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To the Perfect LBD that Got Away

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Dear Perfect Little Black Dress,

After years of searching, I finally found you. You were a plain black fit and flare dress from H&M. You had a higher neckline, lower back, and had sleeves that extended to the middle of my arms. You were a bargain at around $16.00. I would have bought you in multiple, and wore you in every season with layers, different accessories, and I would have looked like an Asian Audrey Hepburn (at least I like to think that).

But I walked away from you. I had the money, and the fit was perfect, absolutely perfect. I left you on the rack.

Screen Shot 2014-05-20 at 8.54.22 PM

Above: This is not the dress, but you get the gist.

I walked away because I noticed that you were made in Bangladesh. I’m not one to shy away from fast fashion normally, and I know that my well-dressed comfort here in Canada likely means the discomfort of someone else, somewhere else in the world.

I know for a fact that there have been several tragic fires in Bangladesh-based clothing factories in the past twelve months, and that in April a clothing factory, Rana Plaza, collapsed and killed over a thousand workers. I know that these working conditions hearken back to the infamous tragedy that was the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire, but that despite all this, in July there were reports that clothing exports from Bangladesh rose 16%.

I know that most of my other clothes are made in China, India, Cambodia, Pakistan, Romania–places where similar tragedies might be taking place, but that the mainstream press just isn’t reporting these “incidents,” and I turn a blind eye to this. As I held you in my hands though, I still just couldn’t bring myself to carrying you up to the checkout. My partner came up to me with a few t-shirts that he tried on. I checked the labels. They were like you, made in Bangladesh. I asked him not to make this purchase, and we agreed right there in the middle of H&M during a busy Saturday at the mall that at least the two of us were not willing to buy clothes from Bangladesh right now.

Maybe sometime in the distant future I will buy clothes that say they were made in Bangladesh, but how do I know that you weren’t made in the last twelve months, at one of these garment factories where these tragedies took place? I don’t know. So I walked away.

Love,

Emily


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