On pausing for thought

I was shocked. I happened across the news on TV recently, something I generally tend to avoid, mostly because it seems to me that they scour the world in search of death and disaster, which they then serve up with relish over and over and over again. Really, you’d think that nothing good ever happens, to anyone, anywhere. On this particular day, ITV News was leading with a piece by reporter Chris Choi on textile recycling. I was shocked by the sheer volume of discarded material, much of dubious quality, some not even washed before being recycled, which ends up polluting the beautiful sandy beaches of countries like Ghana.

I’m all for recycling. I’m an avid recycler myself. It does a lot of good, both environmentally and economically. I just hadn’t quite comprehended the sheer scale of it. According to the programme, our 70% recycling rate for clothes here in the UK is one of the best in the world. However, we consume more textiles than any other country in Europe: 26.7 kg per capita in the UK versus 16.7 kg in Germany, 16 kg in Denmark, and 12.6 kg in Sweden. And unfortunately the quality, even of the clean stuff, being “recycled” for sale in countries like Ghana is declining, even as the volume being sent is increasing, hence the mounds of unsaleable clothes mouldering in the sunshine. I can’t help but think that our penchant for fast fashion is a large part of this problem.

I’ve never been a fan of fast fashion. I could never understand how clothes could be made and sold so cheaply. It always seemed to me unavoidable that someone, somewhere, would bear the cost. I also wondered how this would affect our perception of value. It’s so easy to chuck away something that cost just a few quid and buy a new one, which is most likely almost exactly the same as the one just consigned to the bin and on its way to moulder in Ghana.

I was dismayed when it seemed interiors might follow where fashion leads, as it has with the production of seasonal collections each year. Even I, an avowed interior design nut, don’t update my home each year or indeed every 5 years, never mind each season. It seems to me so wasteful to print reams of fabric several times a year in the hope of selling it. This is why I decided not to produce seasonal collections and to print on demand. After all, if you are going to love and live with a fabric or a cushion for 20 years or so, then waiting a few weeks to receive it is not so bad, is it? Linen only gets better with age… you know, like wine and women.

So although generally averse to resolutions, I have resolved to create the habit of Slow Shopping. When my finger hovers over the pay now button, I stop, put the tablet or phone down, walk away, and ask myself these questions. Do I truly love it? Would I be happy to wait for it? Is it well made by folks who share my values? Will it last? Do I really need it? Have I got something similar already? Am I likely to return it? If the answer to the first 5 questions is yes and the last 2 no, then I just might buy it.

But if I don’t, I trust that retailers will honour my decision not to buy and ask that they refrain from chasing me around the Internet offering me discounts, as happened to me recently. Would this same retailer chase me down the road, shouting that they’ll give me 20% off if I had spent some time wandering around their shop but had left without purchasing? I think not. Much as I love a discount, the whole experience was rather too Big Brother-ish for comfort. Lest we forget, window shopping is one of life’s great pleasures. Let not the Internet take that from us.

Perhaps by the simple act of slowing down and thinking before we reflexively hit the pay now button, we may in fact buy ourselves more time to reverse some of the harm we have caused. Or at least not add to it. Isn’t that worth pausing for thought?