What's the environmental impact of one, single pair of jeans? According to Levi Strauss, the production of each pair of denim uses 3,781 liters of water. These are garments that are supposed to last a lifetime. However, considering that fashion is in constant evolution, offering new styles for every micro trend, garments get cycled through our wardrobes at a faster rate than ever before.
This ongoing metamorphosis poses a paradox: The pressure to continually embrace these new trends often overshadows the significant environmental impact caused by the fast fashion industry. This summer, I delved into the art of repurposing forgotten garments, transforming the process into a personal project centered on rediscovery and sustainability within my own closet.
When I think about what it means to be a consumer of the garment industry, I’m struck by two realities. 1: To look hot, you often have to keep up with the pace of new trends. 2: You have to spend an ungodly amount of cash.
This summer, I began to rethink this perspective when I undertook the task of decluttering my closet. Sorting through its contents, I couldn't help but notice the abundance of textiles and garments that no longer resonated with my sense of style, but were still technically good-as-new.
This sparked a desire to challenge the conventional approach to clothing consumption (and disposal) to explore alternative ways to appreciate and utilize pieces I no longer wear.
I did this by collaborating with my mom to repurpose overlooked pieces from my wardrobe. This not only opened a door to an entirely new creative outlet, but also held up a mirror, revealing how harmful consumer habits can be. With the knowledge from my mom, this project became an opportunity to share skills, revitalize my old clothes, and redefine unsustainable habits.
The impact of clothing, being both a medium of necessity and indulgence, has an incredible impact on our global environment and communities around the world. But things are changing. In a paper published by the World Impact Institute and the Apparel Impact Institute, the fashion industry is making incredible strides to mitigate this impact. They found that over 100 apparel companies have approved science based targets (SBTs) on climate change. These SBTs are company-wide interventions to improve their sustainability practices; like maximizing material efficiency, accelerating the development of new and innovative materials, as well as completely eliminating coal in manufacturing.
But on the consumer side of things, there is pressure to buy; and as consumers we are disconnected from how these clothes are produced, where, and by who, as well as what happens to our clothes after we are done with them. Where do they end up? What actually happens to them after I drop them off at a donation box? What is the story of this garment -the whole story- from the materials it came from, to where it meets the dirt.
Going through every piece (Every. Single. Piece.) of clothing I owned, I put things into three piles. Things I wanted to keep, things I wanted to donate, and things I wanted to give to friends. As I sorted through clothes I came across garments that were still in pretty decent quality, but no longer suited my style. Like mens straight jeans for the boyfriend denim look that I loved my junior and senior year of highschool, and thrifted oversized knit sweaters that no longer served the evolving feminine style I was (and still am) trying to embrace. Hidden behind generations of newer clothes, I came across old Gilden volleyball t-shirts from my days in highschool.
Behind the threads and seams lay the narrative of how I once wanted to present myself. All these clothes meant something special to me at one point in my life. They were my own personal medium of self expression. Considering this, I thought of new ways to rework the textiles they were made from - rather than pass them onto the next person, incineration, or landfill disposal.
Sorting through this pile, I began seeing these pieces in new ways, seeing them as material waiting to be cut up into something unique and more importantly - purposeful. With scissors, a sewing machine, and a lot of ideas, the process of repurposing garments unfolded.
One of my favorite garments we constructed from last summer was an evolved pair of old jeans that I had thrifted years before. I remember finding them on the rack at the Salvation army- 36/34 505’s medium wash denim. A perfect pair of oversized Levi jeans. I wore them for a while, with a belt of course (I'm a lanky medium sized 5’9 girl). But eventually they found their way to the bottom of my dresser.
They had worn down around the bottom opening of the leg from dragging on the ground and had started to show wear and tear on the knees, but they still had that great oversized fit that I love. They were definitely wearable, but I had a more flattering pair of blue jeans of a similar wash that I wore more often.
Towards the end of the summer, I brought the old jeans to my mom’s studio - a lofted area in a barn next to her house. I told her what I was thinking and she translated exactly what I was explaining onto some drafting paper that covered a dining room table (the same table that hosted the family dinners during my childhood). She drew the pants featuring an geometric X pattern that would go across both legs. We would flip the fabric, turn it inside out, and exchange them between the legs to create a quilted contrast look.
We measured it out, and drew on the pants with a marker. My mom did all the cutting with a straight edge and rotary cutter, which is like a pizza-cutter, but for fabric. She pinned the pieces together on one leg as I watched closely and did the same on the other. She sewed her side, then guided me through the process on the other pant leg. The patchwork denim, quilt-like pieces once again became a pair of wearable pants.
There's nothing quite like the feeling of wearing a garment that you worked on. The satisfaction of a collaborative vision coming to fruition remains unmatched for me. Now after wearing, I hang them to dry in order to preserve the delicate nature of our work. I folding them with intention, and pick out outfits that complement the silhouette of the pants. I wear them with a little more confidence.
As the summer waned, I made more trips out to my mom’s studio and repurposed more garments. They all stood as tangible symbols that transcended aesthetics. They became a testament to the creativity that goes into reimagining what you already have, and stand as an invitation for others to keep in touch with what's in the back of their closets.
Now, in the cold winter months I spend my free time at my friend's studio in Liverpool, New York where they've adopted me as their in-house seamstress. We work together to make old clothes new again, imbued with the knowledge I obtained from my mom. I think we've made over 10 pairs that are now in the front of all of our closets, worn with love.
Spending quality time ripping seams, measuring, cutting, and sewing them back together has led me to rethink and appreciate the original materials that construct these garments - as well as labor that goes into making a piece of clothing. The raw material, water, and energy that goes into every step along the line of producing these pieces. When I think of clothing sustainability, I think of dynamic, evolving garments to match ones changing styling by finding ways to incorporate them. I think of a new narrative where disposal is not a part of the story. When the baggy jeans don't seem to work anymore, maybe it's time to rip them apart and make something new.
All photography featured in this story is by Cami Watts
Thank you to everyone at LATEX studio for donating clothing, providing me with a sewing machine, and a studio space to keep creating.
Thank you Mom for teaching me everything I know about sewing.