SOCIAL FABRIC
Purpose is a buzzword, but what does it really mean in fashion? Clare Press considers the new breed of designers and brands in the business of giving back.
Purpose is a buzzword, but what does it really mean in fashion? Meet the new breed of designers and brands in the business of giving back.
Williams wanted to be a social worker. “I loved making textiles, but I was resistant to fashion,” she says. Fashion, however, could hardly be more enamoured of Williams, who won this year’s Queen Elizabeth II Award for British Design and was shortlisted for the LVMH Prize. Today, at the helm of her eponymous label, Williams has found a way to marry her two passions. She combines her high-end menswear offering with social purpose – and its practical application.
Previous collections have been sewn by women in Downview prison, as part of the London College of Fashion program Making
For Change, and at the Fondazione Zegna-backed San Patrignano facility in Rimini, which also teaches fashion skills to provide opportunities for disadvantaged women – in this case, those looking to rehabilitate from drug and alcohol addiction.
“For autumn ’20, we’re working with the Magpie Project, supporting women and kids in temporary accommodation in London,” says Williams. “They are often without citizenship, for example, before they’re granted asylum, and have no access to public housing.”
For Williams (who shows at London men’s fashion week but says her work “is not gendered: anyone can wear it”), the focus on women’s empowerment projects is deliberate. “Women are often the most vulnerable and the least resourced. Feminism is not just about solidarity; you need men and women working together. If my work can help create a dialogue with men, that’s a beautiful thing.”
There is a growing movement of social-justice driven fashion that links local, community-based projects with designers – and seeks to empower women from marginalised communities in the process.
In Sydney, Bianca Spender and Romance Was Born have both collaborated with The Social Outfit, a charity that runs a sewing workroom and retail store to provide fair work and training opportunities for refugees and new migrants. Its sister organisation in Melbourne is The Social Studio. In London, Birdsong operates along similar lines, working with a women’s education charity in Tower Hamlets.
The Duchess of Sussex’s favourite jeans label, local brand Outland Denim, began as a social enterprise, establishing a workshop in Phnom Penh, Cambodia as a pathway to economic empowerment for disadvantaged locals. “But there are limitations to the not-forprofit model, including raising finance,” says founder James Bartle. “The B Corp system was the first thing I came across that holds businesses to account in a similar way.”
With the likes of Patagonia and Allbirds on board, B Corporation (businesses that makes decisions for positive impact) certification proposes “a new kind of business that balances purpose and profit”. Outland was certified in 2018.
Melbourne-based label Arnsdorf is another new B Corp. “It’s a values-based approach,” says Jade Sarita Arnott, the label’s founder. “The certification process is detailed and rigorous: it’s not easy but it’s worth it. Ultimately, it’s a commitment to try to make a better world.
“For me, success means creating transformative products for those who are involved in both receiving them and making them. At the consumer level, it’s a garment that fits perfectly and makes you feel confident, empowered and like yourself. But the way I see it, I can’t truly deliver that experience unless everyone in my supply chain is empowered.”
Kenyan designer Anyango Mpinga came to prominence via her Free as a Human campaign against human trafficking. “It was maybe social first, fashion second,” she says, “but the two are deeply entwined for me.” Her expanded womenswear offering landed her in the Green Carpet emerging designer competition finals in Milan last year. “I’m on a mission to make beautiful, ethically made clothes. If my work can speak for justice, equality and preserving tradition, that’s fulfilling my purpose.”
Empowering marginalised artisan communities has long driven the work of the UN’s Ethical Fashion Initiative (EFI), which counts
Vivienne Westwood, Brother Vellies, Studio 189 and Cape Town-based womenswear designer Sindiso Khumalo among its roster of clients past and present. Dutch It girl Jeanne de Kroon began working with the EFI in 2018, “when we flew to Afghanistan to do a special project in Kabul”. Her lavishly embroidered Afghan coats have become a fashion-set favourite, landing de Kroon in US Vogue.
“My label Zazi works with small rural social enterprises and vintagesourcing families across the Silk Road,” she explains. “Almost all our clothing [92 per cent] is made from upcycled, locally sourced fabrics. We provide ongoing work for vulnerable women’s communities, and align with the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals.” She talks about producing fashion with “respect” – for people and the planet, and says she wouldn’t make clothes at all if it weren’t for her social purpose.
Australian designer Carlie Ballard started her namesake label in order to support an ethically run cut-and-sew workshop in Lucknow, India. “Inside that little building I’m making change. There’s enough clothes in the world – I work in this space to help build sustainable livelihoods.”
Ballard also co-creates ikat fabrics with weavers in Telangana. “It keeps age-old handwork skills in communities,” she says. “These fabrics aren’t coming out of some big, pristine factory – the setup allows the weavers to earn fair wages in their villages. It’s a way to help keep families together.”
Ballard acknowledges that, for some, the idea of social enterprise fashion has dowdy connotations. “No longer. There’s much more cross-over now with sophisticated design.” Instagram brims with new designers driven by social purpose. “I think it’s down to education from organisations like Fashion Revolution, and more knowledge of supply chains and social justice,” she says. “It’s gone mainstream.”
Williams agrees: “When I graduated from LCF [in 2016] I felt like noone got what I was trying to do. Today people understand me more.”
De Kroon says it’s a collective response to our desire for human connection and clothes with meaning. “If I would ask about the item in your closet you love the most, it always has a great story, right? It’s something almost sacred that you will never throw away.”
“If my work can speak for justice, equality and preserving tradition, that’s fulfilling my purpose”
a need to record feelings, imagery, words and moments in time,” explains Amber Symond of Common Hours, the elegant loungewear-inspired label she launched in 2019 which brings her inner thoughts, diary-like, out into the open through clothing. Although it’s a deeply personal approach, and one that requires Symond to wear the proverbial heart on her sleeve, it’s also a way for the designer to take her memories and invite others to share them. As she reflects: “Why not incorporate all those things into the fabric of this garment that I could wear?”
Symond developed Common Hours for two years, with the madeto-order brand centring around the robe, an item typically relegated to the home. But for Symond, whose appreciation for the garment transcends limited associations with sleep, the robe offers itself as a solution to many sartorial woes. “It’s the one piece that you should always pack, because there’s nowhere that it’s inappropriate to wear,” she says.
Born of gaps in her suitcase she noticed while travelling and a nostalgic affection for the kimono-style peignoirs her mother wore in the 70s, Symond hopes Common Hours will place robes at the fore. “The robe is universally recognisable,” she contends. “It’s flattering, it’s highly feminine, it’s very versatile. You can layer it, you can wear it on its own.” In other words, it’s the ultimate canvas for Symond to execute her vision – one that includes natural French fibres, Peruvian canvas and Italian leather. As she explains: “[Through using these materials], we really can find how it takes on a different mood and shape and another opportunity.”
The result is a weaving together of materials, disciplines and philosophies. “There’s no rhyme or reason,” she admits of her often-random pool of references, adding: “I think it comes from my mood.” For example, a lyric pulled from British rock band Dire Straits is hand-embroidered in India atop a robe printed with a starry night sky, while an excerpt from Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray lines a sheer version made with “fairy feather” silk sourced in Japan.
Every piece is reversible and produced in Australia in limited runs. “It’s meant for people who seek quality, perfection, detail, craftsmanship,” Symond offers. Transparency and traceability are important too, with fabric origins, artists and collaborators disclosed on every garment. And while she is obsessive about construction, Symond leaves styling to the wearer. “It’s a timeless and season-less proposition. Someone may wear it over jeans and a T-shirt, another as a dress for a night out,” she hypothesises. “I’m always struck by the different ways women can wear and style the garment when it becomes their own.”