Celebrating Elderhood Through Upcycling

My upcycling practice continues to reward me in multiple, often unexpected ways. What started as an opportunity to solve a business problem (by converting a thrift store’s overstock jeans into new products and workshop offerings) continues to bring me surprises: emotionally, creatively and relationally. 

Upcycling is fundamentally about taking something ‘’old’’ and transforming it into something new and different. By salvaging, restoring, repairing, elevating and reclaiming something that risks being discarded, it becomes useful and valued again. 

One of my newest discoveries? Upcycling, it turns out, both challenges ageism and offers the opportunity to celebrate elderhood. Who knew that a pair of cut up jeans could deliver such rich insight!

It’s not news that we live in what I would characterize as a destructive era: a capitalist, consumerist, disposable culture. Fast fashion, despite the increasing rejection of its disgraceful goods and labour practices, continues to thrive. The amount of textile waste we continue to collectively generate through our obsession with newness is dire. 

There’s a human parallel to this: as a whole, white, western, mainstream culture continues to fetishize youth and devalue elderhood. 

How do the realities of a disposable mindset relate to upcycling as an anti-ageist practice? 

I invite you to consider clothing as a metaphor for people, with new, fast fashion clothing as  “young”, and used/second-hand/outdated items as “old”. Until recently, simply being “old” or “dated” has been a reasonable justification for discarding something, rather than reusing, repairing, reinventing or otherwise continuing to value the item. 

The brutal truth is that fast fashion culture is frighteningly similar to how we treat elders. 

Even I flinch a bit at that word: “old”. Tune into your reaction to it for a moment. Does it feel scary or unpleasant? Now, what is evoked when I use words like ‘experienced’, ‘wise’, ‘esteemed’, ‘seasoned’ or ‘ancestral’? 

The loss of my 92 year old father was a major catalyst for me to take on upcycled fashion in earnest: I was inspired to make a skirt out of his neckties as a way to honour him and process my grief. I now work in a studio that was once his office, in the home of my 90 year old mother. For all the profound loss of my dad, this new arrangement is beneficial in many ways, and I have never felt closer to my mom.

My mom is in wonderful health, and maintains a vibrant social life: church, book club, teas and lunches with friends. She is also my greatest champion, and delights in sharing my current doings with her pals. Visitors to her home are invited to come upstairs to check out the office/studio’s transformation and see what I’m making.

The majority of these friends and visitors are elders, and their passion and enthusiasm for my work are amazing. Thanks to my mom, I am now becoming buddies with this bunch of  ‘old ladies’, and discovering the wealth of wisdom and warmth that their friendship offers.  

They’ve shared stories about their lives with me. We exchange notes and cards. Through our shared love of textiles, and the stories they contain, I’ve gotten to know them, and they me. These kinds of connections are light years away from the virtual world of e-commerce and social media where fast fashion is peddled.

What happens in the everyware studio is analog, IRL and deeply moving.

These women resonate with my work. The fabrics and linens that I am so in love with are deeply familiar to them. In many cases I have been generously gifted with their treasure  troves of heirloom fabrics. Along with their linens, I am also honoured with their stories, their smiles, and their astute senses of humour.

I often make these friends and fabric benefactors an item of clothing out of something they’ve given me. It’s a way for me to reciprocate their generosity, and for them to enjoy its continued legacy as a now-wearable/usable item. 

There is a remarkable intimacy in making clothing for people, hearing their creative vision, and learning about how they see themselves. I am “touched” by them as fellow humans, as I “touch” them with my measuring tape and pinning. Just as you are restoring the beauty in discarded ‘things’, I am honouring elders by co-designing with their well-honed style and seasoned characters. I am seeing them, and inviting them to be seen by others, more deeply. 

As I work and listen, I know that I am witnessing another human in a unique and precious state. It’s a special hybrid of trust, playfulness, and sharing the pleasure of self adornment. Making a fuss about someone, in the best possible way. 

It’s vulnerable. It’s reverent. It’s a joy. 

I believe that the greatest gift we can bestow upon others is our attention. In a world that collectively overlooks or even ignores elders–as it does old clothes and linens–in these moments, these ‘old’ people have my sincere and deep attention. It is real and mutually joyful. It is one of the greatest honours of my life, and holds yet another layer of why the work of everyware is so deeply meaningful to me.