Made With A Degree of Separation

A fellow minimalist asks herself three questions about purchases.  One didn't inspire me much, so little that I forgot what it was.  Additionally, I don't know who the writer was (sincere apologies for not giving credit). Although, one of her three questions:  Would she come back for it in 24 hours?  I really like.  However, I think its only valid if I'm out window shopping at real stores.  So, this question doesn't encompass all of modern shopping.  Adding something to my cart and deciding later when browsing Amazon might mean I'll login from the comfort of pajamas at midnight, half tipsy from that third glass of wine, and buy that along with seven other new items.  I'm still seeking a safeguard from the convenient, and long term memory of online shopping tools.  Luckily for all of us Amazon has an easy return policy for accidental purchases.  But the commute involved in going to brick and mortar locations, means the forced return trip would be a hassle for something that wasn't crucial to my home, and that I can truly relate.  Another of her questions was about how something is made.  This is more important to some than it is to others in regard to socioeconomic politics, as in organic, or fair-trade, or made in the good ole US of A.  Though, I think what she meant was more personal, as in 'how long a thing might last'.  Regardless, all of those reasons are relevant in the big picture.  The value of things that last is a topic we already covered in the frugality and budget tracking blog, but I want to discuss how a thing is made in more substantive detail. Awareness of products is an increasingly discussed element of consumerism, because it matters to other humans, it matters to the environment, and it matters to our own bodies, as well as our conscience.  Society has come a long way from activists throwing paint at women wearing furs.

As thoughtful consumers, I believe it is important for us to understand the varying degrees of separation between us and the origin of our purchases to understand their true global cost.  Protip:  We don't have a clue most of the time.   To us, our consumption means intake, and extrusion of goods.  We bring them in and we send them out.

We've become more conscious on how we send things out. like sorting our recycling, and compost, and good will; things of that nature, and we've been hoping for government representatives to fight for us so we can understand where things come from, but so far its been a mostly uphill and losing battle.  We're losing so badly, in fact, that if Joe, the produce grower, wants to grow organically, and sell as such, he needs to go through a 7 year process, along with continued costly maintenance, so that he can advertise that his vegetable is "organic".  USDA Certified!  Meanwhile, Bob the monocropper, who doesn't care about that crap, doesn't need to certify a damn thing, and can spray whatever cancer causing toxin he wants into his soil.  Never mind, that one comes from your neighboring town and another came off of a container, shipped from another country, burning through fossil fuels, and refrigeration just to make it to your store without spoiling.  The last piece of fruit you ate:  Do you know which state it was grown in?  How about the last egg you consumed:  Do you know if the hen who laid it spent all, if any of her life outside running around in the grass?  These things do make a difference to our global and ecological impact.  And as humans, we've taken charge of the planet, and as the self proclaimed stewards, we must now be responsible enough with our choices so it will sustain life for all future generations.

Similar statements have been said about where clothing comes from.  Sweat shop tees from Indonesia, shipped around the globe, and sold at a competitive price, because they're made with a new, soft, poly blend, and when its discarded it never biodegrades.  Lately, the challenge has become so globally entangled that I honestly don't even know what is right anymore when it comes to clothing.  My oldest article is a Patagonia sweater that I got in 1992.  Man, do they make stuff to last.  But, now we're finding out that fleece fibers are polluting the waters.  So, needless to say I won't be buying another one, but I will keep wearing this one until its no longer wearable, which I'm guessing will be my entire life,judging from its performance thus far.  Its difficult to keep up with all of this.

Even though I find myself facing constant existential doubts over my own conscious choices, I can rest easy knowing that, at the very least, I don't buy excessively, and then subsequently, I don't discard excessively, just for the purposes of staying fashionable.  In case you doubt that this is possible, come visit my spruce green Patagonia fleece from late last century.  A sweater that has traveled all through the city and wild places with me, trail beaten in some of our continent's most rugged terrain, and continues to serve.  It has a couple of loving campfire singes, and its texture isn't what it once was, but its purpose still holds true to its design, and I refuse to care how dated I might look in it.  A memorable character from literature, the chaotician from Michael Crichton's "Jurassic Park" on why he only wears black, said, "I believe my life has value, and I don't want to waste it thinking about clothing."  Now that's Living Minimalism.

If you can be made aware of the origins of your products great, if you can't, buy with quality, frugality, and buy purposefully to meet your needs and stop there.  If you learn that something you are about to purchase is a destroyer of ecology, vote against it with your dollars.  If you find out that that someone already got your money, make the best of it.  Learn what you can along the journey, don't fret over the evils of the world, and going forward, make educated choices that align with your needs as well as your beliefs.

How have you dealt with growing consumer knowledge?