Beyond the Human
I often find myself wondering whether the ideal of living in harmony with the Earth represents the highest form of well-being, balance, and care. This thought returns frequently when I reflect on fashion and its place within our lives. It becomes impossible to ignore that clothing, something we often treat as ordinary, exists within a far larger network of relationships — ecological, cultural, and ethical.
The work of Donna Haraway offers a powerful lens through which to consider this relationship. Within the framework of what is often described as new materialism, Haraway challenges traditional divisions between human and non-human entities. Rather than seeing the natural world as a passive resource that humans exploit, this perspective emphasises a deeply interconnected system in which all forms of matter — humans, animals, plants, materials, and technologies — interact continuously.
From this point of view, the objects that surround us are never neutral.
The material world is dynamic, active, and relational. Our clothes, the fibres they contain, the environments that produced them, and the labour that shaped them are all part of the same ecological network. Fashion therefore becomes more than an aesthetic phenomenon. It becomes a site where human and non-human worlds intersect.
Haraway’s concept of companion species encourages us to recognise that human identity itself emerges through relationships with other forms of life. Plants, animals, landscapes, and materials all participate in shaping the environments in which we exist. From this perspective, well-being is not simply an individual state but a condition that arises through reciprocal relationships with the world around us.
Applied to fashion, this way of thinking raises uncomfortable questions.
The garments we wear are not merely passive objects. They participate in shaping our identities, our daily experiences, and our relationship with the environment. The fibres they contain carry histories — of agriculture, of industrial processes, of labour conditions, and of ecosystems.
To wear clothing is therefore to participate in a vast chain of interactions that extends far beyond the individual.
Recognising this can be unsettling.
It forces us to confront the ethical implications embedded in everyday choices. Every purchase becomes part of a broader system of environmental and social consequences.
This realisation has deeply shaped the way I approach fashion today.
Transforming consumer behaviour, however, is far from simple. Shifting from a throwaway culture toward one that values durability and responsibility requires a fundamental change in mindset. Urbanisation, economic pressures, and the desire for social mobility have contributed to the normalisation of consumption as a marker of success.
Cities offer opportunities, but they also produce new forms of pressure. Migration from rural environments toward urban centres has standardised lifestyles in many parts of the world. People increasingly seek opportunities that promise stability, recognition, and upward mobility. Within these environments, consumption often becomes a visible indicator of social position.
Fashion plays a powerful role within this dynamic.
Yet changing the culture of consumption cannot be the responsibility of consumers alone. Designers, industries, and institutions must also participate in creating systems that prioritise durability, ethical production, and environmental responsibility.
Designers, in particular, have the ability to influence how garments are made, how long they last, and how they are valued. Consumers, on the other hand, can cultivate practices of care — repairing, maintaining, and reusing clothing rather than discarding it prematurely.
Achieving this transformation requires a multifaceted approach.
Understanding the historical context of fashion, the influence of advertising, and the role of cultural narratives can help us imagine alternative ways of engaging with clothing. The journey toward sustainable consumption is not simple, but it remains essential if we wish to protect the ecological systems that sustain life on this planet.
The influence of social media and digital advertising continues to intensify patterns of consumption. These dynamics will also form part of the final reflection in my short film project, Fashion Side Effects, developed alongside this research.
Yet beyond theory and analysis, my relationship with fashion has also been shaped by personal experiences that remain deeply embedded in memory.
For many years, I struggled to understand my place within this field. The pressure to succeed, to identify one’s talents, and to define what it means to excel weighed heavily on me. At times this pressure manifested almost physically, as if the weight of expectations had become an obstacle that I could not easily overcome.
My first professional experiences within the fashion industry revealed something important about myself. I discovered that my strengths did not lie primarily in making garments with my hands — a skill that is often considered essential within textile practice. Instead, I found myself drawn toward research, storytelling, and conceptual thinking.
Creating ideas, researching references, and constructing visual narratives for fashion collections allowed me to connect with my emotional and intellectual instincts.
For a long time, however, I struggled with this realisation.
During my undergraduate studies, I often felt disconnected from my own work. The creative outputs I produced sometimes felt like visualisations of experiences that were familiar to others but distant from my own reality. This disconnection forced me into a period of intense self-reflection.
For years, I refused to describe myself as an artist.
Even now, I am not entirely certain how to define myself. I know only that I have become a combination of the things I admire and the things I question. I constantly try to balance what feels meaningful with what feels uncertain — a mixture of curiosity, doubt, and responsibility.
Looking back, I realise that this period of questioning marked the beginning of a deeper engagement with environmental thinking and ecological awareness.
My relationship with textiles itself began much earlier.
I grew up between Florence and Prato, two cities historically connected to Italy’s textile and luxury fashion industries. These places shaped my early understanding of materials, craftsmanship, and production. Several members of my family worked within textile manufacturing, and their experiences formed part of the environment in which I grew up.
My grandmother remains one of the most vivid influences from that time.
In the early 2000s she worked in quality control inside a textile factory. Her job required an extraordinary level of precision. Armed with a magnifying glass and an uncompromising attention to detail, she would carefully inspect every intersection between warp and weft, searching for imperfections invisible to the untrained eye.
The memory of that place remains surprisingly vivid.
The comforting scent of lanolin in the air. The dusty concrete floors stretching across the enormous warehouse. The deafening rhythm of industrial looms operating continuously throughout the day.
Machines moved with relentless intensity, weaving yarn into fabric at a pace that felt both hypnotic and overwhelming.
As a child, I would sometimes wait for her after school. I remember sitting among empty yarn cones, inventing imaginary games while she completed her shift. Those afternoons were filled with a strange mixture of boredom and fascination, watching the mechanical choreography of the textile machines.
At the time, I could not have imagined how much those memories would shape my future relationship with fashion.
Today, when I reflect on the current state of the textile and fashion industries, I often feel a sense of sadness. Industries that once represented craftsmanship, culture, and historical continuity now contribute significantly to environmental degradation.
Fashion once symbolised civilisations and cultural narratives that developed slowly over centuries.
Now it often appears as a system driven by speed, novelty, and excess.
Even if fashion becomes more sustainable in the future, there will always be individuals and institutions reluctant to abandon established systems. Innovations that benefit the environment often appear risky to those invested in maintaining the status quo.
Yet I believe that responsibility begins with small actions.
My goal is not to claim that I can save the planet. Instead, I hope simply to make more conscious decisions — to give back at least a small fraction of what the natural world provides us each day.
We exist in constant interaction with matter and with non-human life. There is no moment in which we are entirely separate from the materials that surround us. Clothing, tools, objects — all participate in shaping who we are.
Most of the time we barely notice them.
Except in the most intimate moments, we rarely think about the garments that accompany us through daily life. Yet they are always present, silently contributing to the construction of our identities.
Fashion therefore becomes more than a commercial system.
It becomes a medium through which cultural values, ethical responsibilities, and personal identities are continuously negotiated.
The central aim of this research is not simply to criticise the fashion industry but to encourage reflection on how our actions influence the systems we inhabit.
Fashion can serve as a powerful vehicle for examining who we are and what we value.
Yet the questions remain difficult.
Is the goal truly to save the planet?
And when designers attempt to do the right thing — using organic cotton, recycled materials, or alternative production methods — is that enough?
Sometimes I find myself wondering whether such efforts are merely small gestures within a system that requires far more radical transformation.
Perhaps the real challenge lies in asking different questions altogether.
Because fashion is not only about clothing.
It is about how we choose to live on this planet.
