Hey Fika Fam!
Grab my favorite mug, settle into my comfiest chair – perhaps one you found at a vintage market – because today, we’re talking about something that truly lights up my world: the slow fashion movement. If you’ve been following Fika Looks for a while, you know I’m all about finding beauty in the intentional, the sustainable, and the stories behind what we wear. But let me tell you, this wasn’t always my jam. My journey here has been a winding one, paved with fast-fashion regrets and a whole lot of learning, right here in the bustling heart of Toronto.
I remember a time, not so long ago, when my closet was a chaotic kaleidoscope of impulse buys. Picture this: me, 25, working downtown, perpetually feeling like I had “nothing to wear” despite a dresser overflowing with clothes. My lunch breaks often turned into a dash through the Eaton Centre, snagging whatever was on sale, convinced I needed that brightly colored top or those trendy-but-flimsy boots. I'd come home, feeling a fleeting thrill, only for the item to sit unworn, or worse, fall apart after a couple of washes. It was a cycle of fleeting satisfaction followed by a dull ache of guilt and frustration. My wallet hurt, my mind felt cluttered, and deep down, I knew it wasn't aligning with the values I held in other areas of my life.
The turning point wasn't a sudden flash of lightning, but more like a slow, steady realization. It was around the time I started getting really passionate about local food – visiting the farmer's market in Leslieville every Saturday, understanding where my food came from, and appreciating the craft of local growers. And then it hit me: why wasn't I applying this same intentionality to my clothes? Why was I so detached from the hands that made my garments, the resources consumed, and the story behind each stitch?
I started doing some research, and what I found was frankly, horrifying. The sheer waste, the exploitation of garment workers, the environmental devastation from dyeing and producing cheap textiles – it was a punch to the gut. I remember specifically watching a documentary one rainy Saturday afternoon, curled up on my sofa in my tiny Annex apartment, and just feeling this profound sadness. It felt like my past self, mindlessly consuming, was unknowingly contributing to all this harm. That day, something shifted. I looked at my overflowing closet, full of clothes I barely wore, and decided enough was enough. My relationship with fashion needed a radical overhaul.
So, what exactly is slow fashion? For me, it's not just a trend; it's a philosophy, a way of life, and a conscious rejection of the relentless churn of fast fashion. It’s about choosing quality over quantity, durability over disposability, and ethics over exploitation. It’s about understanding the true cost of clothing – not just the price tag, but the environmental and human impact. It's about:
It’s funny, the term "Fika" in Swedish means to slow down and appreciate the good things in life, often over coffee. And that’s exactly what slow fashion represents to me: a deliberate pause, a moment to consider, and a choice to invest in things that bring lasting joy and align with my values.
Embracing slow fashion has been an incredible adventure, full of delightful discoveries and a few learning curves. Living in Toronto has definitely made it easier, with its vibrant communities and diverse options. Here are some of the ways I’ve woven slow fashion into my life:
Oh, the joy of a good thrift find! This is probably where my slow fashion journey truly began to flMyish. Toronto is a goldmine for second-hand treasures. I used to spend hours wandering through the labyrinthine vintage shops in Kensington Market, sifting through racks, imagining the stories behind each garment. My absolute favorite find? A perfectly tailored, buttery-soft leather jacket from a tiny shop on Augusta Ave. It cost me less than a new fast-fashion jacket, and it’s been a staple in my wardrobe for five years now. Every time I wear it, I get compliments, and I feel a little smug knowing its history and how much life it still has left. It's not just about saving money; it's about the thrill of the hunt, finding something truly unique, and giving a beautiful piece a second chance.
Beyond Kensington, I've had incredible luck at local consignment stores in Roncesvalles and even the occasional Value Village run, where patience often yields surprising rewards. I’ve learned to look for natural fibres, solid construction, and classic silhouettes that won’t go out of style next season.
Another huge part of my slow fashion journey has been learning to care for, and even repair, my clothes. I still cringe thinking about how quickly I used to discard items with a loose button or a small tear. Now, if something needs a little TLC, my first thought is: "Can I fix this?" I actually took a beginner’s sewing workshop at a community centre near Queen West a few years ago, and it was a game-changer. I learned how to sew on buttons properly, mend small holes, and even take in a waistline. It’s incredibly empowering!
Just last month, my favorite pair of jeans developed a tear in the knee (a result of one too many bike rides along the waterfront). Instead of tossing them, I embraced the visible mending trend. I patched it with a piece of colorful fabric I had leftover from another project, using a contrasting stitch. Now, they’re not just repaired; they have character, a story, and feel even more "mine." It’s a small act, but it brings me so much satisfaction and connection to my clothes.
When I do need to buy something new, I’ve become incredibly discerning. I spend time researching brands, looking for those committed to ethical production, fair wages, and sustainable materials. It often means saving up for a piece, but the joy and longevity I get from these items far outweigh the immediate gratification of a cheap impulse buy. I’ve discovered some incredible Canadian brands, some even based right here in Toronto, that are doing amazing work in the sustainable fashion space. Knowing that my money is supporting a company that cares about its workers and the planet feels incredibly good. It's about fewer, better things. My closet now has more space, less clutter, and every piece in it is something I truly love and value.
If you're feeling overwhelmed by fast fashion or disconnected from your wardrobe, I encourage you to explore slow fashion. Start small – maybe just one piece, one brand, one conscious choice. See how it feels. I think you'll find, like I did, that it's not just about clothes. It's about reclaiming your relationship with consumption and finding more joy in less.
Are you part of the slow fashion movement? What's been your experience? Share your story in the comments!
Slow and steady, friends!
XOXO,
Emma Chen
For example, I recently needed a new winter coat. Instead of heading to a fast-fashion store and grabbing whatever was on sale, I took my time. I researched brands, read reviews, and visited a few local boutiques in Toronto. I ended up investing in a beautiful wool coat from a Canadian brand that uses ethical manufacturing practices. Yes, it cost more than I would have spent at a chain store, but the quality is exceptional, the fit is perfect, and I know it will last me for years. Every time I wear it, I feel good – not just because it keeps me warm during those brutal Toronto winters, but because I know the story behind it.
What I've come to realize is that slow fashion isn't just about the clothes themselves – it's about the ripple effect it creates in your life. When you slow down and become more intentional about what you buy, that mindfulness starts to spread to other areas.
I've noticed I'm more thoughtful about other purchases too. I ask myself: Do I really need this? Will I use it for years? Who made it and under what conditions? This shift in thinking has made me a more conscious consumer overall, and honestly, it's been liberating.
There's also something deeply satisfying about knowing the story behind your clothes. That sweater I bought from a local artisan at the St. Lawrence Market? I know her name, I've seen her work, and I can picture her creating it. That connection adds so much more value than any logo or brand name ever could.
If you're ready to dip your toes into slow fashion, here are some practical steps that worked for me:
I won't pretend that slow fashion is always easy. There are challenges, and I want to be honest about them.
The biggest hurdle for many people is cost. Yes, sustainable and ethical fashion often comes with a higher price tag upfront. But when I started calculating cost-per-wear and factoring in how much longer these pieces last, the math actually works out in favor of slow fashion. That $100 organic cotton dress I've worn dozens of times over two years? Much better value than five $20 dresses that fell apart after a few washes.
Another challenge is accessibility. Not everyone has access to sustainable brands or secondhand stores. I'm fortunate to live in Toronto where there are growing options, but I know that's not the case everywhere. If you're in a similar situation, online shopping can help, though I know that comes with its own environmental concerns around shipping.
And then there's the social pressure. When everyone around you is showing off their latest haul from fast fashion stores, it can feel isolating to opt out. But I've found that when I explain my choices – not in a preachy way, just honestly sharing my journey – people are often curious and interested. Some of my friends have even started making similar changes.
Despite the challenges, embracing slow fashion has brought so much joy into my life. My closet is smaller but infinitely more satisfying. I know and love every piece in it. Getting dressed in the morning is easier because everything works together and fits well. And there's a deep sense of peace that comes from knowing my wardrobe aligns with my values.
I also love the creativity that slow fashion encourages. When you can't just buy something new every week, you get creative with what you have. I've discovered new ways to style old pieces, learned to accessorize differently, and developed a much clearer sense of my personal style.
And perhaps most importantly, I feel more connected – to the people who make my clothes, to the environmental impact of my choices, and to a community of people who are also trying to consume more thoughtfully.
If you're feeling overwhelmed by fast fashion or disconnected from your wardrobe, I encourage you to explore slow fashion. Start small – maybe just one piece, one brand, one conscious choice. See how it feels. I think you'll find, like I did, that it's not just about clothes. It's about reclaiming your relationship with consumption and finding more joy in less.
Remember, this isn't about perfection. I still make mistakes, I still occasionally buy something I don't end up wearing much, and I still have some fast fashion pieces in my closet. That's okay. This is a journey, not a destination.
Are you part of the slow fashion movement? What's been your experience? What challenges have you faced, and what joys have you discovered? I'd love to hear your story in the comments below!
Here's to slowing down, choosing wisely, and finding beauty in intentional living.
Slow and steady, friends!
XOXO,
Emma Chen
For example, I recently needed a new winter coat. Instead of heading to a fast-fashion