Sarah Zins didn’t start out in fashion, but her Barbie doll would beg to differ. Using scraps from her mom’s sewing basket, she pieced whatever she could into some sophisticated modern-art wonders for her first, tiny client. Later, as a broke English lit student, her work was more of a reworked vintage variety, and she branched out to make costumes for friends.

Sarah’s travels brought her to Kyrgyzstan after college, where scarcity of many things (including wardrobe choice) was the rule, as were long, cold winters and lots of time to sew. But it was in San Francisco that she started for real, taking City College classes and considering the design path.

She debuted in the 2006 GenArt Styles International Design Competition as a finalist and since then has been developing clothing that keeps in mind the scarcity of the world’s resources. Made from “only high-quality reused and remnant silk, wool, cotton, and cashmere,” Sarah’s self-titled clothing brand is a vital view into the future of fashion.

I recently had the pleasure of being Sarah’s first interviewer. Read on for our chat about disco, frivolity, big brand clothing and eco-activism.

Victoria Everman: What first drew you to fashion?

Sarah Zins: I think I’ve got this DIY mentality that maybe comes from my hippie parents. We should all know something about how to grow food, cook, build, and craft everyday necessities. I loved imagining and making all kinds of things, and making clothes just grew out of that. So when I didn’t have whatever crazy-ass outfit that I dreamt up to play dress-up in, I dug out my mom’s needles and pinking shears and tried to sew it. My Barbie got some very slick things to wear, too.

I’m not sure what drew me particularly to fashion, but I have always been a little obsessed with clothes. I have a terrible memory, and forgot just about everything I learned in school, but I still remember this disco dress my mom had in the very early eighties. It was black with tiny printed moons and planets, and she wore with these raffia wedge sandals. Soooo cool. There are dozens of other outfits and pieces I remember, and I think that’s so weird that I do.

Did you always know you wanted to be a fashion designer?

I wish! It would have saved me a lot of trouble. I think I’ve just really figured out that I want to be a designer. I’ve considered about a thousand careers, but hadn’t seriously thought I could make clothes for a living. There are also ideas about fashion that I’ve struggled with – the fashion industry promoting unattainable ideals of beauty, harming the environment, blah, blah – all the typical criticisms. How could I be a part of that? Couldn’t I do more good working as a teacher or a social worker or something?

But I’ve realized we all need some frivolous, fluffy, pretty things in our lives, and there’s a whole language of things that we express through our clothes. When I was confident enough in my design and technical skills, and was also confident that there were ways to do good for the world working in fashion, I decided to take the plunge. Now I see that what I’m doing right now is a path that fulfills just about all of the ideals that I’ve been seeking in my work. I really, really love doing this.

How would you describe the current state of the fashion industry?

I think there’s a genuine movement for sustainable clothing, but it’s hard for most of us to discern real sustainability from greenwashing, and to fully understand the impact our clothing choices make on people and on our planet. I don’t completely understand it myself, but I do know that lots of clothing production wastes resources and exploits workers, even in some companies that claim to be green.

Fashion is also dominated by the big, inexpensive brands, and independent, quality, innovative stuff is still hard to find. Lots of people think independent design is too expensive, so one of the things I’d like to do with my line is to help people really understand the true cost of what we buy. Handmade details, intricate construction – these things take a lot of skill and time, and I think we as consumers should pay for it. Likewise, a conventional cotton garment has a much bigger environmental cost than a repurposed one, even though the purchase price is cheaper. Shouldn’t we pay more for that, too?

Why create your collection from nothing but remnant and recycled fabrics?

The decision came at the end of a long deliberative process for me. First I thought about using just natural fabrics (cotton, wool, hemp, silk), and was satisfied with that. But the more research I did, I found that each of these fabrics had their own problems, either for people or for the environment. Even organic cotton needs a huge amount of water to grow, and using plant-based dyes still is a water-intensive process. Once I crossed off a list of offenders, I was left with unbleached, undyed organic hemp as my only safe fabric. I was initially kind of intrigued by that limitation as a design challenge, but that wore off pretty quickly when I realized I could never make anything in black.

Why not use resources that already exist and nip the problems in the bud? People used to do this in their households all the time – a worn men’s suit became a little kid’s winter coat, or leftover scraps of worn-out clothes were made into a patchwork quilt. We don’t do that much today. I’ve had to fight the temptation to just give it all up and buy a bunch of organic cotton and go at it. It’s so much more challenging to work with fabrics that are already out there, but truly more rewarding when a great design comes out of it.

How would your describe your own design style?

It’s very utilitarian, simple and graceful. It also has to have a quirky, weird element somewhere, and something in it that speaks to its artisanal, handcrafted roots.

Do you see yourself as an environmental activist?

Not really, no. I don’t think I’m doing a huge thing. But in the sense that whenever any of us makes choices for positive change, we’re activists, then yes, that could be the case. I’m making a choice for a more sustainable piece of clothing, and I want to make it easy for other people to do the same.

Is there an uncrossable rift between big brands fashion and handmade, local brands? Could they ever be friends?

I hope someday they can kiss and make up! But I think the current reality tells us that it won’t happen soon. The nature of a corporation (and I’m going to get preachy here) is that it exists solely to make money for its shareholders. That’s what a big company is supposed to do, so I think behemoth fashion companies can only be judged in that context. I think smaller designers are pursuing their craft for lots of other reasons along with profit. Innovative design, truly sustainable practices, respect for craft and quality – maybe once a company becomes too big, these things tend to be relegated to just a marketing space. Keeping things small keeps it real, and keeps creativity the focus.

What hopes and dreams do you have for your self-titled brand?

I would love for my brand to stand on its own for its great design, and for its sustainable aspects to be an afterthought. It’d be great if sustainability was the norm for our whole industry.

My biggest goal for this company is to start a local workshop that encourages more innovation in reuse and gives designers some room to explore what we can do to make fashion more sustainable. And of course we’d have to have a solar panel or two.

[Images courtesy of Sarah Zins]