Seeking simplicity

We've all done it before. In fact, I've done it three times; I remember each day as a triumphant overhaul of bags and bags full of tacky flats with worn-out soles, free school event t-shirts, and ill-fitting, impulse online buys. It was hard to part with my old belongings, but with the last heaving lift of oldies/not goodies into the Salvation Army bins in my local supermarket, I always felt just a little bit lighter.

Spring cleaning, back-to-school, or start of summer - I love(d) any reason to clean up shop, get rid of my hoarded possessions, and replace them with shiny new toys for me to enjoy. It seems like a win-win for all. I donate my old clothing, accessories, and shoes, to the Salvation Army, Red Cross, etc, and they donate it to the 'needy'. Typically, I liked to envision malnourished, naked children in African villages receiving my then-cool pink Hollister & Co. t-shirts and jumping for joy in response.



Here's the reality: that 'vintage' appliquéd t-shirt, after leaving my home, is processed by employees who separate these old goods into categories and grades. A 'Grade A Handbags' bin might boast some old Coach purses and counterfeit Balenciaga City Bags, while a 'Grade C Denim' bin would house pairs of tattered Gap Jeans. These sorted goods are either sent to Goodwills and Salvation Army stores to be resold, or to giant clothing processing plants (one of which, I recently found out, exists just 15 minutes away from my hometown suburb). At these processing plants, the clothing is compressed into large cubes, sealed in plastic wrap and readied for departure.

Switch gears and take a glimpse into the life of a 25-year old Ghanaian man who has traveled with his two friends to the used-clothing plant to purchase and pick up a few of these bales. He and his friends load the cubes (weighing in at a ton each) onto makeshift dollies, and roll them through dirt roads in the scorching heat to Makola Market, one of the most prominent marketplaces located in Accra, Ghana. They cut open the bales, revealing the dirty, now really vintage clothing. Each article is hosed down and scrubbed with detergent, and repairs are made as seen fit. Holes and ripped seams are sewn through, faded denim is re-dyed, and black shoes are coated with a layer of oil-based, shiny black paint. Now the clothes are ready to resell.

'Oboruni wewu' is what this used-clothing market in Accra is called. It means 'White man dead' in twi, a local language; I enjoyed the irony of the phrase as I enthusiastically shopped for Topshop, River Island, and BCBG clothing in a sea of what I knew to be possessions that we, in America (and elsewhere) are just tired of, and are not necessarily of without use. I, for one, didn't complain- scoring floral maxi skirts and embroidered tops for 1 Ghana cedi (50 cents in USD) was one of my favorite pastimes during my stay in Ghana.

Coming home and facing the ubiquitous 'nothing to wear' dilemma before my first day of work, I realized the significance of this age-old, wasteful, and (wrongly) profitable cycle. Fast fashion and impulsive, purposeless consumerism doesn't just compromise the working conditions and human rights of sweatshop workers in developing nations, or the physical environment around them- it also contributes to an international economic system that promotes continual waste with no direct consequence. Not to mention the ethical question that arises when you and I think we are donating our clothing, when in fact, a profit is being made off of our 'charitable action'.

It's a complicated issue that I am still wrestling with. I am currently cleaning out my closet after realizing how bored I am of my wardrobe options for the remainder of this summer, and the start of the new school year. I will not, however, be hitting up my ShopRite to throw away my well-loved but no longer flattering Free People dress. Rather, I'll be selling at a Buffalo Exchange, and giving what they don't take as hand-me-downs to younger family friends. I figure I'll save the energy, manpower, and capital it takes to ship the lace dress across the world. Still yet, I can't help but question my well-to-do plans when I realize that the used clothing market is the livelihood for hundreds of individuals and families at Makola Market, and hundreds of thousands across sub-Saharan Africa. Though jobs may be lost through a reduction of donated used-clothing, I think something needs to change. There must be a better way to rethink the system of fashion-related consumer waste.

We are making this our cause: buy less and invest more. If I hadn't bought the lacy Free People dress (that I was bound to be sick of), and saved up, instead, for a Prada LBD, I wouldn't be facing this dilemma in the first place. From heron out, we vow to live rich lives of simplicity.

" Simplicity boils down to two steps: Identify the essential. Eliminate the rest. "

- Leo Babauta

xx

the meré