The Baksa Project

The Mindful Maximalist: A Maximalist’s Guide to Adopting a Sustainable Approach to Fashion

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Aesthetically speaking, sustainable fashion has a certain air of minimality and sobriety about it. What does it then hold for the lover of offbeat style with a motivation to be mindful and conscious?  

Associations. Our ideas about the world at large revolve around them. What do you associate the colour red with? Love? Danger? How about the word ‘compassion’? Your grandmother? Mother Teresa? Associations help us arrive at quick solutions. Associations help us make safe choices. 

What associations also do, however, is make us closed-minded.

Our minds get conditioned to draw connections based on the learnings and experiences we have along our journey. Often, this very conditioning makes us so accustomed to a set way of thinking, that it becomes hard to imagine another way. That is, until someone tells you different, and you go, “Ah! I wonder why I didn’t think of it that way?” Frans Johansson, in his book titled ‘The Medici Effect’ writes about how “associative barriers” can hinder people’s creativity by making them jump to conclusions too quickly.

It is perhaps these associative barriers that made the ill-informed fashion enthusiast that I was a few years ago associate sustainable fashion only with clothes that are expensive and minimalistic: not meant for someone with an eclectic sensibility (and a tight budget) like me. For me, a die-hard lover of vibrance and variety in my clothes, sustainable fashion seemed like an impossible territory to set foot in, because of the preconceived ideas I had about it. 

The perception that sustainable fashion speaks a subdued visual language is essentially social-media-driven. Search for the hashtag ‘sustainable fashion’ on Instagram, and you will spot common themes – clean frames, earthy tones, elements of nature and a general lack of colour. Although there’s certainly nothing wrong with the basic image that the sustainable fashion space seems to have cultivated, it leaves little room for capturing the interest of someone with an unconventional personal style. 

It is not without reason that the tag of minimalism is attached to sustainable fashion. In an interesting piece on Fashionista.com, journalist Whitney Bauck tells why. By virtue, sustainability stands for spending less and spending mindfully. Those being the driving principles for a majority of sustainable fashion brands, creating conscious pieces that are timeless and functional becomes a prevailing standard to abide by. In other words, for a sustainable brand, to craft a collection doused in the season’s trendiest colours, featuring styles and cuts that are in vogue today but will lose relevance in the seasons to come just isn’t sustainable enough. 

In the article, 18-year-old, ethical fashion blogger, Tolmeia Gregory of Tolly Dolly Posh is also quoted explaining that much of the “fun” materials, such as sequins or vinyl used to embellish and add texture and variation to garments are not sustainable, and, are therefore, off limits for brands trying to produce new clothing, sustainably. 

Today, there are a number of slow fashion labels like Ka Sha (India), IRISHLATINA (USA), Rianna + Nina (Germany) that don’t comply with the domain’s dominant minimal aesthetic and work with post-production, post-consumer, vintage and second-hand fabrics, to create clothing that is refreshingly one-of-a-kind. However, given the fact that for slow fashion labels, there are huge costs and efforts involved at every level of the supply chain, they aren’t always economically accessible to everyone. 

What does a frugal maximalist, willing to make conscious fashion decisions, then do? Here are some tips that the maximalist me swears by to access fun fashion that is as budget-friendly as it is sustainable:

Reusing and Repurposing 

Once I’d decided I wanted and needed to make sustainable fashion choices for myself, I started from the place I knew best: my own home. Coming from a family of hoarders, I knew we’d have years of accumulated  and unused clothes lying around. My biggest aim starting ‘The Baksa Project’ was fuelled by the idea of repurposing and reusing what I already own and through it, experiencing the joy of making. From turning my great-grandma’s sarees into jackets and skirts to transforming my torn denims into hand-embroidered and personal storyboards, not only has reusing and repurposing given what’s old and spoiled, a new life, but has also given me a chance to learn amazing skills and express my personal style and story more beautifully.

Thrifting Second Hand and Vintage Clothing

All my life, I have loved thrift shopping. I was 10 when I had my first thrift shopping experience with my mom, and there’s been no looking back, since.

The joy of mixing and matching, the character that a slightly ragged seam adds to a garment, the entire mystery of how a beautifully hand-embroidered silk skirt finds itself in the neighbourhood thrift store – to me, each one of these elements make the thrift shopping experience joyous. What makes it all the more better is the fact that these clothes are already in circulation, which means that by thrifting, not only are you preventing garments from ending up in landfills, but are also playing your part in reducing pollution resulting due to the production and distribution of new garments.

Clothing Swaps

As a maximalist, I am constantly looking for variety in my wardrobe. A fun and mindful way to achieve that is through clothes swapping: exchanging what you’ve gotten over or grown out of with something interesting that someone else owns and doesn’t need. You could swap clothes with your family, friends, or even organise a clothes swapping event within your circle. There are also a number of platforms that you can use to swap clothes with people living remotely, although I still believe that it is both, more economical as well as sustainable to do the swapping locally.

The closed-mindedness that I had with regards to sustainable fashion was purely because I wasn’t well informed and took it at face-value. As someone who’s recently begun taking more conscious fashion calls, I encourage everyone to constantly ask, read and make oneself more aware. 

If you have any questions about how to stay true to your individual style while being sustainable, or just about anything else, I’d be very glad to help. 

Love,

Karishma

Finders Keepers: In Praise of Being Unconventional and Un-Instaworthy

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If our longing for something is kindled only when someone else sees worth in it, and our choices need constant validation, where is there any room left for individuality?

My relationship with clothes is instinctive — almost emotional. Ever since I was a little girl, clothes have been an integral part of what makes me. Being someone who is slightly reticent, I don’t talk a lot: I let my clothes do the talking for me.

A couple of years ago, during one of my family’s routine Sunday clean-ups, as my mother was sifting through some baksas that had her old sarees, I spotted a florid bottle green fabric tucked somewhere under the pile of 6-yard beauties.“What’s this?”, I asked. “Oh, this. This is a Kashmiri robe that your father used to wear many years ago”, my mother replied.

“I’m keeping it”, I said. And I did.

I have had that slightly ragged robe for three years now, and it has travelled with me everywhere I have gone since. I have worn it on several occasions, and have gotten extreme reactions to it ranging from “Wow, this is fabulous” to “Oh, so you decided to swap personalities with Daler Mehndi today, huh?” All reactions aside, to me, what truly matters is that this piece of garment is one-of-a-kind. It sets me apart and lets me speak a visual language that is my own. It belonged to my dad several years ago and it belongs to me now. That’s precious, at least to me.

Today, the way we view the world and how the world views us has changed. I call it the Age of Instagram, because, really, the influence this photo-sharing platform has had on everything — from our vocabulary to our aesthetic, is mind-boggling. Although I sincerely love it and believe that it’s a remarkable source of inspiration and creative stimulation, I also think that the platform has given rise to a herd mentality. People looking the same, dressing the same, travelling to the same places, curating the same visual stories and saying the same things in the same manner, sometimes often for the sake of Instagrammability.

I won’t lie, I have conformed to the unspoken rules of Instagram expression as well. Umpteen number of times.

An opinion piece by fashion journalist Katherine Ormerod in Harper’s Bazaar presents an interesting perspective on this. Ormerod speaks about the ‘homogenisation of Instagram happiness’ — a set formula for what constitutes a happy and successful life, a life that is likeable (on social media). Ormerod has, on several platforms, shared experiences of when her life was far from perfect, but her Instagram feed needed to be.

Perhaps one of the reasons we tend to stick to formulaic ways of visual communication today, especially on social media, is because conforming is safer (and easier) than standing out. Maybe we fear not being ‘liked’ for our actual self. In this quest to be liked and validated, it’s easy for us to lose sight of who we really are and what makes us different.

One of my favourite fashion figures, Iris Apfel — the 97-year-old “Rare Bird of Fashion” who’s known for her uninhibited and eccentric sense of style, rose to global prominence only in the last decade or so, owing to the burgeoning power of internet technology.
Not a fan of the digital medium herself, however, Apfel attributes people’s addiction to digital tools for their restricted ability to think and to get to know themselves.

Earlier this year, CNN Style posted an article and video featuring Apfel where the luminary talked about the growing lack of individuality in fashion. “The world is becoming so homogenised. It’s very boring. I think difference is what’s so interesting.”, she said.

In the world of fashion, where visuals are key, this growing culture of sameness is hampering creativity at both ends of the spectrum — the consumer as well as the creator. Instagram accounts like Diet Prada are doing excellent work towards documenting and reporting increasingly rampant plagiarism in fashion.

In an interview that I did last year with Geraldine Wharry, a London-based trend forecaster, she complained that a creative block had hit the industry like never before.“I feel there’s a real crisis of creativity in fashion right now. There are often these phrases like ‘future proof’ thrown around and it’s all very anxious. Brands are constantly chasing their consumers and looking at what everyone else is doing. I know this sounds like a bit of a paradox coming from a trend forecaster, but maybe trend forecasting needs to change as well.”, she said.

As an avid (read obsessive) user of Instagram, I understand that the platform can be a huge influence in shaping our ideas, without us even realising it. However, if our ideas are constantly fuelled by what our network is doing, and our network’s by what their network is doing, won’t we all get stuck in a pit of banality? Where will there be any place for authenticity or magic?

On days when I feel stuck in a rut, I find immense pleasure and comfort in opening boxes and drawers in my house and discovering something of my past; my family’s past. It makes me feel closer to myself and my roots. It reminds me of my journey and what makes me unique. It triggers a wonderful creative energy within. This is what my father’s old Kashmiri robe does for me. 

I truly believe each one of you has something that’s as important to you. Something that can make your dreary days, meaningful and special. Something that will show you the way when you feel lost. Find what that is, and keep it close. It’s yours and yours alone.

CONscious Claims: The Truth About How Your Favourite Fashion Brands Are Tricking You

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In recent times, the talk of sustainability and ethical fashion has garnered a lot of media and consumer interest around the world. Numerous fast fashion labels whose fundamental business model goes against the idea of sustainable production, are now making “green” claims to lure responsible consumers, thereby giving impetus to a trend called greenwashing.

“100% organic cotton. Manufactured solely using renewable energy generated from wind and solar power.” — so reads the tag on a T-shirt from the multinational Swedish clothing retailer, H&M’s ‘Conscious Collection’. Launched in the year 2010, H&M Conscious claims to be an initiative to offer “fashion choices that are good for people, the planet and your wallet”. H&M also aims to promote sustainable consumption among its buyers by offering them a discount of 15% for handing in their old clothes that it would later use to recycle. In theory, these measures seem highly noble, but in reality, they are possible greenwashing tactics — making customers believe that the brand is a lot more eco-friendly and socially-responsible than it actually is.

H&M’s sustainability initiatives came increasingly under fire in the year 2016 when the brand initiated the World Recycle Week. An article published in the Guardian criticised H&M for its plans to collect and recycle 1,000 tonnes of unwanted garments – about the same amount of clothes it produces in 48 hours. The piece also noted that the brand would take close to 12 years to utilise the said amount of fashion waste. Further, the fact that H&M offers discounts to its customers for bringing in their old clothing was called out to be a strategy by the brand to drive more purchases.

In September this year, the Clean Clothes Campaign published an upsetting report titled, ‘H&M: fair living wages were promised, poverty wages are the reality’. Back in the year 2013, H&M had published a ‘Roadmap towards a fair living wage in the textile industry’ that aimed to pay 850,000 textile workers a fair living wage by 2018. According to the CCC report, not only is H&M nowhere close to its previously-stated goal, but the brand has also removed the original fair living wages promise from its corporate communication material.

H&M is among the top league of the world biggest fast fashion brands, pitted against the likes of Zara and Forever 21. According to its 2017 annual report, the brand generated upwards of 25 billion USD in global sales. Large-scale production volumes of low-cost clothing consume monstrous amounts of resources and contribute to the environmental footprint considerably. H&M’s efforts in the sustainability direction, therefore, seem highly contradictory to its very being.

While such is the case with H&M: the fast-fashion brand that proudly carries the baton of sustainable and ethical fashion, its other fast fashion brethren are also attempting to tread the green route. In 2016, Zara launched its so-called sustainability line named ‘Join Life Label’. Last year, Mango also climbed on the bandwagon by launching its ‘Committed Collection’. The collection, comprising of 45 pieces (25 for women and 20 for men) claims to be 100% sustainable. It is important to note that Mango, a brand whose DNA is similar to the Zaras and the H&Ms of the world, impacts more than just the environment. The production for these brands, more often than not, happens in countries where the labour is cheap and working conditions highly poor. In 2013, 1134 garment workers died in the collapse of a factory building, Rana Plaza, situated in a suburb outside Dhaka, Bangladesh. Clothes of Mango, along with many other popular fast fashion brands like United Colors of Benetton, Zara, Walmart, C&A, Carrefor, Joe Fresh, etc. were being produced in the sweatshop, but Mango, was amongst the first brands to deny that it had any association with the factory. This is probably because Mango did not place a direct order with the factory but subcontracted it to a supplier. Basically, Mango had no idea where its clothes were being made, let alone being aware of the awful conditions in which the workers were making them.

In 2016, BBC Panorama released a documentary titled Undercover: The Refugees Who Make Our Clothes. The investigation found Syrian refugee children and adults making clothes for popular high street labels like Marks and Spencer, ASOS and Next in Turkish sweatshops. It also reported that in a factory, Syrian refugees were working 12-hour shifts, distressing jeans for Mango and Zara under hazardous working conditions. According to the documentary, the refugees were paid close to a pound an hour — a remuneration well below the Turkish minimum wage standard.

Last year, workers from an outsourced manufacturer for Zara were going into Zara stores in Istanbul and leaving tags reading, “I made this item you are going to buy, but I didn’t get paid for it” inside clothes. The workers were employed at the Bravo Tekstil factory in Istanbul that used to manufacture clothes for Zara, Mango and Next. In 2016, the factory shut overnight and its workers were left without three months of pay as well as severance allowance.

So, when Inditex (Zara’s parent company), mouths powerful sounding statements like, “Inditex has always been fully committed to sustainability and the protection of human rights throughout its value chain”, it’s a little hard to digest.

Forever 21, a favourite amongst fashionable shoppers on a budget, has also been guilty of greenwashing. In 2015, the fast-fashion giant, through a press release, proudly announced that its headquarters in the Lincoln Heights neighbourhood of Los Angeles had the largest single-rooftop solar-power system in Los Angeles County. Mind you, this is the same brand that mass-produces clothing majorly using polyester, in overseas factories that aren’t solar powered. These activities contribute to the carbon footprint to such a large extent, that the brand boasting about its solar-powered center seems no more than a gimmick to make headlines and appear environmentally responsible.

Above are just a few among the many examples of how the fast fashion labels overplay their green endeavours in the hope of assuaging their irresponsible practices. It would be unfair not to acknowledge some of the genuinely good work that some of these brands are aiming to do in this direction, even though their efforts may be an afterthought. But, given the way their business model is built, even the best of their pursuits can create only a mere ripple in the ocean of mess that they have already created.

Today, with our pockets becoming deeper, and clothing, cheaper, mindless purchasing has become a habit for many. Given the rate at which fashion cycles are moving and new styles are making their way into stores, the practice of buying and tossing clothes has become normalised. Remember, the true cost of that Zara dress is far more than what’s mentioned on its label.

As consumers of fashion, for us to be mindful and aware of our buying habits has become a priority now. Unlike popular belief, sustainable fashion doesn’t have to be boring. In fact, it can even help you discover your personal style, better. Here are some tips to help you start:

1. Shop Mindfully – Remember, quality > quantity. Invest in organic fabrics, statement pieces, and stick to a capsule wardrobe. If like me, you are also a lover of variety, shop from vintage or thrift stores.

2. Upcycle and Donate – Instead of trashing garments you’re bored of, upcycle them to create something new. Even better, donate them.

3. Opt for Brands That Maintain Transparency – Brands that are open about the origin of their garments, their production practices, the labour they employ and their wage practices are the ones you should consider shopping from. A good way to gauge the sustainability commitment of a label is to check its rankings on platforms like the Good On You app and Rank a brand. These platforms provide fairly accurate performance measures for brands based on a wide range of sustainability factors. 

The Baksa Project: To Rediscovering the Magic of My Past Hidden in Boxes

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It is the winter of 1999. My dad, a lieutenant colonel in the Indian Army, is newly posted to one of the wettest parts of the country – a charming and lush little town called Missamari in Assam. The 9-year-old me is thrilled. Moving to a new place comes with its fair share of surprises – new friends, a new school, and an entirely new habitat to explore. By now, having already been through the drill of changing towns and schools a couple of times, all of this still does excite me, sure, but what I am far more enthusiastic about is something rather unlikely to catch a kid’s fancy – the process of unpacking baksas – aluminium storage trunks that those with an Army upbringing have grown up seeing in plenty.

These baksas contain a lot of history – essentials, handpicked collectibles from each of the towns that my family has travelled to over the years, hand-me-downs from my parents’ parents, and some “please-throw-the-damn-thing-away”s (as my dad would put it) that my hoarder mom hasn’t had the heart to part with. It’s these throwaways that I am interested in. You see, to me, they aren’t useless. They’re treasure! What myriad possibilities could a slightly broken jute fruit basket offer? It could be a bed for my Barbie dolls, a storage basket for my kitchen set, or a boat that I could line up with Taro leaves and set afloat in the torrential rains of Missamari. It could be just anything in my magical world, only with a little bit of tweaking.

This memory is a part of my childhood that still remains very special to me. Going over drawers and boxes all around the house in the hope of chancing upon some kind of treasure that perhaps was treasure in my eyes alone…

Fast-forward fifteen years, the working 24-year-old me has metamorphosed into a quintessential fast-fashion-loving, city-residing girl whose superpowers include being able to smell a sale from miles afar and interests include buying things just for the sake of buying them. I hoard and hoard until it becomes a problem. My Twitter handle is ‘Shopaholic_Me’ (makes me cringe hard now), for God’s sake! I own shoes that I cannot dare to walk in and clothes that I will, at best, wear twice, and never look at again. My mom thinks it’s a lack of self-control, but I blame my genes. When asked why I shop for things I don’t need, my answer is simple and standard – “It’s for the sake of art. I love fashion, and this is me investing in my art.”

At age 26, I decide to join fashion school for my postgraduate studies after three and a half years of working across jobs I am really not into. Fashion being a space I have always loved and been fascinated by, I reckon this to be a decision both logically and creatively sound.

Two years of being schooled in fashion gives me a whole new perspective on a multitude of facets that make the industry. I begin to appreciate the creative process more than the outcome itself, garner newfound respect for those who work relentlessly towards breaking stereotypes in an inward-looking industry, learn that there’s so much abuse and exploitation that the workers toiling in sweatshops have to go through to mass produce clothing sold under labels of the world’s biggest fast fashion giants. It is truly eye-opening and necessarily so.

In today’s appearance-driven world where there’s so much madness of materialism, it is easy to get caught into the web of buying more and more, regardless of whether or not there is a need for it. I am guilty of it, and I can say with conviction that must be many others like me. Today, the barrage of Instagram influencers sharing posts about their impeccably put-together #OOTDs may compel you to go on a mindless shopping spree, but it is really important to think about the repercussions of the same. Somebody has to pay the price of making low-cost (fast) fashion available to you and, more often than not, that somebody is already struggling to make ends meet. To add to that are the environmental concerns of water pollution, toxic chemical use, and textile waste that the fashion industry is hugely responsible for. Fashion is among the world’s top ten highest polluting industries! 

This awareness, coupled with my longing to reconnect with my past are the driving forces behind the conception of The Baksa Project.

The Baksa Project is a personal project where my aim is to repurpose what I already own; what my mother and my grandmother have owned for decades. Rummage through extraordinary pieces of fabrics and scraps that have been lying away in boxes for years – not being used, not being given away for sentimental reasons, and work with them to create something new and unique, while trying to minimise waste as much as possible by reusing what’s left of the materials in the process. It is to rekindle the joy of creating. To not let myself drown in the sea of sameness that exists today, and cultivate a style that is my own. To be conscious of the history of my clothes: what they mean and where they come from, and to tell the stories associated with them. Lastly and most importantly, it is to make a mindful effort to break ties with fast fashion.

So this is me – a former fast-fashion-loving girl trying to embrace a more meaningful and sustainable approach to my art. With that, I have decided to give up fast fashion for good and work towards personalising what I wear by (re)using what I have.

I welcome you all to join me on my journey. 🙂

Love,

Karishma