Undercover writer Louise Lagosi helps us track our cast-off clothing.

Ever wonder what happens to your clothes when you just have to let them go? Maybe you were kind enough to spare them from ending up in a landfill by donating them to a thrift store for a tax credit; maybe you were even clever enough to “new-life” them into cut offs, a mini-skirt or something else relatively simple to make.

There are many ways to keep our clothes from contributing to landfills and pollution, and according to Dr. Jana Hawley, whose focus is on finding solutions to textile waste in fashion, “Our clothing is 100% recyclable.” So why then, according to SMART, a textile recycling organization that partners with Goodwill and The Salvation Army, do roughly 75% of our discarded clothes get put in the trash and end up in landfills?

Clothing has an enormous, toxic, environmental footprint, one that gets bigger when it is unnecessarily wasted and not given the opportunity to live up to its fullest capacity through multiple lives, multiple owners or textile recycling.

While we may never consider our clothes after we’ve discarded them, our cast-offs go on exciting adventures around the globe. Thrift stores are simply the first of many depositing and sorting grounds. Which part of the world they land in really depends on what shape and quality they are in when they leave your hands.

When your clothes arrive at the thrift store they get sorted, and provided they’re not terribly damaged, they are put on the racks. The premium grade used clothing has several possible fates in the drop-off store, one of which is purchase for resale at international vintage shops.

Vintage store owners around the world have been mining American thrift stores for cheap vintage, only to resell our cast offs back to us at premium vintage prices. Americans in particular get rid of some of the nicest digs in the world. In Paris you’d never find designer vintage on sale anywhere outside a pricey vintage shop. But here in the States, mint condition, vintage Gucci dresses on Salvation Army racks sell for $19.99. It’s no wonder that the world comes here for it’s vintage. At $5-$10 a pair, beat up old Levi’s might collect over $500 by a vintage dealer in Japan. And the hat your grandmother painstakingly hand knit you could easily end up in a Swedish or Dutch vintage boutique.

“We get all of our vintage from the States. The store owners take a 4-6 week long summer vacation in the U.S. visiting the same favorite routes to thrift stores year after year. Within a few weeks, they’ve more or less made the annual store inventory,” says an employee from Zipper, a vintage shop in Amsterdam.

Of course, all of this can be found on thrift store floor racks, where meticulous and discerning shoppers have the opportunity to snatch up the premium second hand at thrift store prices before they reach the vintage dealers provided they are willing to dig through racks. Sometimes, this pursuit can seem more like archaeology than shopping, sifting through cross sections of society’s discarded duds to find the rare diamonds in the rough.

A slightly rarer fate for some of our clothes are landing in the hands of crafters and upcycling designers, like JoAnnBerman, DominikaNaziebly, and LuFlux, all of whom choose to pull resources from thrift stores and used markets, upcycling finds into new one-off designs. These designers choose to make couture out of our rags.

Lu Flux

Lauren Lawson, Goodwill’s Media Relations Manager, says an item has about a month’s time to prove its worth on the floor before it is removed and redistributed to lower income sales channels; first at the Goodwill’s most affordable stores, where they provide clothing sold by the pound in American low income communities. If still not sold there, the clothing will get passed onto Goodwill’s partners over at SMART, who help divert two billion pounds of clothes from landfills annually through worldwide distribution and textile recycling. In the SMART sorting facilities, the clothes  are sorted into many different categories: tropicals, cold weather, denim, cotton, mixed rags, A grade and B grade.

While a sliver of thrift store leftovers get cut into rags and sold to mechanics, window washers and the likes, the bulk of all of our discarded clothes get shipped to third world countries for resale. These clothes are sorted, bundled and sold by bale or by the shipping container by companies like TransatlanticMixrags, who export American used clothes in an effort to reduce post consumer landfill mass, to provide affordable clothing to the poor in developing countries’ markets, and all the while making a pretty penny selling our trash.

The international customers take a gamble on what they are getting however. Unable to see the product until their package has landed and is paid for, they must accept whatever they get. The product is then distributed in street markets across the countrysides of impoverished nations and will be consumed and absorbed by people looking for any clothing they can afford.

Which would explain this how this t-shirt landed on this Sierra Leonean.

This can cause quite the controversy. Some believe that exporting westerner’s discarded clothes to poorer developing nations is the same as exporting our consumer culture. The point has been wrestled with over and over by human rights activists and fair-trade advocates alike; hand made, traditional indigenous dress is being replaced by cheap western rags as capitalism spreads across the globe like a rash.

Whether or not we should be passing off our waste products to third world nations is debatable. The devil’s advocates of Capitalism will argue that the poor people in third world nations cannot afford new clothing and want cheap clothing available to them.

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and for some in countries like Mexico, Jakarta, Brazil, and Bangladesh, landfills provide a meager income to garbage pickers sifting through trash in search of items that are reusable and recyclable. If old clothes are too ragged to wear, they might make good pillow or mattress stuffing. In countries where resources are scarce, even garbage can be valuable.

Which brings up the second most common use of our discarded clothing: recycled, post-consumer waste products. Forthcoming, green-minded entrepreneurs, like the geniuses behind BondedLogic, a company which makes insulation out of recycled materials sees the issue of post consumer waste as opportunity.

Bonded Logic’s claim to fashion-reuse fame is Ultra Touch denim insulation. Made of 90% domestically sourced post-consumer, recycled content, it is processed and manufactured entirely in the USA, and diverts approximately 300 tons from landfills monthly.

“We’ve been using recycled paper to make a cellulose insulation for over 35 years, and we wanted to make a batting form of insulation out of some post consumer fiber. When we researched the amount of waste available in the garment and textile industries, and especially with the abundance of waste denim available, it just seemed like the perfect solution,” says Sean Desmond, Bonded Logic’s Marketing Manager.  “If you go back even six years ago, a majority of textile waste was being landfilled. We saw this as a viable, abundant, resource and thought, why not use it?”

Insulation is just one of many recycling options for clothing. Textiles can be processed into car flooring and seat filler, roofing materials, punching bag padding for boxing, mattresses, and of course cleaning rags.

Before the 1900’s, most households generally had to make the most of the clothes they wore from scratch, altering and handing down items between family members as they grew out of them. They had to manage every scrap of waste they created to save their resources and energy and to prevent the garbage from piling up around them.

Since the Industrial Revolution took it’s hold on society, we’ve become so free with our fashion consumption habits we scarcely know what to do with all the waste flowing through the doors of our closets. Christina Salvi of GrowNYC, a group that organizes weekly clothing deposit drop-off spots at the New York City green markets was surprised to see how often people would donate from their closets.

“We weren’t expecting to have people returning every week with clothing deposits, but we have regulars who come with something to donate week after week. We also see visitors who will drop off big loads right after the spring cleaning,”says Salvi.

Since the launch of their clothing recycle program in 2007, GrowNYC has collected over 1 million pounds of clothing. With New York City’s annual post-consumer garment waste estimating at around 193,000 tons per year, New Yorkers have their work cut out for them to find alternative ways to divert their “trash.”

One thing is for sure, no clothing should be going into a waste basket.

Images: Brad K., Yikes Machine, Boardroom Eco Apparel, 1900s.org

The post EcoSalon Investigates: What Happens to Our Cast Off Clothing? appeared first on EcoSalon.

After days spent racking my brain to choose nine things you don’t need to be happy, now I can’t keep more from surfacing. If this list keeps growing, it might mean that happiness is attainable without anything at all. What a concept!

But just for fun, let’s continue counting. Here are 9 more things you don’t need to be happy. Really.

1. Optimism. There’s nothing more annoying than all the self-help mumbo jumbo that preaches “think positive” – and implies (explicitly or not) that by doing so, you will get what you want. This theory leaves us in the lurch and in fear of having even a speck of a negative thought. The universe is not directing the traffic of our lives according to our thoughts. We earth folk, although blessed with free will, are not more powerful than the randomness of life.

This is good news. If you happen to be a cynic or wake up on the wrong side of the bed once in a while, don’t fret. Having a positive outlook 24/7 is not required for happiness.

2. Caffeine. I’m actually sitting in Starbucks as I type this and it’s occurred to me that I could be a lot happier if there were fewer coffee shops serving rocket fuel to every human on the planet. Fewer Starbucks means fewer caffeinated people – and no landfill droves of millions of paper cups.

I was perfectly content for the six months I gave up coffee. Life was fine. But I can tell you this. The moment I took my first sip of a non-fat triple shot cappuccino after those six months, I was indeed rocketed into another dimension. I don’t need caffeine, but I like it. So there. Just don’t make me go to Coffee Bean. That’s where I draw the line.

3. God. Religion and anything related is a topic fraught with tension, but we shouldn’t ignore the obvious, which is that many people all over the world live life happily and successfully without worshiping or praying to any being. Organized religion is not the only road to salvation. Why is it that only the non-religious realize this?

4. Intelligence. I adamantly agree that women can be both smart and pretty, but if for some reason I had to choose, I think today I’d prefer pretty. Why? Because it gets tiring being smart. And I’m exhausted!

Most days I can’t watch the news, much less have an intelligent conversation about current events. Between the stock market, natural disasters, unstable psychopaths wreaking havoc on innocent people, world hunger, violence against women – I’m upset too often. What’s so horrible about a slight dose of ignorance? Call me stupid, but sometimes I’d prefer to be stupid.

5. Crystal Ball. The less I know about the future, the better. It used to be that I was riddled with fear if I couldn’t see how it all turned out; whether you’d stay or go, love me or leave me. So I would leave you first or better yet, never stay in the first place, because not knowing how and when it would end was too scary. Today I’m a different creature. I find comfort in the unknown and practice letting the future alone and being present for love and my life today.

6. Chanel handbag. Oops, how did this one get in here? I mean, really. No one needs a Chanel bag, period. And to be completely candid, I once purchased such a bag. It was at a time when my work was very lucrative and I thought (or hoped) a sophisticated, exquisitely made black bag would satisfy a deep yearning within me.

This morning I caught a glance of that particular Chanel hanging in my closet. Did it make me happy? When I first bought it, yes for about five minutes, but now…not so much. Actually, it makes me a little bit annoyed.

7. Resolved “issues“. I have no qualms telling you I go to therapy once a week. I’m one of those humans that grew up crooked and needed a little correcting. So be it. In fact, I think more people should be in therapy, especially married people.

Yes, a weekly appointment on my calendar means there is unfinished business, more “stuff” yet to come up and discuss. I continue to dig, deeper and wider and with more gusto. Why? Because the more I uncover, confront, grieve, accept, release, the better and happier I become. Everything need not be packaged up perfectly in a box with a bow, stored away in the basement in order for one to feel relief and some semblance of happiness.

8. Approval. We can’t control what other people think of us. People who don’t know you well will have perceptions and come to their own conclusions. The important thing is not to change yourself in order to get someone to like you. The key is not to care if they like you or not.

Of course, it would be ideal if everyone everywhere liked you, but if you love yourself and just one other person thinks you’re awesome, then you are. Quit trying to gain the adoration of people who don’t matter, and focus on the ones that do.

9. A reason. Did you predict we would end up here? If so, you win. It took me 17 reasons to realize 1) one might be happy and not care why or 2) one isn’t happy (or is) but doesn’t particularly appreciate someone feeding them reasons how or why or when one could or should be. Therefore, my last reason is a reason. It is possible to be happy for no reason at all.

So there, I said it. Now go and be happy, just because.

Image: con Costanza

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“Sara! Want new SmartCar? Txt yes or no quick!”

Such a text message from your mother might be odd in some families, but not in mine (Mom sells cars faster than bootleg Louis Vuittons and also wields a mean text thumb). I didn’t hesitate. “Yes! Pics!”

I didn’t need a test drive. I’d been tooling around in an old, albeit fun, Jeep for several years. Well, fun when I lived in Pacific Palisades, California and a big day was driving to the beach four blocks away. My first winter in San Francisco with a canvas-topped Jeep – make that my first summer in San Francisco – was an exercise in austerity. I guess I was going for that weathered ski bunny look or at least that’s what I’ll claim in my memoirs. After some nine months of driving in all manner of weather with the plastic windows rolled up a boyfriend helpfully pointed out that they come down. Aha! That’s what those big, dangling zipper pulls were for! Who knew?

Weirdly, the Tesla roadster is not yet in my budget, so I’d resigned myself to driving my Jeep until the wheels fell off and simply parking a generous mile or three away from any green event I attended when the lucky text came.

Lest you have any worries about the safety of the SmartCar, let me assure you, it’s super sturdy. I know this because my mother managed to get into a wreck before I even took possession of my new car. Wasn’t that nice of her to test it out? To be fair, the collision wasn’t her fault. The guy in the SUV was just confused. Didn’t she know the golf course was two turns back?

This being a SmartCar, they don’t really have replacement bumpers just lying around, so I had to wait nearly a month for the damaged caboose to be repaired. (Mom emerged unscathed, caboose intact.)

Accident now out of the way, I made the trek to the homestead in Washington to pick up my little bean and bring it back to the Bay. And I have to tell you, the people you meet at gas stations and rest stops sure are caring folks. I’ve never before felt the likes of such popularity or perhaps I should say, worry.

Parked flush with our publisher’s hybrid Honda

More than once: “Are you safe in that thing?”

Chewing lower lip with concern: “Is that allowed on the freeway?” (We’ll find out!)

The polite: “How much did you pay for…that?”

And the distinctly thoughtful: “What is that?”

That, I’ll have you know, buzzed down the five at 75 mph all the way home with no trouble at all save for a few belches from semi-trucks.

Now, the Smart is what I would call an “active driving experience” – think a stubborn 3 Series. If you like being the boss of your hunk of steel as opposed to rolling over pavement like a stale marshmallow you’ll enjoy the way the Smart handles. What you may or may not enjoy are the looks. And chuckles. And pointing. And being flagged down from three blocks away by really cute men. Which finger you display all depends upon your personality and relationship status.

Smarty has some surprises up its cage. I call it the “Alice in Wonderland effect”. While resembling a glorified jujubee on the outside, the thing is damn near cavernous inside. I wouldn’t say it’s palatial on a scale of the Hummer, but the interior is so roomy you soon forget you’re in half a car. Of course, if you need a reminder just look in the backseat. Kidding! There isn’t one.

The Alice effect is so pronounced you’ll want to be extra alert – I have to remind myself every time I drive that just because I can dart in and out of traffic like a Tonka Toy on Red Bull doesn’t mean I should. This is a car for defensive drivers only. That said, it’s very solid for its size at 1800 pounds, earned a 5-star safety rating, and of course it’s loaded to the crannies with airbags. In other words, this is a blowfish waiting to happen.

Other features include a non-retractable “panorama” sun roof that is virtually the entire top of the vehicle (think Jurassic Park but without the dinosaur part) and lots of clever storage spots and witty accents for design geeks to love. True, the spare tire may be ridiculous, but the engine’s in the trunk – how cool is that? You won’t have much use for such convenient placement, however, as even after two road trips the machine didn’t sip so much as a drop from its two-quart oil well. (Oh, the satisfying sentence this writer has to forgo because they couldn’t make it pint-sized. Wholeness eludes my post – and let’s be honest here, my soul – once again.)

My model, the Passion, is the less pricey version but still comes pretty well-equipped with leather, daytime running lights, AC and tiptronic shift control. And being a web marketing gal, I appreciate the cool social network, Destination Smart, that doesn’t suck a digital egg, unlike Chevy’s Voltage. (I always loved MINI cooper’s marketing but never did fork over the cash.)

For a 1.0 liter, 70 horse, 3-cylinder car, there’s a pleasing amount of get-up-and-go. It’s not my turbo Volvo T5 of yesteryear, but one could call it zippy with a straight face. The only thing that took some getting used to for this stick-shift girl was the oddball gear transitioning: it’s an automated manual transmission. After two months of ownership, though, I only really notice the shift lag when my espresso bean is puffing up to the crest of Franklin. My friend, Nancy, likes to pat Smarty’s dash and say, “Come on, you can do it!” If you want more power, you can go with the BRABUS model (BRABUS as in Mercedes, the maker of SmartCar; there’s also the starter model, Pure, as well as the new cabriolet).

Already in need of a bath…

Anyone who has had to fork over $30 for parking in San Francisco can appreciate the Smart. While I have yet to perform a perpendicular parking job, the bean has been invaluable for errands and evenings out in the city. San Francisco, by design, has an abundance of short curbs between townhouse driveways that are often empty as only motorcycles and sub-compacts have a prayer of fitting in. But these almost-spaces are perfect for Smarty!

And oh, the gas mileage. I go weeks without filling up and look back fondly on my trips to Napa and, yes, the South Bay. Thanks to a respectable sound system and supportive seats with butt warmers even jaunts to San Jose are dreamy. I do get pulled over by cops quite a bit more now (what, you don’t?), but then I also get out of the tickets so it kind of works out!

Moving along. Road trip numero uno under my belt for the grand total of $35 in gas (Smarty’s tiny tank takes premium only, baby), I thought, where to next?

Westside girl and EcoSalon writer, Kim, had her birthday at the beginning of July, so it was off to LA for me. Despite all the heels and dresses and handbags five days in Los Angeles requires, the Smart has surprisingly ample storage. So at the last minute I thought, what the hell, I’m bringing the cat. I’m sure she’ll be as thrilled as I to see the old stomping grounds, right? Besides, cats love long car rides almost as much as they like being deposited for slumber parties with dogs at your buddy’s SoCal house. It’s one, big happy family!

My cat, Roo, on the road…

Roo upon learning she’ll be staying with dogs.

There’s no rating standard for this at Consumer Reports, but I’ve never seen a cat or rather my cat behave so well on a road trip. I mean, I’m not in the cats-on-road-trips business or anything, but surely this counts in Smart’s favor. Roo, a queenly Maine Coon, curled up in her carrier the entire way sans sedative, only occasionally popping her large, fluffy head out to remind me that I was in the presence of greatness.

Unfortunately, once in LA I took a curve on Sunset a tad too sharply, causing her to tumble out – of the carrier, relax! – and having figured out that she was not actually confined to her travel case, all subsequent driving was less than festive. The psychological jig was up. Ever tried putting a cat back into anything? Pandora had it easier. Once again, kudos to the SmartCar’s handling.

Two big road trips for a mere Benjamin later, I love my Smart even more. The only problem is that now I want to drive everywhere. Meet me for mojitos at the Parker in Palm Springs? I do have a birthday coming up!

Images: Claire Gordon, Sara Ost

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