Explaining hyper-local fabric originsfrom @sakata.ken

Transcript

It is impossible to know where fabric is made from, and that is by design. Global supply chains have to make sure that cotton can be grown anywhere and be spun anywhere rank then woven into fabric anywhere. That way there are multiple options for every step of the chain. That is very efficient, but that's not very interesting. But what's really interesting is when you can tell exactly where something is made from just by looking at it. And I'm talking about hyperlocal fabric. We'll start talking about washi in Japan. Washi is paper. It is handmade paper from the bark of the mulberry tier, and this paper is industrial strength. It is used in doors, in windows. They began cutting up this paper into these very long narrow strips, and when you twist them better, it forms a yarn. Because it is essentially a plant fiber, it has a lot of things in common with things like linen. It absorbs moisture. It resists odor. And because it's a stronger fiber, it has a lot of commonalities with synthetics like polyester. It can give clothes a skeleton or a structure. But unlike a synthetic, it is a natural fiber, so it can break down. It can decompose when it's discarded. We blend cotton and washi together to make our custom denim. That gives it a lot of structure, but it keeps the entire construct quite light, soft and breathable. But washi is not industrially scalable. Its production is dependent on a very specific paper making technique. Harris Tweed is a woollen cloth made completely in the Better Hebrides and Harris Tweed is actually protected by law, the Harris Tweed Act of 1993. It has to be handwoven by the islanders at their homes in the Better Hebrides. It has to be finished in the islands, and it has to be made from pure virgin wool. So the breed of the local sheep, the mineral rich dyes that are available there, and the damp climate all contribute to what the fabric is. Very dense, very weather resistant, and slightly oily to touch, which is from the lanolin, the sheep's natural oils. The introduction of machines could make it cheaper, could make it faster. Harris tweed is unique precisely because it hasn't been modernized. Our next fabric brings us to India. Khadi is hand spun, handwoven fabric. It's made across India with different regional variations, but it's all irregular. No that inconsistency is part of its appeal, and that's because it is handwoven. The irregularity reflects the motion of human hands, and that gives it a material character, but it also is very important politically. During colonization, Britain's industrial mills relied on the raw cotton from India that was exported to The UK. It was then spun and woven in Britain and then sold back to India at a profit. And this destroyed India's centuries old handloom culture. So Khadi, in particular, gained a lot of importance during the independence movement. Mahatma Gandhi promoted it as a symbol of self reliance and a rejection of British industrial fabric. Today, Khadi is regulated by the Khadi and Village Industries Commission. But despite this government support, the situation isn't definitively solved. Industrial machines still exist in India, and Khadi still has to compete with this faster, more efficient production. And its survival still depends on a small population of people around the world that see its value. But really, globalization, industrial consolidation have done really extraordinary things. They make clothing affordable, consistent, and available to billions of people. But every advantage has a worst. And when cost efficiency becomes the only metric in which we view clothes, anything slow and anything hyperlocal local will disappear, and that's things like washi, Harris Tweed, Khadi, interesting raw material, interesting technique, and interesting people who make them. And it's no surprise that's what you will lose when you optimize for efficiency instead of meaning and beauty.