Swap drop: Fashion goes green

A mounting pile of £4.99 impulse buys and worn-once cheap cotton-mix tops at the back of the wardrobe isn't just a waste of space. It represents an ecological blight. "We call it the Primark Effect," says Lori Wiechec, one-half of Hybird, a not-for-profit feminist networking company that on Saturday staged its first "clothes swap" event in west London. Held above a pub with DJs and pink champagne, Feather Duster, which was billed as "an ecoglam event", might have felt like a slightly bohemian hen party, but it was an effort to recycle and reuse this glut of so called "fast fashion".

"We love clothes but over the past couple of years we have forgotten our morals and better judgement in favour of cheap fashion," says the 28-year-old from Portland, Oregon, who was once a fashion designer. "If I feel a bit low I'd go comfort shopping to Primark. I bring it home and wear it once and then it makes me feel worse. You can forget that there's so much effort that goes into making a single garment. We called it the Primark effect but it could be the Topshop or H&M effect. The clothes are so cheap that they have no value."

Rather than heave a bag of clothes to the local charity shop, reasoned Wiechec and her business partner Rachael Stewart, 27, both MBA students at the London College of Communication, why not bring those unwanted garments to a giant organised clothes swap.

Public clothes swaps are already regular events in the US and Australia. Wiechec recalls going to her first swap in 2000 in Portland. "There was a big tent in a park and everybody dumped their stuff and then came out wearing five shirts and skirts over trousers. In New York they do swaps with 2,000 people coming. We started reading about swaps abroad and thought that they could really work in London."

Attempting to dispel images of both the musty jumble sales in my local village hall and Keith Chegwin's touring Swaperama on Saturday morning TV (where are you, Keith?), I arrive at a Shepherd's Bush pub just after 3pm. My offering turns out to be comparatively stingy and dour: a black cotton skirt from Gap (only given one outing) and a black cashmere sweater bought at a sample sale and never worn due to a frilly lace trim I'd failed to notice at the time. There's a small charge on the door, but once inside, it's a free-for-all.

To limit numbers and avoid an unequal amount of donations to "purchases", Wiechec and Stewart maintain an e-mail guest list. Since Britons are unfamiliar with the concept of a swap, they say, this is still a test run for Hybird. Most of the women here - almost all in their late 20s or early 30s and all clearly confident in putting together eclectic oufits from second-hand finds - are at least aquaintances of the dynamic organisers. A minority heard about the event through Myspace or flyers handed out at a film festival. Clothes are divided up according to genus. One table is stacked with printed T-shirts, another rail with a mixture of vintage sun dresses and chiffon blouses. Indeed, Primark, Zara and H&M form the bulk of clothes up for exchange, but there's also a Marc by Marc Jacobs blouse here, a vintage Claude Montana skirt there. Young women crowd around the tables strewn with jewellery, shoes and belts. The goods are clean and mostly in good condition, and perhaps because of the intimate atmosphere, the piles remain neatly stacked rather than degenerating into the tangled heaps of the traditional jumble sale.

At one end of the pub, Wiechec and Stewart have also set up "customisation stations" - two girls with sewing machines - to make any adjustments and add extra adornment. A screen draped with a leopard-print throw makes for a perfunctory changing room, but since the event is women-only, most of the swappers are simply stripping off on the spot.

In the first few minutes, the swappers look slightly bewildered at the prospect of currency-free shopping. "It was kind of awkward at first. People kept on asking, 'Can we just take this, for free?'" laughs Stewart. "But it didn't take long."

Despite this being the first swap for almost all of the women here, many are regular donors to Oxfam or their local textiles bank. The added social aspect to events like Feather Duster (cakes, booze, £5 eyebrow-threading) seems to give it an edge. "I like that you don't have to think about how much you like an item, because you don't pay for it," reasons Gemma Tortilla, a singer from east London, holding up a pair of red Sisley corduroy trousers. "I brought lots of stuff. I often buy things in eccentric shops because I feel sorry for them. In the past I've given to charity or my sister." Tortilla also clutches a spider-print bag, a wool skirt and a heart pendant. "I think the customising is a bit rubbish though."

Laura Macdonald, a film-maker, has brought "20 things that have never fitted me". Macdonald says she's attended clothes-swaps among friends, but never an organised exchange. "I'm an absolute hoarder, that's why it appealed to me. I thought it was time to unload some things."

If the green credentials of such a large-scale event might be impeccable - all leftovers at the end of the afternoon are donated to Traid, the charity which specialises in recycling old garments - those who have only ever swapped among friends might identify an aesthetic pitfall. When swapping with strangers, how do you know whether their cast-offs will appeal? In short, will there really be something for everyone? Most swappers in fact didn't want to lose face by arriving with an unworthy offering, leading Wiechec to worry that stylists might start to try to sneak into future events and "steal all the best stuff". "I definitely had my moment today when I was looking in my closet thinking, I have to bring decent things because I have to feel worthy of taking things away," says Macdonald, "I was reluctant to bring my red cowboy boots, but they never fitted me. It was lovely to see them going to somebody who was so appreciative."

Similar swap events in the capital are planned this spring, from Visa Swap, (www.visaswap.com) which uses a more complicated "points" system to monitor exchanges, to less obviously green parties such as Swap-a-rama (www.myspace.com/swaparamarazzmatazz). And the question of how to reduce waste in fashion and improve levels of textile recycling are issues at the top of the agenda late in April when the London College of Fashion hosts Green Week.

On Saturday afternoon, the number of swappers versus shoppers in Primark et al are obviously miniscule. But the organisers of this event aren't too bothered that they are preaching to the converted. "People can swap anywhere. You've got to start somewhere, but I hope the idea will spread," says Wiechec, "It's hard to tell people about a new idea. We need free venues, and when we're explaining the concept, they'll say, 'So it's a jumble sale?' And we'll be, "No, not really...' It's all new to them." And new to me? A red cotton sundress.

www.hybird.co.uk

THE COST OF FASHION

* According to Traid, 900,000 tons of clothing and shoes are thrown away each year.

* Of this, only 200,000 tons is rescued for recycling. The remainder goes to landfill.

* Only 25 per cent of clothing that can be recycled ever is.

* Present clothes banks are only operating at about 25 per cent capacity.

* The Government estimates that we throw away between 550,000 and 900,000 tons of textiles per year, with most of this coming from household sources.

* Oxfam receives 15,000 tons of second-hand clothes per year, generating £7m per year for the charity.

* Recycling, rather than burning, waste textiles saves six times as much energy, and twice as much as with paper waste.

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