Article
Change
Fashion
5 min read

To buy or not to buy, that is the question

Fast fashion antidote brand, Yes Friends, set out to save the world one t-shirt at a time. Its founders’ defiant optimism is proving to be rather infectious, writes Belle Tindall.
Yes Friends campaign
Olu and Funsho model Yes Friends t-shirts.
Photo: Yes Friends.

How seriously do you take your moral conscience? How much heed do you pay to your inner monologue? 

Sam Mabley, one of the founders of Yes Friends, was wandering around a shopping centre one day when his conscience told him that he couldn’t buy any item of clothing that was made un-ethically. Any garment which had in any way contributed to the exploitation of those who had made it was simply off limits.   

To buy or not to buy: it was, and is, a question of justice.  

It may be helpful at this point to remind ourselves why, to put such a thought in context.  

The global garment industry is growing at an unprecedented rate. Having doubled in size in the past fifteen years (in terms of global revenue), it is predicted that by 2030, the industry will have grown by another 63%. What’s more, if it continues to operate at the speed and intensity we’re seeing at present, it will devour far more resources than the earth can possibly provide. This world of ours has never seen anything quite like this.  

The garment industry has therefore, unsurprisingly, become the most labour-dependent industry of our age. In particular, the ‘fast’ fashion industry (a large swathe of the industry that relies on incredibly fast, cheap, and large-scale production) is being propped up by a vast and complex supply chain. It quite literally spans continents. And somewhere, often lost in the middle of it all, are the near sixty-million garment workers, the vast majority of whom are living in poverty.  

Despite it being widely acknowledged as a Human Right, millions of garment workers are being denied a liveable wage. They are drastically over-worked and perpetually under-paid, working in notably dangerous conditions (the likes of which are often highlighted by news of factory fires that continue to take lives in Bangladesh) and denied any form of job security.  

All of this is being relentlessly driven by our insatiable demand.  

With this context in mind, back to Sam.  

Their entire business model exists to be a correction of an industry that is so harmful it can be hard to fathom, and yet, there’s no doom present in the DNA of Yes Friends. 

A few years after his conscience began to nudge him and he’d consequently set up an ethical clothing shop, Sam found himself unexpectedly stumbling upon Bible verses such as, 

‘So I will come to put you on trial. I will be quick to testify against sorcerers, adulterers and perjurers, against those who defraud laborers of their wages’ 

And even,  

‘Look! The wages you failed to pay the workers who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord Almighty.’ 

That can often happen. One finds themselves bumping into bible verses as one unexpectedly bumps into an old friend that they had just found themselves thinking about – just at the perfect time. You can consider it coincidence, or as Sam did, you can consider it confirmation.  

Fast-forward to April 2021, Sam and a band of merry co-founders launched a strategically simple campaign that caught a huge amount of attention: they encouraged consumers to pre-order a plain white T-shirt for £7.99, thus showcasing that ethical fashion doesn’t have to be unachievably expensive. And two-thousand people did just that (many of whom doubled up, bringing in around 4,000 initial orders), they bought into a product and, more importantly, into an idea. With large scale, small margins, and the will to do things differently, our most foundational items of clothing don’t have to cost the (literal) earth. Yes Friends have proved it.  

When chatting to Sam and Dan (another of Yes Friends’ original pioneers), I was struck by how their hopefulness had, and still does have, practical application. Their entire business model exists to be a correction of an industry that is so harmful it can be hard to fathom, and yet, there is no doom present in the DNA of Yes Friends. On the contrary, optimism and joy are baked into this brand. It reminded me of a conversation I had with Lord Micheal Hastings, a man who has spent his entire life ‘bending the power of the prosperous to the potential of the poor,’ who was a guest on the first season of the Re-Enchanting podcast. Lord Micheal met my gloomy admission that I so often feel too small to be any kind of solution to the world’s many injustices with the kindest and most profound telling off I’ve ever received. He said,  

‘We’re too big not to be the solution. What fills the space of the problem should be our optimism. We should be willing to step into the breach where things don’t work and make them work’.  

And that’s exactly what Yes Friends are doing. Sam’s words had that exact optimism in them when he simply said, ‘we can do this better, so why don’t we?’. He and his team have consequently stepped into the breach where things aren’t working and are showing that things can work in a fairer, non-exploitative, far more conscious way. They are working with a solar powered, water-positive, Fair Trade certified factory in Northern India. On top of this, Yes Friends has pioneered a bonus scheme, paying an additional premium directly to the garment workers, ensuring that they receive a good wage.  

And what’s really striking about Yes Friends’ success, aside from the fact that they’re saving the world one t-shirt at a time, is that their defiant optimism is proving to be rather infectious.  

As noted, it strikes me that when people are buying products from Yes Friends - as well as buying a beautifully crafted piece of clothing – they are purchasing a piece of this defiant hopefulness. People are buying into a better way, committing to making a better choice. It’s this way of innovating that can create a truly circular way of consuming: Yes Friends are serving their customer base, who are serving the garment workers, who are then re-serving the customer base. And on it goes.  

The brand has cultivated such a good relationship with their customers that they have managed to incorporate their voices into the creative process. Their customers are continually encouraged to communicate their wants/needs and even have a say in the design of the clothing.  

Yes Friends are making wonderful, high quality, clothes; and they’re dispelling any kind of ‘it just is the way it is’ myths along the way.  

So, back to our key question. To buy or not to buy? When it comes to Yes Friends products, I should think the answer is obvious.  

Article
Change
Psychology
5 min read

Recovery came softly

A vision of grace amid an eating disorder.

Mockingbird is an organization devoted to “connecting the Christian faith with the realities of everyday life."

Under a tree, backlit by a sun set, two people sit in chairs outside and talk.
Harli Marten on Unsplash.

This article, by Lindsay Holifield, first appeared in Mockingbird. Published by kind permission.

I turned sixteen years old in a lavender-walled bedroom on the eating disorder unit at Texas Children’s Hospital. Surrounded by eagle-eyed nurses watching my every move and whirring machines keeping me alive, I quietly transitioned to Sweet Sixteen. The unit’s charge nurse was a gruff woman named Lupe, and despite her job, she did not particularly like children. But it was my birthday, and in an uncharacteristic act of kindness, Lupe offered me a slice of cake. She must have briefly forgotten her surroundings, because I was not a normal teenager. I was a patient on a pediatric eating disorder unit, and I broke down sobbing at the mere thought of such a high-calorie food entering my body. 

This was my first birthday in a clinical treatment facility for anorexia, but it would not be the last. After receiving the initial diagnosis of anorexia nervosa as a teenager, the doctor’s pronouncement sounding like a death-knell at the time, I would admit to twenty treatment facilities on separate occasions across a period of fourteen years. 

The treatment staff began to greet me knowingly when I would re-admit after only a few months out, as though I was an old friend returning from vacation. “Welcome back, Lindsay,” they would say, as they took my luggage and inserted yet another nasogastric feeding tube. Over time, I began to be labeled “chronic,” and I internalized a belief that I was one of the sufferers who was fated to live the rest of my life under the oppressive weight of this struggle. 

I would have to try harder. I would have to pull myself up by my bootstraps and willpower my way into recovery. After each attempt under this approach, I would fall flat on my face. 

It seemed that no matter how much motivation I mustered up, this internal drive to self-destruct would not leave me alone. I desperately wanted to wake up each day without having to submit afresh to the hellish existence of self-starvation and running till my lungs felt on the verge of collapse. But I felt chained to this destructive cycle deep into my bones, despite my best intentions. 

I was often berated by various treatment providers for not having enough motivation. I didn’t necessarily want to die, but I could not find the strength within me to fight off the voice in my brain that demanded self-destruction. Doctors and mental health clinicians made it clear that if I really wanted to get better, I would have to try harder. I would have to pull myself up by my bootstraps and willpower my way into recovery. After each attempt under this approach, I would fall flat on my face. The despair of my situation began to swallow me whole: there was no way out, because I could not yell at myself enough to make myself well. 

Because of the lavish softness I was shown, I began to approach myself with greater softness.

I was twenty-six years old, and I was sitting in a green folding chair in the summer on a farm in Nashville, Tennessee. The woman in the folding chair across from me is decidedly in support of my recovery, but she isn’t yelling at me or giving me a stern lecture. Instead, she is explaining with great care and tenderness how much sense my struggles make in light of my previous life experiences. “Perhaps,” she says gently, “your brain was trying to survive great pain. Perhaps you were simply trying to make the ache go away the best way you knew how.” Her compassionate words break something open within me, and I start weep like a small child. No one has ever approached me with compassion like this; they are all afraid being too soft will simply enable me to further harm my body. But they are wrong. It is precisely this compassion and sense of being witnessed that softens my armored heart. 

Recovery did not come overnight, but I can unhesitatingly say that the compassion of a woman on that farm in Nashville is what radically changed the trajectory of my life. Because of the lavish softness I was shown, I began to approach myself with greater softness. The voice of condemnation quieted, and I slowly turned from self-destruction to life. 

Do you not hear the gospel ringing out here? My story of recovery is simply a zoomed in image of the grander story, the beautiful truth that makes up the fabric of our existence. Admitting powerlessness to destructive forces of sin and death is important, but the condemnation of the law will not save us. It is the extravagant, one-way grace of God that resurrects the dead. 

I have heard similar fears in faith communities that I continually hear in my recovery communities: if we are too extravagant with compassion, we are enabling sin and destructive behaviors. But I am a living testament that compassion is what softens hearts of stone, armored up by self-protection and attempting to earn love through behavioral perfection. I would have died many times over save for the compassion that chased me down and embraced me, and being held in such tender kindness was the only thing that could have changed my fate. I believe this for mental health, yes, but more importantly, I believe this for the rescue of all of humanity. The grace of God is the sole agent of resurrection and change. 

To the surprise of those who cling tightly to rigid, white-knuckling versions of recovery, my behavioral change occurred only after I was met with a grace without strings attached. This should not be surprising to Christians, however. Here again, the gospel glaring back at us, that repentance is a response to the kindness of God. This is the God who loved us while we were dead in our sins, while we were powerless to the forces of the world, the flesh, and the devil. Against our behavior-driven moral sensibilities, God offers us grace that is a free gift, compassion in its fullest expression, and it is the only thing that will bring renewal and healing to the inhabitants of this desperately aching world: minds, hearts, and bodies included.