Green isn't just a color or shorthand for "sustainable" -- now it's a trend. Katherine Gorman looks at how the prospect of a warmer world is bringing reality into the closet.
As our world heats up there are many things to fear -- the melting of the polar ice caps, the disintegration of the ozone layer, the possibility that Venice may one day be no more, et cetera, et cetera. One seldom considers the implications of global warming for the wardrobe -- the wardrobes of climately confused collegiates everywhere. What is a girl supposed to do when she buys a ridiculously expensive, deliciously soft cashmere sweater only to discover that wearing said sweater is paramount to a death-by-sweating wish? Will we one day be required to trade in the current season's long sleeved tops for skanky tanks?
When I think back and mark the weather over the course of my life, the findings are chilling (pun intended). Since I was a young lass of six years, my family has been vacationing the same week of the same month every summer at a resort in northern New Hampshire, twenty minutes from the border. When my mother put long jeans and sweatshirts in my suitcases, I protested. Who wants to wear sweatshirts in July (or ever, for that matter)? But as the years went on (and I had learned to pack my own suitcase) the warmer clothes remained necessary in a hotel where it was potentially very cold during the day and most certainly very cold at night (we sometimes even put the heat on). Over my relatively short life history, the temperature at this resort has drastically changed. I still pack pants and long-sleeved shirts out of habit, but they remain in the bottom of my suitcase unneeded and unworn. The management installed air conditioning for the first time this past fall.
And I'm not the only one to feel the effect of global warming on humanity's clothing choices. White jeans are no longer confined to the period between Memorial and Labor Day. Shorts were all the rage in this year's winter collections. Much to my contentment, the mini-skirt is perpetually seasonal, and Dartmouth students even wear sandals in the winter.
This is a serious problem for the fashion industry, which has long thrived on a paradigm of distinct seasonal change where every three months an entire collection becomes "out of season," prompting an influx of new clothing styles and a whole new flurry of consumer spending. These days, fashion houses are taking the loss of seasonal distinction in stride and hiring "seasonal consultants" to strategize about new ways to push new collections other than relying on traditional seasonal conceptions.
"Going green" is all the rage in Hollywood. Celebrities everywhere are trading in their Benzes for hybrid Lexuses, spending three times more money on organic food, and Natalie Portman has even gone so far as to create her own "vegan shoe line." Unfortunately, saving the world one purchase at a time is not for those with a slim budget, with a pair of soy underwear going for $24 at Macy's. Barney's advertised a $1,000 Goyard canvas bag in their "Have a Green Holiday" campaign. These prices are luxuries that only the truly rich can afford, hardly a stepping stone towards enacting wide-spread behavioral changes. Not to mention the fact that "organic" clothing has less longevity, leading to more purchases and ultimately, more fossil fuel expenditure. As Daisy Jones '10, who is very concerned about global climate issues, explained to me, "when you sit down and think about it, the only real answer is to consume less. The less you consume, the less you produce, the less you waste and the less energy you use. Everything you buy uses fossil fuels, especially if you buy something that has to travel to you." If the answer to the crisis is less consumption, I suppose the question is, can we actually consume less? Is it possible to escape the trappings of materialism in favor of saving Mother Earth?
Frankly, I am an avid consumer for whom it would be very difficult to do just that. I will always love animal fur and beautiful leather boots. Increasingly, however, the question becomes whether or not it will soon become too warm to wear them at all, PETA be damned. At the risk of sounding overly optimistic, I believe that small sacrifices here and there made on a large scale could lead to big change. One question remains: does wearing my freshman-year boyfriend's sweatshirt (the one he doesn't even know that I stole) count as recycling? I sure hope so!
