Pōneke textiles worker Eliza Rose interrogates fast fashion’s co-opting of a bona-fide fashion movement
Perched on a step stool at the age of five, I marvelled at the treasures hanging in my mother’s wardrobe, entering into a new dimension. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was nothing compared to my secret haven. Coats with stories threaded into the very fibres of their tweed; dresses cherished by distant relatives; jackets with empty gaps on the inside that once held shoulder pads, an absence as keenly felt as my missing front teeth. Each piece had been lovingly tended to, laboriously mended with carefully colour-matched threads, leaving no trace of decay.
Alas, today’s closets present a different sight. Although we own more clothing than ever before – over 100 items in the average closet – they are too often cheaply made, poorly designed, and destined for landfill within a year. We’re all aware of the perils of fast consumerism, but how has this come to be? And what role has a little-known linguistic philosophy played in the rise of poor quality clothing?
Aotearoa’s fashion landscape has always been distinct, in part due to our geographical isolation. Throughout most of the 20th century our clothing options were ready-made imports bought from department stores, or sewn at home. These garments were meticulously designed ahead of construction, and released seasonally, just twice a year, to service our spring/summer and autumn/winter wardrobes. This slower pace of production allowed for thoughtful assemblance and careful craftsmanship. With garments expected to last for years, durability and longevity were paramount. French seams, generous hem allowances, and double stitching were standard, with eager-eyed consumers refusing to accept anything less. Tucking away loose threads and overlocked seams reduced strain, ensuring these lovingly-constructed pieces would remain in our closets until they became textile hand-me-downs so deeply woven into our social history.
But fashion – arguably more-so than any other art form – thrives on change and adaptability. Designers who fail to push boundaries are quickly left behind, replaced by more radical and innovative competitors. One such innovation that initially shocked the status quo was deconstructionism. Inspired by French radical philosophy, it was buoyed by ’80s counterculture designers rebelling against the tailored, opulent, and utilitarian garments of the past. Gone were the days of carefully repairing a beloved piece in order to continue cherishing it. In this brave new world, imperfection reigned supreme.
The likes of Masion Margiela, Comme Des Garçons’ Rei Kawakubo, and the late Vivienne Westwood took to dressing models in distressed garments, rebelling against the established norm with every raw hem, deliberate loose thread, and dramatic cut out. Such design choices became the pinnacle of innovation and cutting-edge design – deconstructionism soon synonymous with ripping through the fabric of convention, and scoffing at traditional notions of neatly-tailored ensembles and finely-crafted garments.
Like many radical fashion trends, deconstructionism was quickly adopted into the mainstream, walking from Paris Fashion Week to Main Street by the end of the decade. No corner of the industry was left untouched, and when the dust from the original craze settled, niche markets began to emerge, utilising deconstructionist design choices.
Suddenly, a bold statement of rebellion against conformity had opened Pandora’s box of poor quality garments. Deconstructionism allows industry powerhouses to pump out lazily-designed and shoddily-assembled pieces, masquerading as avant garde design. The same loose threads that were once radical design choices, now veil poor construction and lazy practices, as multi-national fashion conglomerates eagerly embrace the buzzword to convince consumers to accept lower quality products under the guise of deconstructionism.
So where does this precarious state of affairs leave us? It is clear that we need another radical shift in our thinking. The loose thread – once a symbol of innovation and a bold rejection of the status quo, has inadvertently left our industry unravelling at the seams. The rapid obsolescence of these products is alarming. Pair this with our generation’s disinterest in tailoring, reclaiming, and mending clothes, and we rapidly find ourselves in a textile crisis.
At this moment of chaos and upheaval, perhaps what we need is a return to the past. As strange as it may sound, revisiting a bygone era of higher-quality, lovingly-designed and carefully-constructed garments is exactly what’s needed to ‘reconstruct’ the foundations of this industry. This should not fall on the shoulders of small, designer boutiques already doing their best, nor should well-made clothes be a luxury reserved only for those with the money to buy them. Let us demand from the companies with the biggest resources what we, as everyday consumers deserve – thoughtful craftsmanship and garments meant to stand the test of time.
As I sift through the contents of my own wardrobe, I’m faced with a disturbing thought. Will any of these garments last? Or will our distressed clothing deteriorate before my children ever have the chance to wear them?
Words: Eliza Rose
Photo credit: Getty images for AAFW