Where Does It All Go? Why I Choose to Make Clothes That Last.

Today I visited a waste disposal plant. Vats of used cooking oil and steaming piles of shredded garbage, falling continually from the never-ending rotary belt. And my heart broke a little. Waste disposal—undoubtedly necessary—but so vastly overused. It's easy to watch the bins being taken away and think that’s the end of it. That our waste simply disappears. But it doesn’t. It’s sorted, burned, buried, or shipped elsewhere. Out of sight, out of mind.

I found myself wondering: would we consume differently if we had to live beside it? If that steaming, clattering conveyor belt dumped its load right into our gardens?

That question clung to me on the drive home. It reminded me of why I do what I do—why I make clothes slowly, why I design with longevity in mind, and why I resist the pace and waste of fast fashion.

Every year, the fashion industry generates millions of tonnes of textile waste. Cheap fibres, churned out en masse, worn a handful of times before being discarded.

We treat clothing as disposable, yet the environmental cost lingers far beyond our wardrobes.

For me, the answer lies in intentionality.

I choose to sew with natural, biodegradable fibres whenever possible. I mend, I reuse, and I design garments that can weather the years—clothes that tell a story, that are worth caring for. A good piece of clothing, like a well-loved patchwork quilt or an heirloom jumper, holds more than just threads. It holds memory, and meaning.

There’s a kind of quiet rebellion in creating this way—in resisting the pressure to produce endlessly, to follow trends, to keep up. It’s slower, yes. But also more human.

Sustainability isn’t a buzzword to me. It’s a deeply personal act. It’s about leaving less behind. It’s about asking, again and again: “What kind of world do I want to contribute to?”

The truth is, what we wear can be beautiful, functional, and kind to the earth. It just takes a shift in mindset. A slowing down. A willingness to see the whole picture.

So I keep stitching, with the hope that each piece I create is one less thing on the conveyor belt.