The personal collection of the recently passed fashion icon Vivienne Westwood is set to be sold at Christie’s auction house for a charitable cause later this month. Until her passing in 2022 at 81, Westwood had been an influential figure in the fashion world. Her boutique, with its ever-changing names such as Let It Rock, Sex, Seditionaries, World’s End and Too Fast to Live Too Young to Die, drew in both celebrities and punk enthusiasts. The auction will give us a glimpse into her eclectic wardrobe – from Harris tweed suits to faux-pearl necklaces, and intricately tailored dresses from her collections Witches and Britain Must Go Pagan.
Westwood often shifted her political alliances, as one might switch outfits, moving among the Labour Party, Green Party, Conservatives, and even the We Are the Reality Party, headed by Bez from the Happy Mondays. Despite this political chameleon-like behaviour, she was steadfast in advocating for sustainable fashion. Somewhat paradoxically for a fashion designer, she advised us to curb our fashion expenditure. In a 2007 interview with Carole Cadwalladr for the Guardian, she said that while she didn’t feel at ease defending her clothing, if people could afford them, they should purchase, albeit in moderation.
My early childhood memories are flooded with images of my mother buying second-hand books from charity shops. My personal inclination, though, has always been focused more on clothing. Whenever I need a break from writing and if time permits, I relish buying a coffee to-go and meandering from Upper Rathmines to George’s Street, popping into all the charity shops I encounter. If I have some spare time, I would extend my search to Capel Street, or Dundrum, or Rathfarnham.
Regular visits to thrift stores can be akin to a mild form of gambling, as I invest time and effort without any guarantee of a return. Occasionally there’s no payoff, while other times I strike gold. Amongst my acquisitions are two Chanel jackets, one unearthed for €50 in a resale shop and the other for €40 at a Berlin market. I also possess a McQueen dress and two Balenciaga bags, an excessive collection of silk scarves, and a daring pair of Saint Laurent platform boots intended as footwear for my book launch, which ended up launching on Zoom due to the pandemic.
As I rummage through my accumulated clothing, they appear like an assortment of grown-up costumes from my childhood dressing-up box. I recall a times past vintage Laura Ashley dress, and an adorned waistcoat that made me feel adventurous like a pirate. I wonder if I’ve simply prolonged that period of make-believe play. My garments seem to embody the narratives and identities of their previous owners.
At times, I perceive myself as a master strategist, building up an ensemble of prestigious items with little financial outlay. Conversely, I ponder if I use this behaviour as a form of escapism. While second-hand shopping is undeniably more environmentally friendly than purchasing brand new, it also nurtures a mindset that views clothing as transient and discardable. It enables me to perpetuate the loop of consumerism under the guise of sustainability. I shift from one outfit to another, relentlessly coveting the allure of the next fashion statement without pausing to understand my own desires and self-image. It echoes the conniving self-reinvention of The Talented Mr Ripley – constructing a lifestyle from other people’s wardrobes.
I recently streamlined my wardrobe, a task long overdue. I loaded several rubbish bags with discarded clothes and donated them to a charity shop, although I regrettably disposed others at the dump. Looking around my orderly room and my selected garments aesthetically displayed on shelves and hangers, I realised that this collection encapsulates my individual style. These enduring pieces have been time-tested and cherished.
This experience prompted me to ruminate on attire; the criteria we have while making purchases, the emotions they evoke when donned, and the sentiment they hold in our existence, particularly when they remain untouched, symbolising unfulfilled endeavors and unrealised tomorrows.
I contemplated the repercussions of this shopping behaviour, both on a personal level and the broader world. In the grand scheme of life, I gravitate more towards purchasing from Oxfam instead of Shein, Temu, or the like – online labels vending fake, fire-hazardous party gowns. Although it is akin to applying a bandage to a putrid wound; the fashion sector contributes approximately 10% to the annual global carbon emissions, a figure projected to rise two-fold by 2030. It’s competing with oil and agriculture in the league of the most polluting sectors globally. In light of all environmentally friendly campaigns, “green” fashion and business declarations, a tiny fraction, only 1% of discarded garments are recycled. The remainder is burnt or disposed of in landfills, those dystopian sites in Ghana, Kenya, and Indonesia where no longer desired fabrics meet their end. One such garbage dump, located in Chile’s Atacama Desert, can now be discerned from space.
Clearly, the solution is to reduce our consumption, or better yet, cease it altogether. However, a significant number of us, myself comprised, would probably struggle more with this than one might anticipate. It’s more difficult to envisage a void than a presence. It’s tougher to find contentment with what we possess, instead of yearning for our next acquisition. It’s simpler to envision a fanciful identity whilst shopping than accepting ourselves and dressing for our actual selves, as opposed to our desired selves.
Westwood’s advocacies were not without criticism, with several claims of her greenwashing and falling short in her efforts, coupled with criticism for carrying on designing garments using fossil fuel derived materials. Nonetheless, I contend she did more to mitigate this crisis than the overwhelming majority of her industry counterparts. I am compelled to acknowledge and respect her singularly dramatic and often audacious methods of disseminating her thoughts; her hastily-produced manifesto, her display in a bird cage supporting Julian Assange, the instance when she steered a tank to David Cameron’s residence, protesting against fracking, appearing to be thoroughly enjoying her moment as she waved from behind the gun turret.
Just for clarity, I genuinely think that clothing love, and personal fashion, can exist in harmony with our planet’s well-being. My belief centres primarily on the idea that the overwhelming fraction of accountability rests on the shoulders of governments, corporations, and international trade sectors, and not the individual. It’s simultaneously ridiculous and unsettling, living in an era where fast fashion is intensifying rather than decelerating, and the wealthiest individuals of our world casually consider deserting the Earth for the planet Mars.
Fashion holds dear to my heart and I hope it will remain as such indefinitely. It imparts a touch of drama, a hint of spectacle, to our everyday existence. This is a philosophy we can borrow from Westwood, who lived as her idealised self, leaving behind an impressively unique collection of garb. Permanent personal style is only possible through genuine self-awareness. All of us should be donning attire that is durable, truly comfortable and makes us feel assured; an expertly built and thoughtful collection of clothes that surpasses its owner in longevity, and narrates their tale long after their departure.
Roisin Kiberd is an author who specializes in cultural, technological and existential writings.