Tag: sustainability-tag/fashion-tag/features

The Barretts visited the Northumberland beaches near their Newcastle home. They sought out beautiful nature spots. They saw dolphins. In the car, they had the same album on repeat: Taylor Swift’s Folklore. Later, when Swift released a line of cardigans from the video to a song from the album, Barrett bought one.

“I had to get it shipped over from America,” she says. “It took ages. Normally I’m very frugal, but I thought it was one thing that I really wanted.” The cardigan is hand-knit, cream white with black detailing. “I describe it as a Hamptons style,” Barrett says. “A bit preppy.” It has stars on the elbows and a label that says Folklore – something not all versions have.

The cardigan makes Barrett feel calm, settled and snug. When she was pregnant two years after her wedding, she wore it every day. She wore it when she went into the hospital to be induced to have her son, and she wore it when she left the hospital with him. When her son was three weeks old, Barrett’s grandmother died unexpectedly. Again, she wore the cardigan. It has made the memory of her mini-moon into something tangible, she says, something physical to comfort her during difficult times: “It feels almost like a wearable hug”.

Emotional durability

Why do certain pieces of clothing come to mean so much to us? Well, first of all, they have to last – and that does not depend on money. This summer, new research from Leeds University indicated that there is no correlation between a clothing item’s retail price and its physical durability. “What we wanted to challenge is the underpinning myth that cheaper garments are going to be poor quality and don’t last as long and that therefore, we should be telling consumers to spend more money online,” Leeds School of Fashion lecturer Mark Sumner tells BBC Culture. “[But] what we’re finding here is that the evidence just doesn’t stack up.”

But physical quality is far from the only thing that matters. Equally important is a related factor: emotional durability. This is the connection that we’re building with our clothes, explains Kate Morris, a PhD student working with Sumner: we don’t fall in love with certain garments only because of how they look – but also because of how they make us feel. “People keep clothes, and they become their favourite garment because they were wearing them at a particular event,” Sumner says. “[They] have gone to festivals [in them] or gone on holiday, or maybe met their true love.” This fusion of emotions and clothing also works the other way. Sumner’s team tells of a woman from his team’s research who had gone through a messy divorce. When the paperwork was finally completed, she got all the clothes she associated with her husband, put them into bin bags and threw them away. Then, she restarted her wardrobe.

Feedback matters, too. “What you think you look good in is not [your] individual decision,” Sumner says. “If you hear from other people that you look really good in a dress, that piece reinforces your self-esteem. I’ve had this on numerous occasions where you buy something, you wear it and someone goes: ‘Oh, that looks a bit funny.’ It ends up going in the back of the wardrobe.”

In 2018, Anna-Maria Bauer, an Austrian journalist living in Southampton, went on holiday to New Zealand. It was her first very long-distance journey, and after saying goodbye to the friend she had travelled with, Bauer spent the last few days of her trip by herself in an Airbnb in suburban Auckland, slightly nervous about her upcoming flight. When the lady running the Airbnb recommended a high street nearby, Bauer went along to distract herself. Soon, she encountered a small boutique. “As soon as I entered, I felt at home,” she tells BBC Culture. “The owner was welcoming but not pushy.” Bauer was recommended a pair of turquoise, wide-legged trousers, very different from her habitual skinny jeans. “The price was 70 Australian dollars and I thought, should I really?” she remembers. “[Then] another customer in the boutique said they fitted me well. I had a rush of feelings.”

Today, the turquoise trousers are Bauer’s absolute favourites. They work well with both cold and warm weather, with both ballerina flats and high heels. The thick fabric means they are sturdy enough for long days out in London, and comfortable enough for relaxing on the sofa. “With jeans, the T-shirt has to do the work, but with these, I can wear any simple T-shirt and they make it an outfit,” Bauer says. “In some clothes, I know I look nice, but I hold my stomach in. But in these trousers, I feel good even when I’m slouching.”

The trousers are in constant use. “I wash them and wear them again,” Bauer says. “They are on me, on the chair or on the washing line. Never in the wardrobe.” And the memory of their purchase is still alive. “I felt safe in the boutique,” Bauer says. “The feeling of safety stays with me, the one that grounded me before the flight.”

A survey by environmental group WRAP estimates that a quarter of the clothes in British wardrobes haven’t been worn in a year, and that these forgotten items have a combined value of £1.6 billion. These are clothes, Sumner and Morris from Leeds University say, from which we have “virtually divested”. “They are challenging from a sustainability point of view because you’re not using them,” Sumner says. “All the energy, water, chemicals and any even the labour that’s gone into making them is wasted.”

While the scientists say it’s almost impossible to predict if a garment will become a favourite before you buy it, you can still improve your chances. It’s about focusing on both physical and emotional durability at the same time. For example, we can only create an emotional connection with a piece if it lasts long enough for us to begin to love it. “The emotional connection builds up over time,” Sumner says. “You need some time with the garment, and it has to stay functional.” (Conversely, he says, denim gets softer and better fitting the more we wash it. That’s why we often find ourselves getting more and more attached to our jeans as time goes on.) Equally, fast fashion trends may mean you get rid of items before you give yourself enough time to start building a connection to them.

In Newcastle, UK, Ruth Barrett keeps wearing her cardigan. After finding a supermarket brand that does similar ones, she has bought one for her son, too. “Recently, I spilled coffee on mine, but I managed to get it out,” she says. “It is getting bobbly. But [things like these are] almost like a snapshot or a fingerprint. Somewhere that I’ve been to create a memory. If needed, I could always patch it a little. I can’t see myself not wearing it.”

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In 2022, campaign group Fashion Revolution chose a dye garden for its Chelsea Flower Show presentation. Meanwhile, influencers on TikTok have given #plantdyeing the rubber stamp of a new generation. An ancient craft, natural dyeing is a practice whose time has come again, with hand tie-dyed fashion also making a comeback in recent years.

The resurgence has been encouraged by Covid lockdowns, “which allowed people to explore the craft at home,” says natural-dyeing enthusiast and teacher Susan Dye (who says she has “no idea whether my name tracks back to plant dyers in my family tree”.) It’s unlikely, though, that the practice would have caught on in quite the same way if not for a continually growing discomfort about fashion’s heavy footprint. From carbon emissions and animal cruelty to union busting and the reality of working in an industry when the pace is hectic and optics are everything, fashion is under considerable scrutiny. The way we colour our clothes feels late to the party – all those bright patterns hanging on clothing rails in shops come at a terrible cost.

“Put it this way, 97% of dyes used in the industry are petrochemically based,” says sustainable fashion consultant Jackie Andrews, who worked as head of textiles for Stella McCartney and helped advise the UN Ethical Fashion Initiative. “We’ve got net zero targets which mean we’re going to have to remove all those petrochemicals from the manufacturing cycle.”

Fashion is a huge polluter. According to the UN Environment Programme, the industry is responsible for up to one-fifth of all industrial water pollution – due to the fact that most clothes today are produced in poorer countries where regulation is weak and enforcement weaker still. Wastewater is dumped directly into rivers and streams; a potent cocktail of carcinogenic chemicals, dyes, salts and heavy metals that not only poison the land but also the water sources of all those, both people and animals, who rely on them. The rivers in Bangladesh’s capital Dhaka have turned black due to the sludge produced by textile dyeing and processing factories. The most polluting colour of all? Black, beloved of chic fashion editors everywhere. 

It’s easy to see why someone who cares about people, planet and animals, as well as clothes, might turn to natural plant dyeing. From the beauty of the raw materials – often wild plants – and the considered pace of the process; from its connection across time and continents, to the local communities it creates, plant dyeing feels like a quiet but steely act of rebellion. This is why, while beginners might start with simply changing the colour of their clothes, other worlds start to open. Many of today’s natural dyers grow their own dye plants, work on local community projects, run workshops and demonstrations, and agitate for change in industrialised fashion systems and beyond. 

The challenge – and the joy – of plant dyeing is to learn it well. “There is a lot of diversity among contemporary natural dyers, but what unites us is a love of colour and a taste for alchemy,” reflects Susan Dye. “Using a pile of unremarkable dried weld leaves to create a hank of electric-yellow yarn never ceases to give me a thrill. Dyeing requires a satisfying attention to both science and art. Whether consciously or not, successful natural dyers are masters of chemistry and biology. We learn how to extract dye molecules from plants and bind them to fibres. And in all kinds of processes, it’s important to control temperature, alkalinity, acidity.”

Dyeing the rainbow

That depth of knowledge is why most established dyers are wary of social media: “Influencers, with babies on their hip, trying to show that natural dyeing is easy – when it’s not,” warns Andrews. “Learn the science of the craft,” advises Dye. “Understanding the chemistry allows you to appreciate how vibrant and long-lasting natural dyes can be.” It’s chemistry that will also help newbies understand, for example, that “green is the hardest colour to get from natural dyes, which people think is strange as it’s the colour we associate with plants,” says Behan. “But actually it’s the living colour, whereas often, we work with dead colours – the rich reds, peaches, oranges, yellows, browns that you get in autumn.”

Magic happens all the time in plant dyeing but first-time dyers will need to know the basics. “Natural dye only bonds with natural fibre: cotton, linen, flax, silk and wool,” points out Gonshorovitz, who has been involved with a year-long programme of demonstrations and talks exploring natural dye as a crucial link in a circular economy (a system based on re-use and regeneration of materials). “Be aware that threads are almost always polyester-made, so external stitches and buttonholes, for example, will not dye. And take account of shrinkage. Due to the high temperature required by simmering, some garments – especially wool – shrink.” 

“Always wash and rinse everything thoroughly with neutral soap to allow the dye to attach easily,” advises Dye. “New fabrics are often treated with chemicals to protect against damage; even used fabrics can have traces of conditioner or dry cleaning chemicals which resist dyes. Dyeing is like decorating,” she adds. “Preparing the surface to start with is tedious but well worth it for beautiful and long-lasting results.” For dyestuffs, begin at home – with food waste. “Avocado skins and stones for pinks; used tea bags and coffee grinds for yellows; squash pumpkin skins for orange,” says Behan. 

“Start with easy golden yellows from pomegranate and onion skins which don’t need any mordants [fixing substances],” says Dye. “Save dried onion skins or pomegranate rinds until you have enough to fill a large saucepan. Simmer for an hour and strain before use. You can dye your items by long cold soaking or by heating in the dyebath until the colour is deep enough for you.” Due to high tannin content, the colours last well on cellulose fabrics like cotton, linen and hemp, even without mordanting, the process of fixing colour to fabrics. In natural dyeing, common mordants include iron and aluminium potassium sulphate, but also rhubarb leaves and plant-based milks. In fashion production, mordants might include benzidine, which has been linked to pancreatic cancer. That fact alone re-emphasises the contrast between synthetic and natural processes.

“DIY natural dyeing can be a bit punk, empowering and subversive. It requires no specialist equipment,” says Dye. “Upcycle old clothing that has greyed over time with natural colours from outside like eucalyptus, red dock, spring nettles, dandelion root,” says Behan. Revel in the results but remember to not over-romanticise botanical dyes. “Not everything that is natural is safe,” warns Gonshorovitz. “Some plant chemicals aren’t safe to digest and even inhale.” Always work in a well-ventilated environment and keep equipment used for food and dyeing separate. 

Most of all, practitioners revel in a renewed connection with nature: “That’s the beauty [of natural dyeing]: that people can start to recognise plants,” says Andrews. “If we taught students to use natural dyes, they’d actually learn about the plants around them.” Earlier this year, Andrews hosted a Dyers Circle, with “100 Hues” of natural colours, at the Future Fabrics Expo in London’s Greenwich. “I literally just picked stuff on the wayside as we went in,” she laughs. “There was dock and cow parsley or Queen Anne’s Lace, a common source of yellow. Oak, of course. All the basics we used consistently up to the 1800s, when London was a wonderful dye centre. You have got basic madder, indigo, weld,” she continues. 

But the real surprise comes, she says, with the sheer variety of indigenous flowers. Andrews has been researching the diversity of dye stuff used in Europe at Kew Gardens. “It’s fantastic. The list just goes on and on.” While the West works at reconnecting with its long history of natural dyes, indigenous cultures provide a continuous and exciting source of inspiration for practitioners. “One of my first experiences with natural dye was on a trip to Mexico in 2016, visiting the natural-dye workshops of Oaxaca,” says Gonshorovitz. “I am still fascinated by the way they practice there.”

During her final year studying fine art and textiles at University of the Arts London, Behan travelled to India to explore natural dyes and block printing in Jaipur. “Local materials, pigments, fabrics, papers and wooden hand-carved blocks; everything handmade and 100% biodegradable and incredibly beautiful in a way that mass-produced prints aren’t: it made a lot of sense to me.” Since then, she has travelled the world, experimenting with other traditions. “In Peru, it’s hand-dyeing yarn and weaving. In Indonesia, it’s batik. [Natural dyeing] has a different character depending on plants and material and culture.” Her experiences have given her practice greater depth.

The future for natural dyeing is as bright as the colours it offers. London College of Fashion’s Sarah May has been advocating for a dye garden at the college’s new site in East London. “Support from the students has been really positive; young people are really engaged,” she says. Course leaders and students across modules are exploring the possibilities of natural dyes in print, in embroidery, and in innovative bio-based formulas.

“I’m really inspired by the current ‘new wave’ of dyers, who are versed in the scientific background but are happy to experiment with non-traditional dyes, different mordanting methods and fugitive [impermanent] dye” says Gonshorovitz. “I love the serendipity of natural dyeing, the fact that it would be hard to replicate the same shade – and the fact you can reinvigorate garments you already own in that way, rather than buy new ones for novelty. Natural dye embodies the rather technical term of circularity so well. It reminds us that all we consume comes from and returns to nature.”

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