ColumnNatalie Chanin’s bi-weekly column, Material Witness, offers a seasoned designer’s perspective on the fashion industry, textile history and what happens when love for community trumps all.

I planted my fall garden last weekend – perhaps about a month late but nevertheless, it is in the ground. My daughter has finally reached the age where she is a willing participant most of the time. In fact, she planted about half a row of garlic before scurrying off to uncover the peas I had just planted and to bury the little ceramic garden gnome that keeps watch on the birds who are eating our carefully planted seeds. That little antique gnome, a gift I received 20+ years ago while living in Vienna, has traveled the world with me, gone to every new home, and overseen each new incarnation of my life. He has always reminded me that a garden was waiting in my future.

The morning I decided to plant, I woke up in my own bed after returning home the day before from a trip that included three stops in two and a half weeks. I arrived home with a head cold and the desire to lie still for another two weeks. But, my daughter and I got up that morning and raked and hoed and planted. It felt good. I sighed, and relaxed and smiled as we settled into an afternoon of working and playing side-by-side.

I admit that I am not the best gardener in the world. This fall garden should have been planted a month ago; my rows are a bit wobbly as they move down the length of my backyard plot. I am certain that when the lettuce and spinach begin to sprout, there will be sections of the rows where too many seeds were strewn too closely together, and other sections where nothing will come up.
This is much like the story of my life and business.

A business owner recently said to me, “You are so successful, you wouldn’t know about the difficulties we have had in trying to build our business.” I couldn’t help but laugh. There are beautiful aspects to what we do at Alabama Chanin every day but there are also carefully planted rows that don’t come up, sales that don’t happen, frustrations and disappointments.

I recently came across an essay I had written in 2006 for Leslie Hoffman at Earth Pledge titled, “What Does Planting Tomatoes Have to Do With Fashion?”  It seems at first blush that the two would have little to do with one another. The gist of the essay was how coming home and re-learning how to plant a garden had connected me to my community, my business, the greater art of sustaining life and, consequently, to the fashion industry at large. As I look back over the essay, it feels like such a long time since I wrote those words. Our first book had not yet hit the shelves. My separation from my former company was still new and the wounds were fresh. When I re-read that essay, I could sense my fear, my hopes and my determination between the lines.

What that essay also reminded me was that while my rows today might still be wobbly, the birds-eye view of the garden is straight as an arrow. My path has been crooked, but the mission that I set for myself so many years ago is alive and growing.
So, what I really wanted to communicate to the business owner that day was not laughter – as if it were a silly question. I meant that laughter to mean: I am in the same garden! As a business, we experience the same ups-and-downs, the same excitements and the same disappointments, and in spite of it all, we are still here and we are still gardening.

Today, as I sit and look at my wobbly rows, my garden feels like my business. I realize that the wobbly row is a perfect analogy for my own process. We plant rows that flourish; we plant rows that putter along. We water, we nurture, we pick, we grow. But the real beauty of it all is not in the harvesting but this moment of sitting in the sun waiting for the first sprouts to poke through the earth.

The point is to watch the little plants grow and to savor the laughter that will come when I finally discover the buried garden gnome that my daughter has left for me as a present.

Natalie Chanin is owner and designer of the American couture line Alabama Chanin and author of three books including Alabama Stitch Book  (2008), Alabama Studio Style (2010) and the upcoming Alabama Studio Sewing + Design which comes out spring 2012. Look for her bi-weekly column, Material Witness here and follow her on Facebook and her own blog at Alabama Chanin.

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As someone who absolutely adores clothes but is dedicated to eco-reframing my lifestyle, I’m very aware of what I need to do to shape up my fashion appetite. I’ve swapped fast fashion for thrift store, luxury designer for eco designer and even reined in the inner consumer beast that remains within my corporeal awareness (chomping wildly at the bit, I might add).

But, I think I’ve come up against the last frontier of my journey from mainstream to eco fashionista. A fascinating report by trend analysts Forum for the Future and denim brand Levi’s, predicts that the days of owning things are coming to an end.

It makes for a fascinating read. Estimating profound clothing shortages by 2025, the study provides four scenarios that explore how we will buy, wear and think about fashion in the future. Scenario two, called community couture, suggests that new clothing from expensive synthetics or virgin raw materials will be purely the province of the rich-exorbitantly beyond the means of the majority. Clothing, like many other goods that will be in short supply, will be handled within the framework of the community. We will get our clothes from fashion swap meets – with tailors and stylists on hand – and community-clothing libraries, where people will borrow and return clothing, just like books in a conventional library.

No, I don’t collect Wedgewood, jewelry or nail polish colors but I do admit to being curator to a relatively humble clothing collection. Would I be prepared to give up my hoard for the sake of a fresh look?

If you’ve seen a homeless person pushing along a cart of treasures, you know it’s human nature to want to collect things. And, sentimental value is a huge part of owning things. Recently, I was deeply touched when a friend who suffered the misfortune of having her house burn down demonstrated how meaningful the connection is between clothing and memory. Amid the overwhelming debris and chaos, her husband went back and salvaged her sooty and smoke damaged wedding gown from the remains of her closet, sensing its loss may prove the straw to break this brave lady’s back.

I’ve no wedding dress, but lined up in the back of my closet are twelve years of dresses I’ve bought to wear to weddings, Christmas parties or other special occasion. The memories of those nights flood in. But beyond the nostalgia, I’m curious – why are they unlikely to ever be worn again? None of them are so dated that I couldn’t pull it off with a twist or flourish provided by a strategic accessory or two. While celebrities are routinely dinged for wearing the same thing twice, the fear of being seen wearing the same dress again seems well, irrational. And despite having a closet full of outfits, I dare you to count the times you’ve rushed out and grabbed a cheap knock-off of the latest runway look because you just wanted the thrill of wearing something au courant.

Interestingly, there are several early examples of the clothing library concept in the unlikely form of designer clothing rentals such as Bag, Borrow or Steal, Rent The Runway and WearTodayGoneTomorrow. Armed with new insight, I spent a heady half hour fancying myself for one night only in a Hervé Léger bandage dress that normally retails for $1050, but that you can rent for $100. Or consider for only $75, an of-the-moment beaded jumpsuit by Proenza Schouler that you wouldn’t dare invest in beyond this season. Don’t forget the eye-catching accessories that rent along side your dress for $15-$50.

While I’ve always felt that designer clothing rentals were the epitome of promiscuous consuming, since reading the report I’m starting to slowly rethink. As I imagine an eco designer rental stocked with designs from Linda Loudermilk, Edun and Stella McCartney to rent and return, I think I might be able to give up my nostalgic, hoarding ways after all. Viva la Future!

Image: Iván Santiesteban

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