Category: culture

The True Cost (and a waffle about shopping)

The True Cost documentary
The True Cost documentary

I know it’s been out for quite a while now (three years, in fact!), but on Sunday I finally got around to watching The True Cost. 

(I watched it on Netflix, but you can also download it, rent it, or buy a DVD.) 

It was particularly timely as I’d spent Saturday in town, sorting out a few bits of Christmas shopping, and generally being distracted by Shiny Things. 

Shopping-wise, this is a difficult time of year for me. Everything’s black or burgundy or velvet or lace or sparkly, and as a recovering goth these things are extremely tempting! But, like most people, I have a wardrobe filled to bursting with clothes that I hardly ever wear because I’m pulling out the same few outfits over and over. I’m going to a grand total of two Christmas parties (one in a pub with my husband’s colleagues, and one at a friend’s house with my swordfighting buddies), and I definitely do not need a new dress for, what? about eight hours’ wear a year? 

Having avoided the “I MUST have a party outfit!” temptation that all the adverts and shop windows were screaming at me, I did give in and “treat myself” to a little something, because frankly, who can resist Harry Potter nail polish? I must admit, the vast majority of my nail polish collection was acquired in this way – as a consolation prize for not buying something that I either couldn’t afford or couldn’t justify to myself ethically. Not ideal, but if it helps me to feel more fancy in my old clothes, then hey. We all need to feel a bit fancy every now and then. 

Speaking of old clothes, I do need to start thinking about replacing a long black cardigan that I’ve had for something in the region of twenty-five years. My Mum knitted it for me before I went to University, and it’s still just about hanging on. I’ve mended it as many times as I can, but the fabric itself is really on the point of giving up. I am a very slow knitter, so although my Mum has given me the original pattern that she used, I definitely can’t knit myself a new cardigan before this one finally falls to bits. So I am going to need to buy one.

Conveniently, long cardigans seem to be in fashion at the moment – here’s one for £24.99 from New Look. It’s 100% acrylic (as is the one I’m replacing), and I could easily switch the brown buttons with something nicer from my stash. It doesn’t have pockets though, which is a bit sad… and the website doesn’t say where it was made. This £29.99 one from H&M says it’s “conscious” because the polyester content of the cardigan is recycled. It does have pockets. No word on where it’s made though, and I still haven’t forgiven H&M for their complicity in the Rana Plaza disaster.

Nomads have a lovely long cardigan with pockets for £70… but it doesn’t come in black! And then there’s this one, from People Tree, for £99. That sounds like such a lot of money, doesn’t it? £99 for a cardigan? Given that I’m on an extremely restricted income at the moment, it’s definitely not something I could click into an online shopping basket without a second thought. I’d have to save my pennies for a few months. But, it’s 100% organic cotton. It’s made and bought on Fairtrade principles from India. And if it lasts as long as the cardigan I need it to replace, that £99 works out to just £3.96 a year. And that definitely doesn’t seem like too much money to pay for a cardigan! Of course, I have no guarantee that any new cardigan will last as long as the old one. But it’s cotton, so I can dye it when it starts to fade, the cuffs and elbows will be easy to mend, and I can add loops and buttons (or brooches) if I decide I need it to fasten. 

But most importantly, I’ll know that nobody needed to leave their child in another village, or keep their baby lying on the floor right by their sewing machine, be beaten, shot at, and forced to work in unsafe conditions, or end up with jaundice and liver failure and skin and lung conditions from working and living with improperly-controlled chemicals. 

The film is right. We can do better. All we have to do is think. And then care. 

Honestly though? I don’t think I’m going to buy a £99 cardigan.

By the time I’ve saved the money, it’ll most likely be sold out. But I can save the money anyway, and see what’s available when I have it. It might go into a sale at the end of the year. I can have a look on Ebay, or in my local charity shops, for something similar. I have regular searches set up on Ebay for things that I liked but couldn’t afford – like last winter’s floral velvet Boden jacket. (Although – looking around for a link to it – how many of these jackets did Boden actually sell, and how many did they give away to bloggers and “influencers”?! Hmmm.) 

Anyway. I’m waffling now, so I’ll stop. 

But please do watch the film if you haven’t already. And please do recommend anything else you’ve seen on this subject. It’s so important.

Travelling Show

Carters Steam Fair

We try to visit Carter’s Steam Fair every time they come to our local park, and this weekend was no exception. I wanted to take lots of photographs of the typography. (I still haven’t saved up enough money to go on Joby Carter’s signwriting course, but one day I will. One day.)

Carters Steam Fair

The rides feature two main styles of artwork – the intricately carved and decorated work of the 19th century…

Carters Steam Fair

…and the streamlined Art Deco style of the early 20th century.

Carters Steam Fair

This gorgeous Morris JB van is from the late 1950s. Every time I see it, I mentally drive it away and use it to travel around selling lovely things. Fortunately for the Carters it’s extremely unlikely that I’m ever going to learn to drive, so their ice cream van remains safe for now!

One day I must be brave and ask for permission to photograph some of the fair’s living vans. (There were people doing that, but it seemed a little bit rude. They are people’s homes, after all.) The Carter’s website has some more information about them, but not about the one I fell most in love with, which was a very streamlined caravan, which you can catch a glimpse of from their Facebook page:

Post by Carters Steam Fair online.

I must admit, I’d gone to Carter’s looking for magic, and didn’t find it there this time. (Not through any fault of the fair, which I absolutely love, but more to do with my own frame of mind at the moment.)

hedgespoken_logo_button

So, I was very excited to go online yesterday morning and find out about Rima and Tom‘s new project – Hedgespoken. It’s going to be a travelling performance space and home all in one! Please watch the film, it’s absolutely gorgeous, and explains their hopes and dreams beautifully.

I’m hoping to find a little money to send their way at the end of the month, and I’ll be following the project’s progress with great interest.

I’m always a little bit nervous talking about my interest in magic and liminality and travelling life (particularly when I don’t travel myself!), for fear of being thought even dafter than most people think I am already. But in a world as horrible as the one we’re currently living in, I can totally understand the need to create your own magic, and to share it as widely as you can.

Goodbye, Bishopston Trading.

The parcel!

Bishopston Trading closes tomorrow, after 28 years in business. This is the statement, in full, from their website:

“It is with great regret and sadness that we have to announce that, after 28 years in business, the Bishopston Trading Company will close at the end of July 2013.
The village of K.V.Kuppam, where our clothes have always been made, has seen huge changes. An entire generation has grown up since we started. All our workers’ children have been educated and very few are now seeking jobs as tailors, embroiderers or appliqué workers. The problem is even more acute with our weavers. In 1985 we formed a partnership with a community of handloom weavers in the village. Weaving is a traditional craft skill, passed down within families. We helped pay for a scheme to enable weavers’ children to stay in school until they were 17 years old. Many have been able to go on to higher education. There are now not enough weavers in the area to keep up with the supplies we need.

While India has developed financially, Britain’s economy has been slow for five years, and this has changed the buying habits of our customers. Our customers tend to be thoughtful, concerned, cautious people (a bit like us). They worry about the environment and over consumption and debt. They have not deserted us but are buying less – this is particularly evident with our online customers.

We can now no longer continue and wish to close down our business voluntarily and ethically and in an honourable way.
We would like to thank our loyal customers, in Britain and around the world, who have supported us for many years.”

The photos, above and below, are from the one and only wholesale order that I placed with them in 2008. To be perfectly honest, I ordered far too much, and five years later I’m still using it. I may have been a small and infrequent customer of Bishopston’s, but I’ll still miss them.

Bishopston fabrics - straight out of the box

There’s something that intrigues me about their statement though, and it’s this:

All our workers’ children have been educated and very few are now seeking jobs as tailors, embroiderers or appliqué workers. The problem is even more acute with our weavers.

So we’ve set up these co-operatives, and we’ve paid fair wages, and we’ve educated all the children… but there’s nobody left to do the weaving. Because traditional skills, passed down from person-to-person, generation-to-generation, simply aren’t valued any more.

Now I’m certainly not saying that any child, anywhere in the world, should have to forego a formal education in favour of sitting at home with multiple generations of their extended family and learning to weave. But if nobody learns how to weave, or sew, or lay bricks, or install plumbing… because those kinds of practical skills simply aren’t valued in an “educated” society… then how long will it be before we’re all naked and homeless? How bad do things have to be before actual practical skills are seen as anything other than menial?

New Bishopston swatches

I’ve learnt a lot of practical skills over the years. I very much doubt I could remember my Girl Guide training in how to make a shelter and find clean water, but I can still make a damn good stand for a plastic washing up bowl, given enough pea sticks and a handy ball of string! I’m hopeless at cooking, but I know how to make bread, how to make butter, and how to forage for some edible plants. (And how to burn baked beans inside the can into an inedible mush over a campfire. Thanks again, Baden-Powell!) I may not be retting a pile of stinging nettles to weave my own cloth, but I’m learning to spin wool, and I can knit, and I can sew and mend my own clothes. I realise that “naked and homeless” is a shameless piece of hyperbole. And I’m all too aware of the hypocrisy of decrying any skills other than the strictly practical whilst sitting at my computer shouting pointlessly at the internet.

What I’m searching for is balance. Something that seems to be lacking almost everywhere I look right now.

To shop, or not to shop


Image © Zara

Yesterday I went shopping, and did not buy this silk blouse with hot air balloons and air ships all over it from Zara. I also did not buy two tops with skulls on them from H&M, and a pair of Thundercats Converse from Schuh.

I did buy four pairs of stripy over-the-knee socks, and a bright yellow skirt.

Yellow wool skirt

It’s calf length, 75% wool 25% nylon, fully lined, with pockets in the side seams. Smells a little bit of mothballs now I’ve ironed it (yes, believe it or not I did iron it before I took this picture – clearly not hard enough!), but that’s nothing that a little wash won’t fix. And it shows that somebody’s bothered to look after it. The label says “Yessica” which, if memory serves, is 1980s C&A. It cost a grand total of £6, from the Sue Ryder shop.

I have a sneaky suspicion that this skirt will sit in my wardrobe (along with the tweedy one I bought in May) and be relegated to “vaguely Steampunk dressing-up”. Which would be sad, as it’s a really lovely skirt, great quality, and with details that I really like.

So, why buy the skirt that won’t get worn, and not the blouse that will?

I’ve been trying very hard not to buy mass-produced things from chain stores this year. The biggest exception has been my ever-increasing collection of TM Lewin shirts, but I think I’ve got enough now to last me a good few years. (She says, having just looked at the website and seen a purple flowery one, and a blue one with birds… both reduced from £85 to £20… argh!)

So whilst the hot air balloon blouse is lovely, and silk, and would in fact look great with this yellow skirt… and the skull tops from H&M were just generally awesome (I’m still a sucker for anything with skulls on it)… and the Thundercats Converse were hilarious… they’re all mass-produced, fast fashion, and designed to be disposable. And I don’t want that from my clothes any more.

I’d always thought I wasn’t one to worry about what other people thought of my clothes (see: yellow coat, silly prints, bow ties, gold boots, pink hair, Being A Goth), but I think part of my reluctance to wear skirts like this and my tweedy one is the fear that people might look at me funny. I had a teacher at middle school (anyone remember Mrs Trubshaw?) who was widely ridiculed for wearing unusual clothes, including an a-line skirt with a forest design appliqued round the hem, which a) I would now kill for, and b) was probably actually quite fashionable in the mid 1980s. As kids, we were absolutely horrible to her, and I’m basically afraid of being treated the same way. Which is silly really, because if I coped with people shouting at me in the street when my hair was pink, I’m sure I can deal with a few sideways glances at a yellow skirt.

Perhaps one of my resolutions for 2013 should be to stop falling back into the comfortable trap of jeans and t-shirts, and start putting more effort into wearing the clothes that I really love.

Running away to join the fair


Image © Carters Steam Fair

Yes, I know the circus is more traditional. But ever since I moved to Reading almost twenty years ago, I’ve been in love with Carters Steam Fair. On a whim, I wondered what sort of job a person of my skill range* could do as part of a fair, so I went to their website to have a look.

That’s when I discovered that Joby Carter, son of John and Anna who originally started the fair in 1975,  runs courses in signwriting and coach painting. He also has an additional business called White Waltham Restoration, which specialises in the restoration, conservation and use of vintage machinery.

Now that, I could do!

In fact I went to a signwriter and printer for my school work experience at the age of fifteen… although they didn’t let me actually paint or typeset or do anything, and I spent the entire week designing my own letterhead (they printed an entire ream for me, I think I still have some left) and drawing an extremely detailed picture of a hawk moth that was later hung in my parents’ hallway.

But I digress.

It seems as though my degree in typography and my (admittedly limited) experience of painting pub chalkboards would stand me in good stead for not making too much of a pig’s ear of a signwriting course. I’m good at hand-lettering (if I do say so myself!), and learning how to work in the style of the Victorian fairground would be fascinating.

And how absolutely wonderful would it be to work for a company that has its very own Victorian Roller Disco, complete with a live pianist in the middle?!

 

So, here’s my latest New-And-Improved Life Plan:

Step One: Book a place on Joby Carter’s signwriting course.
Step Two: Get a job with Carters Steam Fair or White Waltham Restoration**.

What could possibly go wrong…?

 

*Can’t drive, can’t lift heavy things, can’t operate or repair machinery, fairground rides make me sick…
**Yes, of course I know it’s not as easy as all that. Stop spoiling all my fun, will you?!

Geek? Moi?

TARDIS & R2D2

Internet, meet R2D2. He’s 35 years old, which in fact makes him one year older than my husband, who found him in the attic.

I used to have this very model of R2D2, many years ago. Sadly, the original R2 was lost when a friend’s neighbour’s Jack Russell chewed him beyond repair. I’d complained about his sad demise so often that when Paul uncovered this little fellow stashed away in a box, he decided to give him to me.

Altogether now: Awwwwwww!

(Seriously. You know it’s true love when a man in his thirties gives you a gift of one of his own original Star Wars figures.)

So here he is, on my desk, guarding my TARDIS. Which is a USB hub. It makes the sound of the TARDIS when you plug in a USB drive. (Yes, you can turn the sound off.) Admittedly I stole that from Paul when I got tired of having to grovel about behind the computer to plug things in, I didn’t go looking specifically for the geekiest USB hub I could possibly find. (And I’m fairly certain somebody out there can tell me that this isn’t it!)

But while I don’t tend to display my geekiness as much as some of my friends, I’ll admit it here and now:

I’m a Star Wars fan.
(Episodes IV to VI, obviously, plus the surprisingly good Clone Wars cartoons.)

And a Doctor Who fan.
(Tom Baker, plus everything that Steven Moffat wrote for Christopher Ecclestone and David Tennant. Oh, and The Doctor’s Wife, of course.)

I’m a Pratchett fan, and a Gaiman fan, and a Sherlock fan, and a Prisoner fan, and a Lost Boys, Labyrinth, Bladerunner fan.

When I was little, I used to go round to a schoolfriend’s house. Not to play with her, but to hang out with her younger brother who had an AT-AT. Awesome. When I was at art college, my boyfriend at the time also had an enormous collection of Star Wars stuff, including a cardboard Death Star set. We used to spend hours lying on the floor in the dining room, making the trash compactor work, or making stormtroopers walk into doors. As you do. When you’re nineteen. It turns out that when you’re late getting home because you lost track of the time, it’s incredibly difficult to get your parents to believe that’s what you were doing! He also took me to see Bladerunner when the Director’s Cut came out. We came home from the cinema and immediately watched the original version on video, which confused the living daylights out of me.

Labyrinth is definitely my comfort film, and no, not just because of David Bowie’s remarkable trousers. It’s because of the details. Most notably the bottles of milk that I spotted when my Dad took my sister and I to see the film at the cinema, and which Paul insists that I’ve imagined! (You see them when Sarah enters Jareth’s castle. They’re to the left of the door, although they’re probably cut off unless you’re watching the widescreen version.)

Good Omens and Wyrd Sisters are my comfort books, the ones I’ll always take with me if I’m going on holiday or into hospital, and the only two that I’ve read so many times that I’ve had to buy new copies because the original paperbacks dropped to bits. Oh, I tell a lie. I read my Dad’s copy of Hitchhikers until that fell apart. Sorry Dad…

I don’t buy (much) merchandise, or write fan fiction, or make clever gifs for tumblr, or spend time analysing plots and possibilities. So perhaps I’m not a geek at all, and my liking of these things is simply to do with my age, in that these films, books and television shows were the primary cultural phenomena when I was growing up. Although I know that my sister’s never seen Star Wars, hasn’t read Pratchett, and almost certainly doesn’t have an R2D2 and a TARDIS on her desk.

So yes. Perhaps it’s time to admit that I am just a little bit of a geek after all. Although I’m guessing that doesn’t really come as a surprise!

Wordless Wednesday: Only Eight Who Do.

Supermodels

A Couple of Thoughts

I’m with Amelia. Don’t be misled by her statement that personal adornment should be of secondary importance – it in no way means that we shouldn’t strive to look and feel beautiful in what we choose to wear. But for me, at least, it’s time to be comfortable. No more synthetic fibres, constricting waistbands or crippling shoes. I want, and need, my clothing to allow me to be healthy, comfortable and useful. My tiny revolution starts here.

Obvious, when you think about it, but something that’s sadly overlooked. We’re so divorced from the understanding of how our clothes are made that the cost of the cloth itself in human terms is barely even considered. We go shopping not because of need, but to make ourselves feel better. A different kind of need, but one that we’re so often looking to fulfill in all the wrong ways.

I’ve been looking at blogs such as No Pants 2011, The Uniform Project, the Brown Dress Project and Wardrobe Refashion, but they were all fixed-term projects that have now come to an end. I’ll be writing more about what I actually want to do in terms of changing my own approach to the way I shop and dress, once I’ve thought it through in more practical terms. But I definitely want to make changes that I can stick to in the long run, in terms of what I choose to buy and what I decide to make.

I don’t want to be boring or preachy or holier-than-thou about any of this, and I certainly don’t want to go around wearing ugly clothes simply because they’re comfortable. (You will NEVER catch me in fleecy boots and tracksuit bottoms!) But I can definitely work on not buying things to cheer myself up, and I can try to design and make some pretty-but-comfortable clothes from recycled or more sustainable fabrics. That seems like a good place to start.

Doctor Who meets Helena Bonham Carter.

Somewhat unexpectedly, this was one of my Christmas presents this year. A box set of all eleven Doctor Who figures. They were held into their TARDIS-shaped box (it had doors! with velcro!) with forty-four little twisty ties, which gave me plenty of time to contemplate the little Doctors as I was wrestling them out of the plastic.

As a general principle, I think bow ties are cool. We were watching some Sylvester McCoy episodes yesterday, and I genuinely contemplated knitting a fair-isle tank top with a punctuation motif. I like long scarves and big coats and funny hats.

And then I thought of someone else who likes long scarves and big coats and funny hats. And wearing things in lots of layers, and generally looking a little bit crumpled.

My fashion inspiration for 2012?

Doctor Who meets Helena Bonham Carter.

With the somewhat eclectic contents of my wardrobe, that should be pretty easy. Watch this space for pictures, if I manage to make it work…

Wild Boy’s Ball

So, at long last, here is the completed stripy/steampunk outfit!

Paul and I went to the Wild Boy’s Ball at Kensington Palace, and had an absolutely magical evening. You can see all the photos that Paul took, over on Flickr.

We started off by going inside the palace itself, which was actually quite different from the last time I went. They’d repainted the entrance staircase, and changed quite a few of the rooms and installations. The giant dolls were gone, which was a shame, but they were allowing photographs (without flash) inside this time, which was brilliant. Perhaps the most enchanting but also the most creepy things were the new light installations by artist Chris Levine. At first glance they just look like a tower of flickering lights, but when you turn away from them you see people in your peripheral vision! (Sadly they gave Paul a terrible headache and made his eyes twitch.) I sat in the knitted throne, and was bowed-to by two of the Wildworks cast – who went on to give me a knitted orb and sceptre to hold until I made a wish!

When we came out we saw a show by The Gaiety Engine, which was hilarious. We also walked around the sunken gardens, which had been transformed with hundreds of red baubles hanging from the arches. Each bauble contained a piece of artwork or a secret written down by a member of the public. There may have been a certain amount of posing for photos… and as we were walking back, the official event photographer asked me if I’d mind posing for him, which was exciting – that’s never happened to me before! I suspect it’s just because I was conveniently wearing the right colour of dress, but he took some lovely pictures. Shame I didn’t think to give him my email address so I could get copies. You can see the whole set on Kensington Palace’s Facebook page.

I wanted to do the craft activities, so I made a pretty paper rose. (Like this, only bigger.) I didn’t make a lantern because there was a massive queue, but I rather cheekily brought all the lantern-making materials home with me, so I can make one anyway. Photos to follow when I’ve glued it all together and found a tea-light to pop inside. It’s very pretty.

There were supposed to be some people giving period dancing lessons and seduction tips, but we didn’t see them – although there was a small group of people in period costume, so it might have been them. At the end of the night there was dancing in front of the Orangery, run by The Last Tuesday Society. Every single piece of music was a waltz, and I tried very hard to teach Paul how to dance, but sadly he couldn’t get the hang of it. Which was a shame, because I could quite happily have waltzed for an hour, if I’d had somebody to waltz with. Paul and I did dance a bit, but it wasn’t waltzing by any stretch of the imagination!