About Me.

Like so many of us, I’m defined by innumerable contradictions, and the ability to express that through fashion thrills me. My reverence for animals and the planet has been the impetus for my vegetarianism for over half my life (and, more recently, my switch to veganism), yet I adore the look of a leather jacket or a fur coat. I eschew traditional, conservative values, yet I often gravitate towards stereotypically “feminine” clothing and accessories, like quilted baguette purses, pearl earrings, and A-line midi skirts. Yet even in that very same outfit, I’ll feel the urge to throw in a discordant element, like a combat boot or a spiked bracelet set. I despise the free advertising and lazy style choice represented by a visible brand logo, yet I’ve been known to sport a belt with interlocking G’s. Fashion can allow all of us to explore our contradictions and experiment with the expression of our identity. And if your ethics form a substantial part of your identity, then your personal style should reflect that too.

Unfortunately, we have long known as a society that the fashion industry’s ethics are deplorable. I am, by no means, an expert in environmental science, economics, or marketing—but you don’t have to be to know that the majority of the most easily accessible clothing is made from non-biodegradable synthetic materials that are cheaply mass-produced in factories with inhumane and unregulated conditions by impoverished people in mostly developing countries. Still, it’s been disturbingly easy for me to not think too hard about this for the last 33 years, as my life and career and various other competing interests occupied the forefront of my mind—until recently, when I began to reflect more thoughtfully on the impact that we each have, as individuals, on the planet and on our community through our daily habits, including dressing ourselves.

I’ve always had a well-defined personal aesthetic. I look at Moira Rose, and I see myself in 30 years. A sleek, coordinated, daring outfit with high-end fabrics and bold jewelry is how I roll. I have sadly been well-known among my friends for hardly ever wearing the same outfit twice, and for having an unforgivably exorbitant shoe collection. For the longest time, retail therapy was the only therapy I sought. To me, fashion is not about wearing exactly what the style icons and market trends dictate; it’s about putting together an intentional, cohesive look that compliments your body and your personality in a way that allows you to communicate without speaking. And to this end, because I always wanted to communicate through style, I shopped. A lot. My closet burst with so many fast-fashion items that I could sport a dramatically different look every day, sharing different aspects of my complicated and often contradictory identity.

The thought of spending tens of thousands of dollars over my lifetime on clothing, shoes, accessories, and jewelry that exists only through the wasteful and inhumane practices of the fast fashion industry now sickens me, and I knew I needed to thoughtfully and intentionally change my relationship with fashion. Yet here I once again ran into a series of contradictions. I don’t believe that clothing is purely and strictly functional, rather than ornamental, but the principles of sustainable fashion suggest that it is, since extraneous ornamentation creates wasteful steps in the manufacturing process. I also don’t like the look of so-called “natural” fabrics like linen or 100% organic cotton, nor do I like the color palette that these fabrics create without the addition of harmful dyes. Ethical fashion, by its very nature, skews towards a minimalist aesthetic. My aesthetic is strictly maximalist.

So how can I make my personal style reflect my principles? I don’t have the answers now, but I intend to seek them so that my wardrobe can finally reflect the fabulous, complicated, daring—and, most importantly, compassionate—person that I am. Join me as I navigate the myriad contradictions of being an ethical maximalist.