
We entered the new year and straight into the wildfires. We know the hard facts of climate change, but time to make an art out of the science. We know Gen Z’ers are cynical, sad and overstimulated about the state of the earth. But now, it’s not just depleted Gen Z’ers carrying the emotional burden of climate change—climate disasters, like the recent LA wildfires, bring it to the forefront for everyone, stirring up an unsettling feeling called eco-anxiety.
We are faced with a cuckoo-conundrum: how do we replace this stress with creative action? Environmental degradation feels massive and unquantifiable. The scope of destruction makes it difficult to process. We know that small, deliberate actions matter, but there can exist a disconnect between concern and action. Without short-term, visible rewards, staying motivated can feel impossible.
It was in response to this lethargy that environmentalist Bill McKibben asked,
“Oddly, though we know about it, we don’t know about it. It hasn’t registered in our gut; it isn’t part of our culture. Where are the books? The poems? The plays? The goddamn operas?”
He was alluding to a culture beyond statistics—we need an artistic response.
More than another echo chamber of pain points, we need the creative momentum of a cultural movement. As first responders to climate change, the arts bring hope, and foster a collective consciousness of solutions. Science may be the messenger, but art—music, literature, theater, cinema, sculpture, and yes, fashion—must be the inspiration.
Fashion x Climate Storytelling
McKibben’s frustration wasn’t just about the absence of climate storytelling—it was about the absence of a cultural movement. Where does fashion belong in this landscape? Evironmental filmmaker Lynette Wallworth said that “Finding meaning is, in itself, an art.” If we take this as true, then making meaning is an act of creation, shaping not just objects but the philosophies that sculpt society. Taka is my philosophy of care brought into bodily artifacts.
I didn’t start with an aesthetic concept and apply values after—I had the values of ethical and environmental wellbeing, and built the Taka concept to prove to myself that fashion could still be a form of non-toxic play. Dress-up is an intimate and curious act—one of the spaces where we can engage with clothing as an expansion of ourselves. For others, that exploration is found in sound, or the solid structures that shelter us. The freedom to play with objects on our bodies, to engage with them beyond pure function, is an act of artistic expression.
Yet, after a lifetime in fashion, I’ve seen how the industry dulls that playfulness behind the scenes. Contemporary thought has accelerated, but fashion as an industry hasn’t caught up. The cumbersome systems of wasteful production remain intact, and those committed to new systems are the conceptual pioneers of the future—cowboys on roads that don’t yet exist.
There is no true infrastructure to support them. Those trying to build better systems operate in fragmented silos, independent initiatives with common, overlapping goals, yet disconnected. It’s painful to see sustainable fashion initiatives fail simply because they are operating within a system designed against them.
Deep pollution hanging over factories in Hunan. The view from my hotel room while visiting factories in China.
The Legacy of Textiles & The Curse of Offshore Industrialization
Let’s go back in time. My grandparents, on both sides of my family, were in the textile and footwear industries. My British grandfather was one of the largest suppliers of textile machinery parts to the many factories that had sprung up across the UK during the Industrial Revolution. In those days, apparel was primarily functional, characterized by the workwear silhouettes that we now romanticize. My Peruvian great-grandfather was a footwear merchant who owned multiple shoe stores along the middle coast of Peru. Somehow, I found my way into the footwear and textile craft without ever knowing either of these histories.
These localized, pre-globalization industries contrast sharply with today’s textile and footwear culture—offshore manufacturing, overproduction, and a disconnection from place and craft. We talk about post-colonial rewriting, but we are still actively writing a system of post-colonial exploitation. There is no way to mince words: The current fashion system is decaying. Only in hindsight will these atrocities be categorized and filed as yet another chapter in the long history of corrupt systems. I have never worked in fast fashion -only in premium and luxury- yet even luxury, behind the scenes, is rampant with inhumane behavior and environmental abuse. Yuckyluxury, as my daughter would say, so 2024.
Redefining Luxury for an Eco-Anxious Climate
So what does "luxury" mean today? Research on philosophies of luxury (a real stream of academic research) shows that it’s constantly evolving—it’s been shaped by eras, regions, and emerging social classes. Where does that leave us now, in the economically developed West? Eco-anxious. In this sense, environmental ease itself is a luxury. I’ve been asking myself for a while: “Is it luxury if it doesn’t (bio)degrade?” Coco Chanel had said, “Luxury is not the opposite of poverty, but of vulgarity.” What could be more vulgar than environmental destruction? What could be more elegant than designing for interconnectivity? Luxury has always been redefined by cultural climate—so how can we use this hotbox of a cultural climate to shape a new luxury. One that prioritizes collective care over personal placation.
Let’s talk about the difference between personal care and collective care. Personal care & well-being trends (coined as “comfort consumerism” by Vogue) provide short-term relief from eco-anxiety through the acquisition of products. Think self-soothing beauty & wellness products. But this relief can be maximized when products operate within a framework of circular care—when they are built to last, repair, or biodegrade. This is the call to action for all artists in any field—for we are all artists—to innovate new precedents of care. In the fashion arts, I redefine luxury within the realm of collective care. I am comforted by knowing that Taka supports the processes that lead to healthier ecosystems. We do this daily through a commitment to raw material choices, reducing dyes, and prioritizing slow craftsmanship.
“Is it luxury if it doesn’t (bio)degrade?”
I recently started working with tree-sap rubber soles. If discarded (which they shouldn’t be—as Hermès says, “True luxury is repair”), they would biodegrade within 50 years with minimal toxic impact. A contemporary synthetic rubber sole, made from petrochemicals, would take 500 years, releasing pollutants into the atmosphere for the duration of that process. Taka, like its artifacts, is a living organism. Beyond materials, our choice to work with artisans also has an environmental impact. The handmade nature of slow craftsmanship leaves a lighter footprint than factory production, which prioritizes efficiency at an ecological cost.
What is luxury, if not care?
I’m curious to hear your thoughts.
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Do you relate to this idea of eco-anxiety in the wake of the LA fires or other environmental crises?
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What does true luxury mean to you?
For those curious about Taka’s environmental framework, I’ll be writing a stand-alone piece breaking down the eco-benefits of our processes—especially in footwear, which remains a lesser-known industry compared to organic textiles or sustainable agricultur