Making Slow Fashion in Berlin — What It Really Looks Like
There is something magical about creating garments, seeing something come together from fabric. Something so two dimensional, cut and sewn to become a wearable garment. Finding the right placement for the pattern pieces, ensuring the fabric is showcased correctly. The satisfying snip of scissors, the hum of the machine joining the pieces together. A therapeutic process, not rushed.
According to McKinsey and the Ellen MacArthur Foundation, the global fashion industry produces over 100 billion garments every year — equivalent to 12.5 pieces of clothing for every person on the planet. Starting my own label was never to compete with the giants, the ones that make hundreds of thousands of units. I love the process of creating, making something with my hands and seeing it develop into a garment. I look at things differently, I see textiles as a gateway to the past. When I source, I do so with intention of continuing the lifecycle of the craftmanship and beauty of the textiles. I enjoy the challenge of creating something with limited material. Ensuring that the silhouettes are the best for the fabric and sewing them in such a way to ensure longevity, with the idea that these are the heirlooms of the future not just a passing trend.
Slow fashion a term not only used to describe the process but how the end user consumes. The number of times we wear our clothes before throwing them away has fallen by 36% in the last fifteen years.. A slow fashion garment should be a wardrobe staple, never out of fashion.
One of the reasons I moved to Berlin was due to its strong identity to sustainable fashion, with over 4,800 fashion companies based here I knew I was in Germany's fashion capital. As well as a great network for fashion, the city is steeped in history (hello Berlin Wall) with great museums, fleamarkets and communities that make creating from here ideal.
Slow fashion goes through the same stages as any other — design, sourcing, cutting, sewing. The difference is in the decisions made at each one. Where other brands design new silhouettes every season, I made a choice early on to keep mine constant. The same shapes, year round, made from whatever the fabric asks for. Most of what I source are vintage tablecloths or rolls of deadstock — beautiful things, but rarely enough for more than one garment. So a typical morning in the studio starts with sorting: which fabric belongs to which silhouette, and where does the pattern sit best on the cloth. That last question matters more than it sounds. Once it's cut, there's no going back. Then comes sewing — and here too I make a deliberate choice. I could use my overlocker and finish a seam in seconds. Instead I fell or french seam every piece. It takes longer. It looks better. It lasts. That trade-off is exactly what slow fashion means to me.
According to the Ellen MacArthur Foundation, some garments are discarded after just seven to ten wears, a well made slow fashion piece worn 100-200 times has fraction of the environmental impact per wear. Pieces like the Beth Blouse can easily be worn all year round layered in the autumn and winter, and on their own in spring summer. Slow fashion is about asking you to choose something you love, something that you have a connection to, something that you reach for time and time again. One that hold the memories you make whilst wearing it. The first dates, the holidays, the milestone celebrations.
If you'd like to see what slow fashion looks like in practice, the studio is online at vickimalone.com — and if you'd like to hear when new pieces are ready, the list is the best place to be, you can join here