Polyester as an Eco-Friendly Fiber

I've been posting less about green fashion, but it's still on my radar. There are many creative people out there in the fashion world looking for ways to make our clothing habits more environmentally friendly. This article on Ecouterre makes a good point: much-aligned polyester has potential for ethical fashion, despite its use of non-renewable resources. It is easier to recycle than other fibers, and its upkeep requires less water and energy. Best of all, the author hits the mark with her question:

Can one often-worn and well-loved polyester garment be good for the environment?

My answer is yes, because my own clothing philosophy is based on a flexible, high mileage wardrobe. My well-made, high quality black polyester trousers have survived five years of weekly use (daily use when I attend conferences). $50 on sale, dry cleaned two or three times a year. It's about time to start shopping for a replacement pair, and I am still thinking polyester.

Lentil and sausage soup

One of the contradictions of my pursuit of minimalist living is that I aim to simplify my consumption of things I actually love to consume. Project 333 is more delicious if I try to make every single one of the 33 items in my wardrobe something I love and could wear EVERY SINGLE DAY, if I had to. Likewise, I love cooking, but most of my adult life has been devoted to discovering ways to maximize my enjoyment of kitchen time and produce great leftovers. The result is a seasonal approach to ingredients combined with what I call "investment" cooking: cooking a large batches of food that can make several encore appearances.

Winter is my time for chili, soups, stews and roasts. Having a large pot of soup simmering on the stove, or a savory roast in the oven on Sunday, warms and perfumes the house with promises of quick meals in the busy week to come. This week's soup is a recipe I clipped about 35 years ago from a now-defunct magazine, Attenzione.

Lentil Soup

2 cups lentils
1 lb. Italian sausage, browned (I prefer sweet, but if you like a really spicy soup, you can use 1/2 sweet, 1/2 hot)
8 cups water
2 cups chicken broth
8 oz. thinly sliced pepperoni
1 cup chopped onion
1 16-oz. can of tomatoes
2 1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp oregano
1/4 tsp sage
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper

Combine all the ingredients above in a 6-quart pot, bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer 30 minutes, stirring now and then.

Add:
2 medium carrots, sliced
2 stalks celery, diced

Simmer 40 minutes more.

We'll be eating this all week, and I don't care. In fact, I'll be sorry when it's all gone.

If you love the idea of minimalist cooking, I recommend Mark Bittman's "The Minimalist" column in the New York Times and the brand-spanking-new blog Simplifried, Unclutterer's baby sister devoted to "ending mealtime stress".

My take on Project 333 (minimalist clothing)

Minimalist fashion has fascinated me for most of my adult life, so the idea behind Project 333 -- committing to a 33-piece wardrobe for 3 months was instantly appealing. I made my list and set off to live minimally only to discover I ALREADY AM. The first clue should have been that I had trouble coming up with 33 items; all I had to do was move one pair of jeans and a couple of long-sleeved tees to the bottom drawer, and I was good to go. Instead, I've used the experience as a chance to reflect on the preconditions for minimalism.

1) My existing wardrobe is already designed to be flexible. I buy very few patterned items, choose solid colors that go together, and reply on accessories to jazz up my outfits. Yay, earrings. Boo, having to count them on the list.

2) The project rules exclude underwear from the list of 33 items, which happens to coincide with my own personal philosophy that life is too short for boring undies.

3) The biggest challenge was their choice of dates (October 1- December 31), which in the Washington D.C. area can run the gamut from low 80s to 8" of snow. My "winter" season, (wardrobally speaking) runs from Hallowe'en to St. Patrick's Day.

I would quibble with some of their rules: a bracelet counts, but wedding rings don't? Please! Until we have full marriage equality, I would argue that participants could be allowed one exempt item of jewelry, to accommodate anything worn on a regular basis for symbolic or sentimental reasons. Also, in my world, a purse is not a wardrobe item, it's strictly practical. (Why is purse on the list, and not wallet?) I carry a largish tote to work (papers, books, wallet, lunch) and a smaller bag (wallet, phone, notebook) all other times. If I switched to a shopping bag for everything, would it count or not? Ditto sunglasses. My little clip-on sunglasses are not a fashion item (as my son assures me); I wear them because the light hurts my eyes.

If you like the idea of Project 333, you'll probably enjoy the other posts on the Be More with Less website. Lots of tasty food for thought.

Project 333

I take time from my Pink and Blue writing project (going well, thanks, but but still gobbling my life) to point interested readers to Project 333, an interesting experiment in minimalist fashion. The challenge is living for 3 months with a 33-item wardrobe. I am going to give it a try, and do a few updates here as well. If you are a Facebook user, you can join their page and interact with others.

Finally! A $14,500 purse worth every penny

Suddenly, it dawned on me, after decades of minimalist fashion and frugal living. I've been saving myself for something really, really wonderful. After all, isn't the key to fabulous minimalism having a few "wow" pieces to contrast with the steady background of neutral basics? My morning Google break brought me to The Purse Blog, and I immediately got a Chris Matthews-esque tingle up my leg. Picture this bag with jeans and a black turtleneck. Or jeans and a white turtleneck. Of course, my frugality alarm went off at the price tag: $14,500! But then I realized I had probably saved that much on clothing in my lifetime, and the Proenza Schouler PS1 Crocodile Satchel was the reason. So I did it; it's on its way as I type these words: april fool.

color and the minimalist wardrobe

Coco Chanel knew the secret to elegant minimalism; so did Diana Vreeland, the famed editor and one of Chanel's best customers. The little black dress, black turtlenecks, black pencil skirts and well-cut black pants are all wardrobe staples that form the basis for hundreds of different ensembles. Not everyone can wear black. It's not just a matter of complexion; I have owned as many as three beagles at once, turning black into "black with a coating of short white hair". But the central truth is: pick a flattering neutral that is immune to fashion's whims. Black, gray, white, khaki, navy,brown. Acquire basic, season-spanning, well-made pieces in your chosen neutral. When an item wears out, replace it.

Then the fun begins. For the rest of your wardrobe, rely on colors that work together and with your own skin and hair color. There was a very big deal made of this back in the 80s, and there are still books, websites and professional consultants to help you out (see "Color Me Beautiful"). You need to work with current trends -- perhaps you've noticed it's easier to buy pink than red lately. Wear Palettes provides sample combinations from current fashion outfits; colr.org lets you create your own from flickr images or a photo you upload. (Also a cool way to create a color palette for a craft project.)

Don't go crazy; the more each individual piece works together, the larger the number of outfits you can create. I've used this approach for decades for my "conference" wardrobe: black (but not necessarily matching) pants, skirt and jacket with one top per day in red and/or white. Accessories provide additional color and texture, and dress the outift up or down. (If the beagle ever came with me, I'd have to re-think this.)

Thanks to Marybeth for the Wear Palettes and colr.org links!

Black Belt Minimal Fashion: the Suitcase Wardrobe

I am currently on a research/writing trip which has taken me from my home near Washington, D.C. to Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania, Bedford Hills and Rochester New York and eventually to my brother's home near North Bay, Ontario. Today I leave for Indianapolis, by way of Chicago. Most of the travel has been done by train, and I will have had convenient (i.e., free) access to laundry facilities twice along the way. It's an interesting way to explore minimalist fashion, and it's time to report on the experience so far.

1) Minimalist fashion is climate-dependent. What is considered "minimal" in southern California would be inadequate in North Bay in January.

2) Minimalist fashion is activity-dependent. I have been indoors and sedentary most of the time, and have managed to avoid anything resembling formal events.

3) Context (climate and activity) aside, a successful minimal wardrobe provides comfort, utility and satisfaction. This means pieces that layer, serve multiple uses and meet the wearer's need for tactile and aesthetic satisfaction. Pockets, too!

4) It is possible to wear many items more than one day without being noticed, especially when traveling.

My suitcase wardrobe for this trip (26 days) consisted of three pairs of pants (1 jeans, 2 corduroys), 7 tops (ranging from a tissue-weight T-shirt to a pair of fleece pullovers), 7 days' worth of socks and undies, flannel pajama bottoms, a set of silk long underwear, a lightweight robe, two pair of shoes and pair of slipper socks. I also have a warm coat, hat, scarf, mittens and boots -- it was in the mid -20s today in North Bay. I could probably have eliminated one pair of corduroys, the robe and one pair of shoes, but that wouldn't have saved my enough room to be able to use the next smallest suitcase. I also wish my tops were more varied in color or texture; this fashion minimalist likes some aesthetic stimulation! But I did bring along a selection of my favorite earrings just to jazz things up. My favorite travel item so far has been the silk underwear (turtleneck and leggings) -- they are the best way to address the temperature difference between Rochester, NY and North Bay, ON without adding bulk to your body or weight to your luggage.

More on Minimalist Wardrobes

A couple of weeks ago I spoke to a class at the University of Maryland and happened to mention my ideal "index card" wardrobe from 1970, and a student asked how many pieces are in my wardrobe today. That was a tough question to answer, because for me it's never been about garment count, it's been about storage space. In college, my entire wardrobe needed to fit in my mother's old trunk and a single suitcase, which held everything on the semi-annual shifts between home and campus. When I travel, everything needs to go in my medium-sized rolling bag (it meets the standards for carry-on baggage). And my current wardrobe fits in the allocated space in my circa-1950 house. (I say the "allocated space" because we actually have ample closets in other rooms and a large semi-finished basement which would hold more clothes if I were so inclined.)

So I came home and measured.

My total hanging wardrobe (warm and cold weather clothing, including coats and jackets) occupies about 6 feet of space, most of it in my bedroom closet.

My folded clothing for the current season is in a chest with three large drawers and four small ones. My out-of-season clothing is kept in three large drawers in the basement (in one of several units acquired from a department store that was remodeling its cosmetics department).

I own 24 pairs of shoes, of which half are usually in active rotation according to the season. I used to skimp on the number of shoes, but then I realized that (1) wearing the same shoes day in and day out just wears them out faster (2) accessories are key to a successful minimalist wardrobe and (3) I am so picky about shoes that when I find a style I like and can afford, I should buy it.

For as long as I can remember, I've had a practice of discarding something whenever I buy something new. It's not always a 1:1 trade, but more of an acknowledgment that space is limited. Environmentalism was only a partial motivation; the other (very important) factor is that I find clutter distracting and enervating. For readers who aspire to train their partners or children, I must add that 40 years of cohabitation have not altered my husband's pack rat tendencies, although there are signs of hope for the next generation.

My Ethical Roots, continued

Back in January, I began telling the story of how I became a conscious consumer. My thoughts have been turning more recently to the first Earth Day and my life as an impoverished student. That's no hyperbole; between 1967 and 1971, I worked part-time during the school year and full-time in the summer to meet the expenses not covered by my full-tuition scholarship to Syracuse. In 1967, it was possible to work ten hours a week at a minimum wage job during the school year (full time in the summer) and pay my own room, board, books and have a tiny bit left over for everything else. That meant a minuscule clothing budget; I vividly remember all three items I purchased my freshman year (a winter coat for $20, suede boots for $10 and a pair of sandals for $3). Luckliy, I knew how to sew, skirts were getting shorter and the hippie aesthetic was sweeping college campuses, which meant I could refashion my high school clothes into minis and wear my brother's cast-offs.

Becoming an apparel design major my sophomore year was a shrewd, frugal move. Instead of buying text books, I bought fabrics for class projects, and at the end of the semester when everyone else was getting twenty cents on the dollar for used books, I had new clothes. Far from feeling restricted, I found that my financial limits spurred my creativity. Then came Earth Day, and my mother's mantra "waste not, want now" took on new meaning. Where many of my peers saw deprivation, I saw possibility.

Enter the index card wardrobe. During the summer of 1970, between customers at my waitressing job, I would scribble lists and sketches on 3X5 index cards, pursuing my own personal Holy Grail -- the perfect minimalist wardrobe for the future. From memory, here is the smallest one I ever envisioned:

1 pair jeans
1 long skirt (preferably made from an old pair of jeans)
1 short skirt
1 blue chambray work shirt
1 black turtleneck shirt
1 long-sleeved leotard in a color other than black
1 white turtleneck sweater
2 short-sleeved tops (peasant blouses or button-front shirts)
2 sleeveless tops (preferably halters made from old clothes)
1 vest
1 jacket (plain, blazer-style)
1 winter coat
1 pair sandals
1 pair boots
1 pair loafers or moccasins
1 pair heels
1 nightgown
undies and socks sufficient to take me from one laundry day to the other (usually 7 days)

The idea, of course, was that each item would be either so neutral as to be "invisible" (the black turtleneck, the blazer) or individualized so as to be a work of art (the work shirt and jeans, which would be embellished with embroidery and patchwork as they aged).

That wardrobe never entirely materialized, of course. I would have had to actually get rid of things to achieve it, and wearing the same jeans every day in the summer turned out to be a Very Bad Idea.

It appears I am not alone: others have played with the minimalist wardrobe concept:

Minimalist Wardrobe - November Vogue
the 35-piece wardrobe
Basic wardrobe (woman's) -- there's also a description of the same for a man

(The last two are from the very, very excellent Unclutterer.com.)