Conscious state of being
A shift in attitudes has amplified our awareness of social issues, community and the environment, and is ultimately bringing us back down to earth. By Noelle Faulkner Photographed by Adam Gibson
Almost a year to the day this issue went on sale, the worst of the Black Summer bushfires were extinguished and Australia breathed a sigh of relief. That summer was unforgettable in many ways but one part that will forever stick in our minds was the outpouring of support. We didn’t know then what was to come — that a global pandemic would further strengthen our connection to home — but by the time Covid-19 arrived, Australia’s sense of social duty had already been altered for the better.
In recent years, ‘conscious consumerism’ has become the buzzy phrase de jour. As the idea that every purchase we make has moral value, it’s helped inform us of our impact, choices and spend. The movement itself has twisted and turned as brands have vied for attention, particularly as the zeitgeist prompted us all to be activists in our lunch hour. The good side of the coin has seen the rise of social enterprise, personal activism and mass accountability. The bad? Greenwashing, corporate virtue signalling and dubious marketing speak. Regardless, consumers are digging deeper for integrity, and the pressure for brands, creatives, governments and everything in between to do the right thing is at fever pitch.
But then something else happened along the way. Being unable to travel abroad, Australians began seeking wonder in their own backyard. And it seems as our global consciousness has expanded, so too has our yearning for connection. Suddenly, we’ve found ourselves asking, in all areas of our lives: “What can I do?” Conscious consumerism has morphed. It’s no longer just about moral worth, but also significance, longevity and community. ››
‹‹ “When you have something made locally, you shake the hand of the maker,” says Melbourne-based architect, furniture designer and craftsman Adam Markowitz. “It’s not just about this consumerist idea of ‘needing the look’ that we see on Instagram; it’s a relationship. You can see the maker’s hand in the work and the design. The value of that object is not the object alone.” Working primarily with timber, Markowitz’s craft is inherently sustainable — not just in a material sense but also in its footprint and community knock-on effect. “What people might not think about is that as a local maker, I’m also in their community,” he says. “I’m supporting the same businesses as them; I’m going to the same cafés, I use local timber merchants, a local engineering company for my lights and a local brass merchant. So when you buy something from someone like me, you’re also supporting this network of other small-scale businesses.” And what you get in return is accountability: “If anything goes wrong, I’m just down the road.”
The challenge in cultivating any mindfulness practice — and that’s what this is — is avoiding the pitfalls of distraction: the notifications, the news, the spin, the shiny new thing in your periphery promising a cure-all. “There’s always a new technology and a new material,” says Chris Haddad, a director at Archier, a Melbourne design firm that works predominantly in the architectural space. “These innovations do push the envelope further but sometimes can be seen as a silver bullet.” Particularly when talking about the environmental impact of our homes, sustainability can be overthought. “There are fundamental design and construction ideas and passive design principles that are more inherently sustainable than the latest fad,” he says of the principals that have been used for decades. This includes orientation that takes advantage of natural resources, using materials like wood and concrete, building only what you need, and at the heart of it all, an efficient floor plan. “Look at the mid-century modern plans of the 1950s and ’60s. These houses had to fit families using a very small footprint, with many constrictions,” he says. “They are some of the best and most efficient floor plans in residential architecture today. Sadly, in the following decades, the McMansion came in, telling us ‘bigger is better’.” Haddad points out that the industry itself is excited by change. “There are a lot of architects and builders that want to do more sustainable builds and work on projects they’re proud of.”
“We know fast fashion is wrong — it’s the same thing with furniture,” says Anne-Claire Petre, furniture designer and owner of Anaca Studio, who has noted a recent uptick in awareness of local brands, particularly those in the ethical design space. Unfortunately, a by-product of hyper-consumption has also been the rise in replica and mass brands ripping-off small designers like Petre. “It’s heartbreaking when it happens,” she says. “It’s difficult for consumers to know, so you can’t blame them. But then, some people just want something cheap; they don’t see the value of the designer or what goes into making something.”
Petre says the culture of cheap, disposable thrills is slowly changing but for Australian design to thrive, consumers need to understand how their choices can support local industry. “We have a lot of work ahead to undo the over-consumerism that has been drummed into our heads for decades,” she says. “I think Vivienne Westwood sums it up perfectly: ‘Buy less, choose well, make it last’ . It really is the new standard for sustainability.”
“There are fundamental design and construction ideas and passive design principles that are more inherently sustainable than the latest fad”