Last month, I entered a pop-up at Selfridges that immediately made me realize how sustainability has morphed from a sideline discussion into the lifeblood of contemporary style. The space buzzed with vitality and something in between; It had the energy of a backstage at London Fashion Week. You could feel that good business was being done among the emerging designers who seemed (I am pretty sure) not to have been paid a single penny by our friends at Selfridges for the honor of appearing in their store.
That good business was also being done, I could not help but think, because everyday consumers—shoppers like me—were taking the designers’ works even more seriously than any of us might have taken designs from established names in the past. On that day, I roamed among the racks filled with beautifully curated clothes and talked to the unsung heroes of the collections, the sustainable fashion designers behind them. And what I began to understand—really understand; it wasn’t just my usual lip service—was that eco-chic is not just for the fashion elite.
Instead, it is woven into the everyday wardrobe of people who seem to have struck that balance between valuing quality and conscience equally. I met a young woman who had started her own sustainable accessories line. Her inspirations were myriad and also very personal: They included the traditional craftsmanship of cobblers, the kind of innovative design that one might find in a creative hub like London, and most significantly, the imagined conversation that one might have with a friend while trying on a pair of shoes.
A casual networking event a few weeks later, held by a group of eco-conscious creatives in Hackney, wasn’t what I expected it to be. I thought it would be an awkward affair, with people overly self-conscious about being “sustainable.” It turned out, though, to be much like most networking events, with the added benefit of being quieter and having great conversation. Sustainability came up, naturally, since more than half of the dozen or so attendees had worked directly on sustainable fashion projects, but it didn’t dominate the conversation as a talking point or a kind of badge to show off.
Instead, people spoke about not just why it’s crucial for us to think about our fashion choices but also how we might do better in the future, without overly burdening our lives (or our pockets). It is truly invigorating to see eco-chic seep into the London fashion scene. This past week, I found myself strolling in Notting Hill, taking in the silhouettes of so many well-turned-out Londoners.
One in particular caught my eye: an outfit that looked scrumptiously cozy yet was purely weather appropriate for a morning in the 40s. If I had to guess, it was either alpaca or merino wool. And for the not-so-stylish folks like me who have to keep it real with poly-blend pullovers, let’s just say that if what I saw on the street was cozy enough to channel that ensemble energy, it would have been obtained with a sustainable baseline.
Eco-chic is slowly but surely becoming the conversation at the influential cultural gatherings that matter. Not long ago, our panel of revered industry experts and designers convened at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London for a late-evening tête-à-tête that pulsed with the kind of energy and candor you don’t usually see in daylight. “High design and responsible production: Can you have both?” was the unvarnished question posed for us to consider.
The short answer? Maybe. The long answer?
Well, it was a stimulating discussion, touching on everything from the impracticality of sourcing sustainable materials, to the role technology will play in reducing waste, to real-life cobbling-together of resources that is needed if completely sustainable mass-production is ever to be achieved. Float along on the effervescent conversation for a bit, and you really do come to believe that this vision of the future is practical, if not completely operational, in the present moment. The eco-chic movement is finding its footing on social media.
Instagram is an especially powerful tool for disseminating this relatable, sustainable aesthetic, thanks largely to the “influencer” culture that has sprouted around this platform in particular. I recently did a quick scroll through Instagram and spotted a few posts from a collective of fashion influencers who are busy reimagining the everyday outfit in sustainable terms. One ensemble that they put together and that caught my eye featured vintage high-waisted jeans, an ethical white tee, and sneakers made from recycled materials (urbanites seem to love these as our go-to, eco-conscious kicks).
What really struck me about these posts, though, is that none of them suggest that the outfits assembled here are some kind of elevated, sustainable ideal. There’s something inherently empowering about making deliberate decisions in fashion—decisions that project who we are and what we stand for. On an unexceptional day, running around central London, I found myself chatting with a shopkeeper in Covent Garden.
She owns a boutique that carries a very specific line of very stylish products. Every article in her store comes from a very sustainable source. We had a conversation about what that even means, in a world where the term “sustainable” seems to be loading up the last free space on a bingo card.
She had no shortage of enthusiasm for her merchandise, which she and her staff had carefully selected. By our reckoning, in stores like this one, and in conversations like the one we had, eco-chic seems to be making some sort of inflection point. Community is at the heart of eco-chic.
Whether it’s a small space filled with local designers at a pop-up event or an online forum that’s all about fashion, we eco-chic enthusiasts have the same shared commitment. In that commitment lies a major reason for the sustainable fashion part of my life. I love to bunker down with my buddies who are just as gung-ho about sustainable living as they are about style.
One time, I was at this kooky Shoreditch café where I had the chance to unearth some top-secret recommendations for even more marvelous sustainable styles with one of my best fashion friends. That was just one way in which eco-chic led us toward better, more sustainable choices; the style-studded conversation was also just a lot of fun! Every time I put on a sustainable garment, I am reminded that style is not a fleeting fancy but a responsible, deliberate choice with a lot of heft behind it.
My wardrobe reminds me of this, too, each time I reach for a piece that’s kind of rebellious, in the way that a well-loved, well-styled wardrobe should be. My clothes work hard to compost or to recycle or to refuse to incinerate so-called waste in landfills—an act of defiance to fashion’s throwaway culture. Our minds and hearts seem to be changing, slowly but surely—wandering Maltese-style around London, where fashion is a grand mix of street-level glamour and basement-level invention, to the beat of a fashion that doesn’t incinerate our hopes for a healthy planet.
Fundamentally, eco-chic is about being real—being real in the literal sense of the word, as in not faking sustainable practices in the name of eco-fashion but instead committing to them. And all the authenticity I just described resonates across the city of London as we speak. It resonates across many of the conversations I’m having across many contexts—whether we’re in pop-up shops or panel discussions.
It resonates in outfits and graces the city itself in a way that commitments to sustainable fashion can, and not least because that sustainable clothing looks so good and makes me feel so good about what I’m doing, not just as a citizen of the world but also as a fashionable one.
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