EDITOR’S letter

F ashion quarrels between a mother and her daughter are a rite of passage. The dialogue typically involves the mom saying “You’re wearing that?” followed by “You’re NOT wearing that!” How we dress is one of the most visible ways we embrace our identity and emancipate ourselves from our parents. In my own case, my first fashion feud involved a handmade Cowichan sweater that I found on the street in the small Alberta town where I grew up. At the time, I wasn’t aware of the rich history of these sweaters, which were made by Coast Salish knitters. (And this was years before culturally appropriated Cowichan lookalikes hit the market.) I just knew that I was drawn to the geometric patterns and the grey, black and white colour scheme. That it was oversized, bulky and worn made it even more appealing. I was also attempting to learn to knit (badly—my scarves took on pyramidal rather than linear shapes) and was fascinated at both the perfection and imperfections I could see in the work. I also imagined the care that went into creating this piece. In my mind, each stitch was imbued with love from the knitter, and I had to honour that. My mother saw things differently. To her—quite understandably—this was a tattered, worn and badly fitting used sweater that wasn’t appropriate for her 13-yearold daughter to wear to school—or anywhere. Once that line was drawn, I was all the more intent on wearing (saving!) this sweater, but I P.S. As a footnote to my sweater saga, my mother—perhaps as a peace offering—knitted me a blue-and-white Norwegian-inspired ski sweater. Like the Cowichan, each stitch was layered with love, and the sweater remains in my closet to this day. had to be covert. I would hide it in the garage and sneak it on before heading off to school. This continued for some weeks, until my mother found it and tossed it in the garbage. I retrieved it and tearfully explained that it was wrong to throw away something that someone had made. I strangely felt a powerful guardianship over this woollen cardigan. Protecting it emboldened me. I think that scenario—where she’d find it and toss it and I’d retrieve it— played out a few times, until one day the sweater was gone. I don’t remember if there was a grand showdown; I think I just moved on to another phase in my style evolution—let’s call it my “pre-Madonna messy-chic period.” I’d forgotten about that Cowichan sweater— and what it meant to me—until I read “Ground Breaking” (page 46), our special package on sustainability that was edited by executive editor Jacquelyn Francis. It is sobering to read that the fashion industry is now the world’s second-largest polluter after oil and that, at last count, the apparel industry accounts for 10 per cent of global carbon emissions. It is equally shocking to learn that Americans throw away about 32 kilograms of clothing per person every year, which overwhelmingly goes into landfill. In Canada, it’s estimated that 85 per cent of discarded clothes end up in landfills. Francis writes in her piece that it’s easy to be overwhelmed, but she and the other writers outline some practical strategies for having a more sustainable approach to fashion. Reading these stories—and recalling how I felt about that Cowichan sweater—reminded me to be aware of how I consume fashion and how important it is to cherish the things we wear. Instead of reduce, reuse and recycle, it has become too easy to toss, replace and move on.