Making Jeans Green

Linking Sustainability, Business and Fashion

Paulina Szmydke-Cacciapalle

• Publisher: Taylor & Francis
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN: 9780815391852
• eBook ISBN: 9781351200530
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Business
• Subtopic: Fashion Design
• Index: Business

Consumers spend approximately $93 billion on denim products every year. This consumption comes at a great cost, with thousands of litres of fresh water, hazardous chemicals and energy contributing to just one pair of jeans, leaving the environment and the industry vulnerable to pollution and climate change.

Using facts, figures, case studies and anecdotes, this book investigates why the industry has been so slow to adopt green technologies and offers practical solutions to designers and fashion executives who want to switch to cleaner manufacturing, including those working in the 'fast fashion' sector. It also offers advice to the eco-conscious consumer who wants to purchase denim more sustainably. Considering the full lifecycle of a pair of jeans from the cotton crop to disposal, it presents examples of how to go green at different stages.

This book will be of great interest to fashion students and researchers, as well as designers, fashion executives, policy-makers and anyone who comes into contact with the world of denim.

1

History

Blue blood

The early modern humans, commonly known as the Cro-Magnons, must have been a stunning sight. They had both big brains and big muscles, which allowed them to adapt quickly to their environment and be fierce in combat. They went with spears after mammoths and significantly brought down the number of cave bears, with whom they competed for shelter.¹ They were astute observers of nature, probably knowing more about the social behaviors of animals than any biologist today.² And they were artistically inclined, too, as the magnificent artwork they have left behind attests.

Yet, despite all their prowess, they must have experienced at least some level of frustration.

Examining the Stone Age paintings of Lascaux, or the “Sistine Chapel of Prehistoric Art,” as the cave in the southwest of France is known, one can’t help but marvel at the wide range of colors the Europeans of the Upper Paleolithic had at their disposal. The paintings show rich reds, browns and yellows. There are shades of black, with even a hint of mauve,³ considered exceptional by researchers – yet, surprisingly, no blue.⁴ The prehistoric artists must have scratched their heads over this. Why not blue? Blue, after all, is everywhere – it’s the color of the sky and is reflected by water; it shimmers off the backs of beetles and adorns the feathers of blue jays, who draw their name from the elusive hue.

What the Cro-Magnon couldn’t have known is that in all these instances blue is a product of optical effects rather than dyes or pigments. These early artists were familiar with powdered metallic oxides from iron and manganese, which delivered all sorts of warm hues, including reds and browns, but for a long time, it turns out, the key to a steadfast blue was hidden in a group of indigo-bearing plants, the most common of which are the Indigofera tinctoria, home in the tropics and subtropics, and the Isatis tinctoria, or woad, which ironically blooms in yellow and wouldn’t be discovered until much later.

Although it is unclear when woad conquered Europe exactly, it reigned as a light-fast blue dyestuff well into the Renaissance and was subject to many myths and rumors. Related to the common cabbage, all that was needed to make it turn blue was a bunch of its spinach-shaped leaves, some water and ammonia, probably in the form of stale urine, rounded off by a pinch of magic. Or, as we know today: a clever chemical reaction, which due to its unpredictable nature is to this day responsible for the dye’s rebel reputation in the denim world. Indigo is insoluble in water and must first undergo a reduction, which turns the pigments into a soluble, white form. Only upon exposure to air, within a few moments, the dye gradually turns blue.

British researchers would later discover that it is a group of bacteria that actually reduce the indigo (see Chapter 4). Just imagine how awesome and mystical this color-shift must have looked to humans of the Iron Age, such as the Ancient Britons, who practiced this “magic” extensively. Caesar described how horrified the Roman legions were by the Celtic tribes, which daubed themselves in woad during battle.⁵ And they not only painted their bodies blue to scare or confuse their opponents, but also let the woad get under their skin via a volley of flashy tattoos, proof of their courage and a DIY first-aid kit at that. Woad has been shown to have antibacterial properties and, much like urine, can be used to staunch bleeding. “To wear it into battle would be like wearing antiseptic […] it is not surprising that woad was thought to render the wearer invincible by magic,”⁶ writes British archaeologist Gilly Carr.

But above all, being blue was seen as an act of rebellion. The body painting and tattooing functioned as “an expression of native identity and resistance to a Roman mode of appearance,”⁷ says Carr. At a time when the Romans invaded their lands and imposed their way of life on the Britons, the latter were ostentatiously looking for “a means of distinguishing between ‘us’ and ‘them.’”⁸

Marlon Brando and Jimmy Dean, it appears, were not the first bad boys dressed in blue.

From the Aztecs to the Vikings and from the Touaregs to the Samurai, regardless of whether obtained from woad or Indigofera, blue has been a powerful player the world over. It was used for political purposes and figured as a must-have ingredient in tribal rituals. Among the Franks, the blue robe was the mark of a free man, and the plant even served as a currency.⁹ In India, indigo was closely associated with “the capricious god Krishna.”¹⁰ The Islamic world put it on par with black magic, while Nordic mythology saw in indigo the goddess of death. And while the West had the Blues expressing the dye’s moody nature through music, cultures as distant as those of West Africa and Indonesia used indigo-dyed cloth in mourning rituals. Unsurprisingly, the color’s alchemical properties were akin to “the spiritually transforming rites of passage of life itself,”¹¹ which is perhaps why in some parts of the world only natural dyes are accepted for ceremonial textiles. Synthetic substitutes, though readily available, are still a no-go.

The world over, indigo’s oddity led to superstitious beliefs. Thought of as being “alive,”¹² in Indonesia, indigo was not to be disturbed, especially not by fertile women. If the process of fermentation went wrong, they would be blamed for having caused the vat’s “death.” Japanese dyers, meanwhile, have expressed their affection for the dye in the term “ai,” which can mean either indigo or love, though spelled with different characters. Preparing the dye was equal to child nurturing.¹³

Similarly, indigo’s trade history was adventurous and filled with passion.

Though Indigofera and woad are chemically identical, their rivalry fueled centuries of contest. As British researcher Jenny Balfour-Paul accentuates in her stellar account of the dye’s history: “The indigo versus woad battle was fierce and prolonged, in some places lasting well into the 18th century.”¹⁴ Balfour-Paul notes that although it is not known who first began to cultivate woad, “by the thirteenth century in western Europe the livelihoods of many farmers, merchants and dyers revolved around its production. Governments also gained greatly by imposing heavy taxes at every stage.”¹⁵ France, where woad was referred to as pastel or guède, became Europe’s largest producer. The trade was so profitable, it gave rise to what Dominique Cardon called the “woad millionaires.”¹⁶ Their chic townhouses still adorn the historical centers of cities such as Toulouse in France’s Languedoc region, a former woad hub. One such “hotel particulier,” which still stands today, belonged to the merchant Jean de Bernuy. He was “so credit-worthy,” says Balfour-Paul, “he could stand as the main guarantor of the sum required for the ransom for King Francis I after his capture by Charles V of Spain”¹⁷ following the battle of Pavia in 1525. Across the border in Germany, the “Waidherrn,” or “gentlemen of woad,” constructed their grand mansions in Thuringia, where at peak times the woad trade accounted for one-third of the region’s income, most notably in Erfurt.¹⁸

In the early Middle Ages Charlemagne issued a decree ordering “every one of his manor estates [to] grow a certain minimum area of woad […] to ensure self-sufficiency.”¹⁹ By the mid-1580s in England, “vital grain supplies were threatened by the craze for woad growing – said to be six times more profitable – which had to be restricted by government license.”²⁰ Queen Elizabeth I eventually gave in to the demands of her people and lifted the restriction in 1601, but “on condition that no woad processing would take place close enough to her palaces to offend the royal nose.”²¹ Woad was also the prime money maker of abbeys, including Glastonbury, where rock stars and their fans gather today sporting their blue jeans. It is believed the town derived its name from Latin “glastum,” which translates as woad.²²

And yet the locally grown woad was not nearly enough to quench the thirst of Europe’s flourishing textile industry, particularly in Italy, which was among the early adopters of oriental indigo, imported from the East. Worth twice as much as other luxury goods, the exotic dyestuff was in fact so valuable it was often handed down as property in wills.²³

Two historical events put the indigo trade on the global map: Vasco da Gama’s circumnavigation of the Cape of Good Hope in 1498 and the conquest of Ameri...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Epigarph
• Half-Title
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• List of figures
• List of tables
• Foreword
• 1 History
• 2 Psychology
• 3 Fiber
• 4 Chemistry
• 5 From recycling to closed-loop production
• 6 Economy
• 7 Attention consumers
• 8 The future of denim
• Conclusion
• Index