
I’m a huge fan of the work of Juliet B. Schor, the author of The Overspent American: Why We Want What We Don’t Need and Born to Buy: The Commercialized Child and the New Consumer Culture, so of course I devoured her piece on consumerism, “Cleaning the Closet: Toward a New Fashion Ethic,” in Sustainable Planet: Solutions for the Twenty-first Century (which, quite ironically, I’m now tempted to purchase because its writers sum up the state of our planet so plainly, accessibly, and stirringly that you want to have all of their hemp- and organic cotton-diapered babies.)
OK, how do I quote the choice parts of her essay without regurgitating it in its entirety (it’s that good!) After discussing the environmental and social impact of our disposable culture (in part due to a system of low prices and high volume), Schor describes another extreme found in the developed world:
At the high-end, thousand-dollar handbags, dresses running to the many thousands, even undergarments costing a hundred dollars are the rule. A look at the nation’s distribution of wealth provides one clue to why high-priced clothing is flying off the shelves: The top 10 percent of the population now own a record 71 percent of the nation’s total net worth, and 78 percent of all financial wealth. (The top one percent alone own 38 and 47 percent of net worth and financial wealth.) The existence of such an upscale market is a troubling symptom of a world in which some people have far too much money and far too little moral or social accountability in terms of what they do with it.
But the high-priced venues serve another purpose as well. Designer merchanidse becomes available at discount stores at a fraction of its top retail price. This affordable exclusivity is part of what keeps middle-class consumers enmeshed in the system. Clothes cascade through a chain of retail outlets, prices falling at each stage. The system has led many consumers to purchase almost mindlessly when confronted with irresistible “bargain basement” prices of highly regarded designers and to spend much more on clothes than they intend or even realize.
(Emphases are mine.)
Seasonal fashion cycles based on climatic needs now turn over far more rapidly, so that “new” may only last for a couple of months, or even weeks (think of athletic shoes, for instance.)
The exclusivity that is relentlessly pushed by marketers also contributes to high levels of spending—the product is valued because it is expensive. As it becomes more affordable, its value declines. Similarly, when the consumer aspires to be a fashion pioneer, she seeks rarity. The impacts of these core features of the fashion industry are profound. Many middle- and lower-middle class youth are working long hours to buy clothes. For poor youth, with limited access to money and jobs, the designer imperative has been linked to dropping out of school (because of an inadequate wardrobe), stealing, dealing, even violence. Failing to keep up with the dizzying pace of fashion innovation undermines self-esteem and social status.
But it is not only fashion-orientation that accounts for the enormous volume of clothing that is sold in this country. Shopping for clothes, footwear, and apparel have become habits, even addictions, especially for women. Just something to do because we do it.
Schor doesn’t advocate we all start pulling on grey sweatsuits, however, and she admits that dressing and adornment are vital to the human experience, and can be both utilitarian and aesthetically pleasing. “This is why any attempt to push them into a minimalist, utilitarian box will fail,” she says. “Clothes embody far more than our physical bodies; they are also a measure of our basic values and culture. So, while we may not all take great pleasure in what we wear, we should all recognize that clothes do matter.”
What she proposes are the basic principles of “ecology and frugality” that prior generations maintained: “take only what you need, use it until it is no longer useable, repair rather than replace, refashion to provide variety.” By valuing “quality over quantity, longevity over novelty, and versatility over specialty,” we can be satisfied with a smaller, less varied, closet, but one for which we can spend more per garment so that our clothes are better constructed, will last longer, and have less of an impact on our environment.
Paying more per piece could also support a new structure of labor costs. Workers would work less, produce fewer but higher-quality items, and be paid more per hour. Such a change would help make ecologically clean technologies economically feasible.
Invest, then, in classic items of clothing that will never go out of style—and are in it for the long haul— instead of cheap, ill-made, sweatshop-produced apparel that only last a few washes. When you turn the idea of consumption on its head, $48 for this top doesn’t seem so bad if you’re spending judiciously only when the need arises.
And on that note, this semi-related nugget, by the by, makes me want to hurl. C’mon society, at least pretend to work with me here.