I recently rescued a black suede Margot bag from likely landfill purgatory. I haven’t decided whether I will keep it or sell it, but believe me, it was in bad shape. There were white splotches along the outside, and on the inside the lining was stained and encrusted with something clumpy. It looked like maybe chocolate had melted in the bottom and had dried along with some other crumbs or lint on the inside corners of the lining. I thought the bag was nice, though, so I decided to clean it. First I turned the lining inside out and washed it in my bar sink with some laundry detergent and a brush. I did two rounds of scrubbing, soaking, and rinsing. Then I placed the bag, with the lining inside out, on my picnic table to dry in the sun. After it was dry, I brushed the outside of the bag with a plastic bristle brush. I used a little water on the brush but didn’t need any cleaning products for the outside. The bag looks new. I kept track of the active time that this endeavor required. It was maybe 20 minutes total.
Many of us have this sense that “someone else” will see value in the thing we are discarding and will take the time to remove the lipstick stain, the deodorant marks, the dried up melted chocolate, the ground up Cheerios, or whatever from the the thing we used a lot. “They” are lucky to have this item after all, aren’t they? Is there a secret colony of magical fairy fixers who have the vision, the skill, the passion, the time, the supplies, and the determination to pick our dirty used accessory or clothing item out of a pile and return it to its original luster so that another human can enjoy it? All while shining with gratitude for whoever cast it off filthy? These fairies may exist, but I don’t know how large their population is. Is there data to support a different lifecycle analysis of an item that is released into the donation/reuse ecosystem clean instead of dirty? Wouldn’t this process be more efficient if the person discarding it, who likely has the best sense of anyone of its potential worth, and best knows where the deodorant stains are, could handle that work? Like, we clean our own crap before we send it off?
But we don’t have any time. Why should it fall to us to clean or repair our stuff before we get rid of it? We are donating it after all aren’t we? Well, yes. But we are asking a lot of national charities. Deal with the textile waste crisis created by our consumption habits and clean our raspberry jam stain? This isn’t practical.
On the subject of time, we already spend an awful lot of it handling the things we choose to own. The average woman spends about 100 hours per year shopping for clothing. We love shopping and how it makes us feel. It’s what we do with our friends after lunch. When we have a crappy day or week we reward ourselves with a purchase or two while reclining in our sweatpants enjoying a beverage.
The average person spends eight hours cleaning their closet each year. What would happen if we built in some time to return things we no longer cherish to their optimal state before sending them off? There is dignity associated with our own consumption conduct here. Our own, and also that of the person who is going to touch and consider owning our item next. What does it mean that we assume that they have time to remove our deodorant residue but we’re too busy and important to do that ourselves?
A circular economy means we envision ourselves coming across a pre-owned item and choosing to adopt and love it. I propose increased engagement around improving the state in which we hand off our fashion and accessories. Extended Consumer Responsibility is a policy that we can implement anytime we want. Remember how everyone used to smoke and now they don’t? We have the power to start that giant cultural shift with our consumption and donation habits.
