuff – and it certainly isn’t about getting indignant when I can’t afford that $500 Organic Stella McCarthy sweater.  It is about appreciating the craftsmanship and talent that goes into each of these products, whether I own one or not, and more importantly, knowing that I don’t need to show off my idealism by buying every green-sustainable-organic-fairly-made-by-fairies-in-the-rainforest product I find. 

// end soapbox :)