Short Fiction. Climate Week Awardee.
My Little Infinity
Sustainable fashion wasn’t a conscious choice to me, but rather an underlying lifestyle.
I was five years old when my brown stuffed Tesco bear caught on a tree and slit his throat, a clean 3 inches down the center of him. I did what any child would: I dragged his lifeless carcass, stuffing and all, up the winding dozen steps to my house and thrust it in front of my mother. She, understanding the graveness of the situation, looked me in the eye and commanded, “Get the kit.” The kit, a Quality Street box filled with not chocolate but needles and threads that, when wielded by medicinal hands like hers, can bring the dead back to life - and so she did. Halfway through the nerve-wracking procedure, she turned the silver needle and brown thread to me.
“I don’t know how to,” I offered back.
She smiled before quipping, “That’s how we all start”.
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And so I started. One stitch turned into ten, turned into making dresses for my dolls out of used wet wipes, to puppets out of old socks, to bags for my friends out of felt pads. It was my mother who taught me how to mend and stitch, but it was my grandmother and her sewing machine I would steal, summer after summer, that taught me how to sew. From t-shirts out of torn pants, corsets out of a collection of zippers, dresses out of old tablecloths, kimonos out of floral mattress fabrics, bodices out of bathroom curtains… within any material, no matter how small and scrapy, dirty or ugly it was, lied endless realm of possibilities on what it could be, I only need give it the opportunity to.
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This methodology was ingrained in me so much so that when I grew up and gained access to fabric stores, an overwhelmingly endless realm of possibilities, I still preferred hand-me-down fabrics and scrapyard scraps. As Hazel Grace Lancaster once quoted, “Some infinities are bigger than other infinities”, and I quite enjoyed my little infinity of possibilities. While the former provided comfort in knowing that anything you can think of, you can assuredly make, and more creative freedom than your average seamstress knows what do with, the latter posed a challenge: what can make with materials nobody else knows what to make with?
This is a challenge I happily take, and it’s taken me far from the comfort of my grandma’s sewing machine. During Minerva, I have hosted several small-scale sustainable sewing workshops, my favorite of which was Valentine's Day’s Sew for Self-Love in The Mix @ SfPL, where we taught each other how to take pre-loved fabrics and infuse them with new love by tailoring them to suit our bodies. From San Francisco’s Noisebridge, where I made a gown out of old curtains, to Seoul’s Upcycling Plaza, where I crafted a dress out of Daiso curtains and a used hanbok, I have had a legacy of making my own Quinqatria dresses, a legacy I intend to uphold all four years, and thanks to Makerspaces like these, I confidently can.
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It was in the Upcycling Plaza where I made my two favorite pieces: a sweetheart-neckline ruched sleeved floral corset top, and a patchwork denim dress, entirely out of recycled fabrics.
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The cost of both pieces together came to a total of around $4.59, marking sustainable fashion not only the most ecologically conscious, but also economically friendly, a double thumbs up to sustainability.
Being able to breathe life back into pieces once thought dead was a skill I learned from my mother and her mother, a skill I intend to use to the maximum extent of my ability. Because of it, my closet is full of thrift-store fits and hand-made pieces from hand-me-downs… and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You can see me hacking away in the corner of any makerspace in every rotation city - on that note, if you’re ever interested in sewing, no matter who you are or what you want to do, hit me up on Telegram @porquenoquiero, I’m always excited to hear from a stranger, or rather, soon-to-be-friend.
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Fig. 5 A sneak-peak at my latest work-in-progress (modeled by Kamilla, M27).
Additionally, I heard that there are a lot of Minerva weddings coming up, and so, seeing as I just enrolled in a wedding-dress making course, I would love to pledge my services by offering 50% off dress making for any Minervan getting married, and 100% off if it’s a Minerva couple getting married! What can I say, I’m a sucker for post-love as much as I am pre-love. Lastly, if you haven’t taken anything away from this article, please take this:
Sustainable fashion wasn’t a conscious choice to me, but it is now, and it can be to you.
I was five years old when my brown stuffed Tesco bear caught on a tree and slit his throat, a clean 3 inches down the center of him. I did what any child would: I dragged his lifeless carcass, stuffing and all, up the winding dozen steps to my house and thrust it in front of my mother. She, understanding the graveness of the situation, looked me in the eye and commanded, “Get the kit.” The kit, a Quality Street box filled with not chocolate but needles and threads that, when wielded by medicinal hands like hers, can bring the dead back to life - and so she did. Halfway through the nerve-wracking procedure, she turned the silver needle and brown thread to me.
“I don’t know how to,” I offered back.
She smiled before quipping, “That’s how we all start”.
Fig 1. Me and my brown stuffed bear from Tesco at age five, pre-slaughter.
And so I started. One stitch turned into ten, turned into making dresses for my dolls out of used wet wipes, to puppets out of old socks, to bags for my friends out of felt pads. It was my mother who taught me how to mend and stitch, but it was my grandmother and her sewing machine I would steal, summer after summer, that taught me how to sew. From t-shirts out of torn pants, corsets out of a collection of zippers, dresses out of old tablecloths, kimonos out of floral mattress fabrics, bodices out of bathroom curtains… within any material, no matter how small and scrapy, dirty or ugly it was, lied endless realm of possibilities on what it could be, I only need give it the opportunity to.
Fig 2. A flashy silver suit made out of table covering, a revamped Libyan traditional dress (photo by Bakr, M27), a corset top made out of old ties (modeled by Rere, M27), and a silk dress (modeled by Aisha, M27).
This methodology was ingrained in me so much so that when I grew up and gained access to fabric stores, an overwhelmingly endless realm of possibilities, I still preferred hand-me-down fabrics and scrapyard scraps. As Hazel Grace Lancaster once quoted, “Some infinities are bigger than other infinities”, and I quite enjoyed my little infinity of possibilities. While the former provided comfort in knowing that anything you can think of, you can assuredly make, and more creative freedom than your average seamstress knows what do with, the latter posed a challenge: what can make with materials nobody else knows what to make with?
This is a challenge I happily take, and it’s taken me far from the comfort of my grandma’s sewing machine. During Minerva, I have hosted several small-scale sustainable sewing workshops, my favorite of which was Valentine's Day’s Sew for Self-Love in The Mix @ SfPL, where we taught each other how to take pre-loved fabrics and infuse them with new love by tailoring them to suit our bodies. From San Francisco’s Noisebridge, where I made a gown out of old curtains, to Seoul’s Upcycling Plaza, where I crafted a dress out of Daiso curtains and a used hanbok, I have had a legacy of making my own Quinqatria dresses, a legacy I intend to uphold all four years, and thanks to Makerspaces like these, I confidently can.
Fig 3. Quinqatria ‘24 (photo by Rim, M27) and Quinqatria ‘25 dress (photo by Youran, M27).
It was in the Upcycling Plaza where I made my two favorite pieces: a sweetheart-neckline ruched sleeved floral corset top, and a patchwork denim dress, entirely out of recycled fabrics.
Fig 4. A ruched-sleeved, sweetheart neckline floral top and a patchwork denim dress (photo by Hectar, M27), and me presenting them at the gallery in Seoul (photo by David, M27).
The cost of both pieces together came to a total of around $4.59, marking sustainable fashion not only the most ecologically conscious, but also economically friendly, a double thumbs up to sustainability.
Being able to breathe life back into pieces once thought dead was a skill I learned from my mother and her mother, a skill I intend to use to the maximum extent of my ability. Because of it, my closet is full of thrift-store fits and hand-made pieces from hand-me-downs… and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You can see me hacking away in the corner of any makerspace in every rotation city - on that note, if you’re ever interested in sewing, no matter who you are or what you want to do, hit me up on Telegram @porquenoquiero, I’m always excited to hear from a stranger, or rather, soon-to-be-friend.
Fig. 5 A sneak-peak at my latest work-in-progress (modeled by Kamilla, M27).
Additionally, I heard that there are a lot of Minerva weddings coming up, and so, seeing as I just enrolled in a wedding-dress making course, I would love to pledge my services by offering 50% off dress making for any Minervan getting married, and 100% off if it’s a Minerva couple getting married! What can I say, I’m a sucker for post-love as much as I am pre-love. Lastly, if you haven’t taken anything away from this article, please take this:
Sustainable fashion wasn’t a conscious choice to me, but it is now, and it can be to you.