issue 108 Farm: from field to fabric

We asked our contributors:

How do you connect to the provenance of your clothes?

Sara-Ella Ozbek

I’ve always felt that a capsule wardrobe is an easier and happier place than one bulging at the hinges. In recent years, I’ve made a habit of trying to buy only pre-loved garments or timeless pieces that I know I–or at least someone–will keep forever. With the ever-increasing price of luxury and vintage shopping, it can be tempting to dip into a faster kind of fashion. But I’m someone who believes that my style is part of my identity and a desire for a sustainable world is a part of that. Trends may be transient, but environmental damage is permanent.

Prasad Ramamurthy

Magali An Berthon

What I wear and what it's made of is an expression of who I am, where I come from and how I want to present myself. Having grown up in a household where my grandmother commissioned her saris from weavers in Mysuru, I have always picked handmade textiles over machine made. On a regular work day I might wear a handblock-printed cotton shirt. On a day that I need a little pick-me-up I'll choose perhaps a Jamdhani kurta. And on special occasions, a muga or nassi silk tunic with pyjamas to match. Fabrics maketh my mood.

From the 1970s until the late 1980s, my aunt, a Vietnamese woman in Paris, demonstrated a real knack for fashion. She collected long-lasting, casual chic clothes from French and Italian designers, local brands, and unique finds. Luckily she had great taste, only purchased high-quality natural materials and kept her things with care. Later on, she gave me a generous number of pieces. Since my mid-twenties, then, her clothes have been an integral part of my wardrobe, which I wear daily and tend to twist with simple, contemporary basics.

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