On the Mend: Mending as Metaphor
As we embrace today's right to vote and the collective action of voting, we reflect on the role of textiles in shaping our futures. On the Mend: Mending as Metaphor by Katrina Rodabaugh, originally published in Selvedge issue 102: Mend, contemplates the act of mending as a force that transcends its tangible qualities, connecting deeply to our ideas, culture, and communities. The subversive nature of stitching has long been celebrated through various forms such as; the Arpilleristas' created during Augusto Pinochet's dictatorship in Chile, the embroidered, stencilled and appliquéd banner's of the Suffragettes, Elizabeth Loveday's Suffragette portraits, the stitched art of Louise Bourgeois and Tracey Emin and, more recently, the Craftivist Collective. These examples illustrate how mending, both literally and metaphorically, can be a powerful act of resistance, storytelling, and community-building.
On the Mend: Mending as Metaphor by Katrina Rodabaugh
The metaphors related to mending and repairing are endless. The work of mending our clothing quickly transfers to the work of healing our relationship to our bodies and our planet. Through textiles we can analyse the history of capitalism, colonialism, economics, export, import, agriculture, labor, religion, art, costume, culture, and nearly everything we’ve touched as humans. We’ve been wearing and repairing our clothing since the beginning of recorded history. Yet this moment in fashion and life on this planet is unlike any before. This moment is begging us to consider our habits. It’s showing not-so-subtle symptoms of being overworked, over-harvested, and under-appreciated. We can point fingers in every direction—and some need pointing at the legislators who can affect policy to make colossal shifts—yet we can also point that finger at ourselves.
As consumers, we can use our resources (time, money, and skill) to influence industry and politics. We don’t have to look much further than the eruption of organic food options to remember that consumption is a two-way relationship between supply and demand or industry and consumer. Just a few decades back, organic food was not nearly so readily available. Individuals and collectives of individuals forced that shift. We can look at our individual and collective behaviours and see an opportunity for seismic change. I believe in top-down (policy-led) and bottom-up (citizen-led) social change, and that sustained social shifts take both. All too often our politicians are a few months, or even years, behind activists’ messages and the pulse of community interest.
In the United States, we send our messages by voting for politicians that represent our values. Or that’s the hope. But even amid the fiercest pessimism we can see the changes in the environmental movement in the last fifty years and know that more change is possible, probable, and essential. The seventies paved the way toward contemporary sustainable fashion with secondhand clothing and leather sandals and now we are witnessing a huge shift in mainstream fashion—gigantic fashion brands, mainstream publications, and iconic fashion leaders are proclaiming their dedication to reducing environmental impact. This is reason to celebrate. Yet the rate at which we consume and discard goods still needs to shift. We can buy all the organic cotton T-shirts on the planet and still need to confront what we’ll do with those shirts when they need to be washed, dried, repaired, recycled, or ultimately discarded. We cannot buy our way to a sustainable future. We will need to shift consumer habits and start discerning what we bring into our homes—or what our industries produce—from the onset. We will need to claim responsibility for those goods from the moment we purchase or design them until we discard them or use them as recycled materials to make something else. If we do, we’ll hopefully see a proliferation of buy-back, take-back, and recycling programs from fashion brands around the world.
We’re still living in a linear economy trying to create circular systems—like mending our blue jeans instead of tossing them into a landfill while denim companies continue to use raw materials to make new jeans. Amid all of this conversation of circularity, mindful shopping, and sustainable fashion, there’s still an incredible opportunity in repair. Through mending we slow down consumption, extend the life of our garments, and increase resilience and technical skill. Just as importantly, though harder to assess, when we repair our clothing, we repair a bit of ourselves. We take the time to stitch, patch, darn, and mend, and this metaphor seeps into our relationship with our bodies, our behaviours, and our mindset. It creates a shift. It disrupts a pattern. It mandates a pause. And in this interruption, we can make the time and space for healing. If we let mending conjure up all the images of healing—broken bones, heartfelt conversations, vulnerable decisions, splints, casts, and patches— then we can see the act of mending as an act of repair. We can go deep into the tissues of the heart as we study the weave of our fabrics. Repairing, restoring, re-patterning as we go. Synonyms for mending are numerous: fixing, restoring, repairing, healing, relieving, rebuilding, recovering, reforming, correcting, altering, strengthening, reconciling, amending, and improving. We mend torn clothes, broken bones, fraught relationships, a leaky roof, and ingrained behavioural patterns. We mend people. We mend places. We mend things. We also mend interpersonal dynamics, painful emotions, and haunting memories. All of these repairs are linked in some subtle or not-so-subtle ways. As I mend my torn blue jeans I recognise that I’m also mending my relationship to my body—the body that broke the clothing—and accepting my body as it is.
Instead of masking the repairs, I embellish, celebrate, and honour them. I accept that as long as I keep wearing clothing, and moving, playing, working in that clothing, my clothes will fray and rip. But through my repairs I can honor the body and the experience that distressed the fibers. What better way to rip a pair of jeans than by dancing? The body swaying and spinning with delight. Or what better way to age a favorite cardigan than by pressing elbows into studio desks and kitchen countertops and resting on armchairs while knitting? The points of the arm relaxing against the table surface while the hands toiled away at making art, food, or warm garments. Yet mending has a larger global metaphor. As we mend our textiles we work on an individual scale to mend overconsumption, fast fashion, and the unethical treatment of people and the planet. I’m not suggesting that mending a garment corrects the ills of underpaid employment—it doesn’t. Nor am I suggesting that repairing a sweater is an act equal to repairing the exploitation of unrenewable resources. It isn’t. But it’s an important start for individual lifestyles. And maybe one person mending their jeans doesn’t reverse climate change or save the planet, but thousands of menders will have an impact. Through this action we can start to shift behaviors and mindsets that led to overconsumption. And maybe we can also inspire our neighbors, colleagues, and families to mend their jeans and more. Instead of tossing that torn garment and buying another, we mend the one we own, keep it from the landfill, and honor the resources of labor and materials that created it. We keep the garment in rotation. We learn the technical skill of mending. We extend the garment’s usefulness and we honor the handwork required to mend. We also resist the economic model of fast fashion that says it would probably be “cheaper” to toss that garment and buy new. But the cost of overconsuming and discarding textiles goes much deeper than our wallets. Cost analysis needs to include the cost of the raw materials, labor, transportation, laundering, recycling, discarding, and more. Ultimately, this cost would include its carbon footprint and that of buying new.
Marketing convinces us daily that we will feel better if we buy better. But we all know this isn’t true. That quick elation is soon replaced by feelings of want. And if we don’t unearth the cause of the want, then we can’t redirect the habit. Some of these healing opportunities are literal—we can wear plant medicine as natural dyes in our garments—but most of these experiences are metaphorical. It’s difficult to explain the way it feels to wear a pair of jeans I’ve mended more than twenty-one times, but I can tell you that it feels like commitment. Like creative expression. Like the manifestation of skill-building—the visible record of my mending skills progressing with each patch. And it also feels like an act of love. For my pants. For my body. For my creativity. And for the plants and people who made my clothing. If we use our impact in our personal industries (work, schools, offices, homes, studios, etc.) we can create and sustain environmental action. Then we can use this momentum to pressure policy shifts and engage local, regional, national, and international politicians and businesses to enforce or implement change. And this can all grow and deepen. But it takes all of us doing what we can. Together. It starts with one action and the ongoing commitment to that action: Today I will mend my jeans as they continue to break down, and tomorrow I will keep mending.
Images courtesy of
Selvedge issue 102: Mend