Hey Fika Looks family! Fancy meeting you here, perhaps virtually over a warm cuppa, just like we like it. Today, I wanted to chat about something that’s probably hanging in my closet right now, perhaps even my go-to comfort staple: the humble t-shirt. For years, I never gave much thought to them beyond color, fit, and price. They were just… t-shirts, right? The easy choice, the blank canvas of my wardrobe. But as my journey into sustainable living deepened here in good ol' Toronto, I realized even the simplest pieces have a story, and sometimes, those stories aren't so pretty.
My name’s Emma, and if you’ve been following Fika Looks for a while, you know my mission is all about merging style with sustainability. I’m a big believer that you don’t have to sacrifice one for the other. For me, that realization truly hit home when I started looking at my t-shirt drawer with a critical eye. It wasn't just about what I wore; it was about what I supported.
You know the drill. Pop into a fast fashion store downtown – maybe it’s along Yonge-Dundas, or even a quick scroll online during my lunch break – and there they are. T-shirts for $10, $15, sometimes even less. In my early twenties, living just outside the city centre, these were my bread and butter. I'd buy a bunch, wear them a few times, and if they stretched out, faded, or got a tiny hole, they'd quietly migrate to the back of the drawer, eventually ending up in a donation bin or worse, the trash.
I remember one particularly flimsy white tee I bought from a popular chain. I wore it once to a picnic at High Park, and by the end of the day, it was already starting to pill. After one wash, it looked like it had aged five years. It was frustrating, but I just shrugged it off and thought, "Well, it was cheap."
But then I started digging. I read articles, watched documentaries, and spoke to people in the sustainable fashion community here in Toronto. That 'cheap' price tag wasn't really cheap at all. It was just an externalized cost. That low price meant corners were cut somewhere: perhaps in the sourcing of materials (think pesticide-heavy cotton farming), in the dying process (toxic chemicals polluting waterways in developing countries), or most disturbingly, in the human labor involved. Workers, often women, paid pennies, working in unsafe conditions, just so I could have a new tee for a casual Friday.
The image of massive clothing landfills, some the size of small cities, filled with garments barely worn, really stuck with me. Especially seeing the sheer volume of "stuff" that comes through My city, it made me feel a bit sick to my stomach. I realized my small contribution, multiplied by millions, was part of a much bigger problem.
My journey into ethical t-shirts wasn't an overnight switch. It was a gradual awakening, spurred by that high-park-picnic-tee disappointment and a growing awareness. I felt a bit overwhelmed at first. Where do you even begin? Every brand claims to be "sustainable" now, and it's hard to tell genuine efforts from greenwashing.
My first step was to simply stop buying new t-shirts unless I absolutely needed one. Instead, I started exploring second-hand shops. Kensington Market is a goldmine for vintage tees, and I've found some real gems there – pre-loved, broken-in, and full of character. There’s something so satisfying about finding a perfectly worn-in band tee or a quirky graphic print that's already stood the test of time.
But for new basics, I knew I needed to be more intentional. I started researching certifications, looking into brand values, and yes, sometimes paying a little more. It felt like an investment, not just a purchase.
When I'm hunting for a new ethical tee, here's what's usually on my mind:
This is non-negotiable. I look for brands that are transparent about their supply chain and ensure fair wages, safe working conditions, and no child labor. Certifications like Fair Trade Certified? or GOTS (Global Organic Textile Standard) are excellent indicators that a brand is committed to ethical production from seed to stitch.
I love brands that are open about where their materials come from and who makes their clothes. Websites that show factory photos, worker stories, or a detailed supply chain map really build trust with me. If a brand is vague, it's usually a red flag.
An ethical t-shirt should be built to last. I'm looking for robust stitching, good fabric weight (not too flimsy!), and colors that won't fade after a few washes. The goal is to buy less, but buy better, so longevity is key.
Over the past few years, I've built up a small collection of ethical tees that I absolutely adore. They’ve seen me through everything from coffee dates in Leslieville, strolls through the Distillery District, to cozy evenings at home.
I know it can feel daunting to switch my entire wardrobe overnight, and that's totally okay. My advice, from one Torontonian to another, is to start small. Next time you need a new basic t-shirt, consider taking a moment to research an ethical alternative. Maybe save up a little longer for that higher quality piece instead of buying three cheaper ones.
It's about making conscious choices, one garment at a time. It's about asking questions and valuing quality and ethics over fleeting trends. And trust me, once you start wearing t-shirts that feel good in every sense of the word, you'll never look back.
What are your favorite ethical t-shirt brands, or what steps have you taken to make your wardrobe more sustainable? I'd love to hear your experiences and recommendations in the comments below!
Keep it simple, keep it sustainable!
XOXO,
Emma Chen