Are you the kind to check out clothing labels to find out where your clothes are manufactured? Would you wonder who made your shirt, and what kind of life he/she might lead? Would you even consider to call up the manufacturer’s office, so that you can arrange for a trip to meet the people that made your shirt?
Well, Kelsey Timmerman did all of the above.
His T-shirt was made in Honduras, jeans in Cambodia, underwear in Bangladesh and flipflops in China.
He even spent upclose sessions with workers from Cambodia, China and Bangladesh to have first-hand experience of how they lead their lives. Though he writes in a conversational narrative style, his accounts have brought to light certain issues of apparel manufacturing economics and humanitarian situations.
Read his blog at http://whereamiwearing.com .
A new directive for GANT fall 2o1o. The touch of this notable designer will definitely bring the collection to a new level. Too bad Singapore is not gonna enjoy any part of this 50-piece line.
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The A to Zs of Fashion Victims, from Auctions, Bimbo, Catwalk, to Editor, to Journalist, to Logos, Model, Photographer…..and more… all of them described in poetry.
Here’s my favourite, D for Designer, from the book Fashion Victims by Michael Roberts:
At six years old I dressed a doll in ribbons, lace, and flowers
My father said he wished me dead and made me take cold showers.
At twelve I took my mother off to buy the spring collections
Oh, what a waste of style and taste – she hated my selections.
At twenty-one, with childhood done, I studied hard at fashion
I sewed quite well, but truth to tell, fame was my guiding passion.
I learned to pose in outre clothes and clubbed till early morning
I slept in class, they kicked my ass – and threw me out for yawning.
I changed my name at twenty-five, became a good assistant
I worked all night, was bright, polite, and never too persistent.
I so disarmed with boyish charm, my hair as soft as sable
A hedge honcho came along and offered me a label!
At thirty-five, I felt alive, no one could stop me rising
They said my clothes were “quelque chose,” “amusing”, “smart”, “surprising.”
At forty-nine, my second line was priced at several billion
I lived in castles on the Rhine, my drug bills came to millions.
I wore a wig and Quaker shoes-my own unique aesthetic-
And never hear my workers say, “He’s looking quite pathetic.”
At sixty-one (which I’ll remain for the longest time),
I fear the days are running out, but onward still I climb.
I diet, train, have sex again – I’ve scored some hunky catches.
But when I go, I’ll go alone, with doll’s and daddy’s ashes.
Extracted from What Am I Wearing? A Global Tour to the Countries, Factories, and People that Make Our Clothes, by Kelsey Timmerman:
According to Witold Rybczynski, author of Waiting for the Weekend (New York, 1991), the American two-day weekend has its roots in the textile industry. In 1908, a spinning factory in New England adopted a two-day weekend to accomodate the Jewish Sabbath, Saturday, to accompany the Christian Sabbath, Sunday, which had been observed for some time. Henry Ford took up the cause from there. Ford thought that the additional day off would increase consumer spending, and, specifically, increase automobile travel. Weekend road trips were good for business.