!
fashion, smooth the
i
brightly
indulge
in
it!
love
contours
of
lit
my
i
the
pick
the
tantalising
“why
don’t
desires.
the
garment
corridor
darkest
up
fabric.
lined
with
you
cubicles, has
garment try
it
like
in
on?�
my i
outstretched hear
individual
miraculously
my
inner
confession
slipped
off
fingers, voice
booths
the
feeling
say.
i
willing
hanger
and
the
enter me
to
envelopes
the curves of my figure. i bring myself to look into the eyes of the person being reflected before me.
i
register
what
i
see,
and
acknowledge
how
i
feel,
and
i
feel
fantastic.
sway,
i
allowing
the fabric to sway with me convincing myself that this was destiny. a quick flash of the price tag causes a small flutter of nerves; and i smile, congratulating myself on the amazing bargain i have just
magic
found.
i
plastic,
merrily a
take
pleasant
myself
farewell
to
the
and
i
till
leave,
point
with
awaiting
smug,
my
arrogant
chance
to
pride;
show
off
a
my
swipe
new
of
the
purchase.
4474 miles away, a 7-year-old day. the sun had been hot, and 15-year-old sibling, who worked their
ears
still
ringing
with
indian child is nursing his sore hands. work had been brutal that
the fields were dry as they prepare them for the cottonseeds. his
in the neighbouring factory, was also tending to their own wounds;
the
hum
of
the
sewing
machines,
and
eyelids
heavy
from
the
arduous
day. their pay had been cut that day as they had failed to meet the target for that week’s order, it was never a good sign. together, the children had barely scraped enough money to buy rice for that day’s meal so that they could feed themselves and their mother. they can only afford to eat once a day. mother was yet to finish her
18-hour
shift at the factory, and there was still their
doctor’s bill which needed to be payed. their father had died last year, the docotor had said it was poisoning of the blood due to prolonged exposure to insecticides.
that t-shirt you own, the one that only cost you
£3.
Father
had been a cotton farmer.
would it have hurt to wander further up the
high street, to buy a similar t-shirt that had been organically produced for
£5?
is the amount of water needed to produce enough cotton to
make one johnson’s cotton ear bud.
is the average daily wage for cotton farmers working
in deprived countries.
is the
average
amount of garments expected
to be made per hour per, worker who
labour in clothing
sweatshops.
is a deadly insecticide used by cotton farmers for cotton
crops. a single drop absorbed through the skin is
enough to kill.
pairs of jeans are sold
on average every year in the usa.
is the cost
some retailers
spend on the labour of producing a shirt, which would sell for
ÂŁ40.
all the fashion industry needs is a bit of integrity. buy less. buy better.
!