I love fashion but I try to buy fewer well-made clothes produced under fair wages. No one should have to suffer for our style
I cried when I saw the photograph (warning: graphic content). Two people, one holding the other with eyes closed and skin dusted grey. A single, devastating moment in a disaster killing more than a thousand workers. But if the death toll is a statistic then this scene is a personal statement. Tenderness personifies the tragedy, and it is unbearable. Their lifeless embrace is the visible consequence of a world where consumerism comes above basics like safe working conditions.
It's the kind of image that echoes in the thoughts. It feels like it needs a response, an action, anything to make sure that this isn't just another unacceptable incident forgotten once the cameras move on. But what to do beyond signing a petition and hoping that the clothing brands relying on Bangladeshi production are listening? Continue shopping, with a sense of guilt over workers paid £25 a month ebbing with the allure of cheap T-shirts? Or stop buying?
For me, there is no need for a conscious boycott now because I made my decision two years ago. Around my 16th birthday I read Lucy Siegle's To Die For and decided that I no longer wanted to support a chain of exploitation reaching from cotton pickers to cutters and machinists. Flutters of moral uncertainty had been felt before, but this confirmed them. I was already avoiding the Arcadia group thanks to Philip Green's offshore tax arrangements, and so it felt easy to leave behind the rest of the high street too.
I was lucky, in that I didn't have to radically change my spending patterns. I already knew the delights of charity shops, vintage markets and the occasional scrum of a jumble sale. It was a habit nurtured by a minimal budget and the influence of my mum, who first introduced me to the thrill of the hunt for the unexpected. Some do not find a similar sense of joy in sifting through fleeces and bobbly jumpers in search of gems, but it worked for me. A decision first rooted in financial pragmatism and aesthetics became an ethical choice.
I love fashion. I adore the creativity of personal style and appreciate both the artistry of great designers and the contribution that the industry makes to the British economy. But a specific interest in sustainable fashion has become a central part of both my wardrobe and my writing (I regularly contribute to Oxfam and talk about the ethics of style on my own blog Clothes, Cameras and Coffee). Whenever possible I try to seek out alternative brands that emphasise sustainability. A while ago I bought a jumpsuit from Goodone. It has a Katharine Hepburn meets second world war land girl look, and I feel fantastic whenever I wear it. The process of choosing, saving up for and finally buying it made the eventual tissue-wrapped delivery all the more exciting. I'm also a big fan of Who Made Your Pants, a worker co-operative supporting female refugees through employment and development of skills. The knickers are gorgeous and the credentials even more so. A pair might seem expensive at first glance, but that's because the price reflects the true cost of good work. I'm not splashing out; merely buying less, choosing well and fully enjoying each purchase.
My way isn't the only solution. Labour Behind the Label stated that boycotting may not the best option, as many rely on the high street for work. However I have no desire, personally, to support any company whose labels were found in the rubble of the Rana Plaza building. These brands can now mend what they once ignored, but their flagship stores should be standing half-mast. Life is cheap when profits are high. Some brands have taken a step in the right direction by signing the Bangladesh fire and building safety agreement, but many have not. And until there is proof of a system that doesn't rely on exploiting the ones at the bottom, then my money will go elsewhere.
I am 18 next week. You may ask whether I shouldn't I be focusing on other, more adolescent things than the origin of my clothes. But although my generation may have been bred on quick-fix fashion, we also have a great capacity to question it. Many are aware of what happened in Dhaka, but a combination of perceived powerlessness to change things and a desire for instant, cheap gratification keeps them shopping. Some don't care at all. But it's so important that the ones who do start being vocal about it. We're the consumers of both today and tomorrow, with decades of buying ahead. Teenagers' spending power alone is worth £7bn a year. Imagine how extraordinary it would be if a percentage of that were channelled into buying fewer well-made clothes produced under fair wages, with the assurance that no one had to die or suffer for the contents of our wardrobe.