Cheap and nasty — the real cost of throwaway fast fashion

The first dress that I remember was made for me when I was five. My first Holy Communion dress was a fairy princess creation in pearl-coloured crystalline with a gathered skirt that fell halfway down my thigh, with a wide satin ribbon that tied around my middle into a bow at the back.

There was a Peter Pan collar, edged with an exquisite handmade Chantilly lace, which came off the outer cape of my christening gown – a nice touch from my ever-thoughtful mama.

My only regret was that my more glamorous cousin, Sharon, older by four years and taking her first Holy Communion with me, was dressed in exactly the same dress, sans the special lace. Her collar and bodice were embellished with plush white velvet ribbon, which was also used for the waistband that fastened with hooks at the back.

My dress was made by next-door auntie Mrs Singh, who wore her measuring tape around her neck and had a bracelet of straight pins that she deftly threaded through excess fabric, miraculously avoiding multiple stabbings.

At our final fitting, cousin Sharon ran a finger down the luscious velvet, twirling to examine her perfect almost 10-year-old self in the glass. I look so grown-up, she said. Rather haughtily, now that I look back on it six decades later, and not as entranced by the splendour of her.

The crystalline addition had been specially ordered by the material auntie from Amods, our local general dealer, and was touched with reverence when it arrived, a bolt of shimmering perfection.

Our matching reflective patent leather Mary Janes had been bought at John Orr’s in Pietermaritzburg on a special shopping trip. All our “good clothes” shopping was done in the big city, a leisurely three-hour drive from our home in what was then Northern Natal.

My mother packed a picnic basket for the trek from Ladysmith to Pietermaritzburg, to be eaten at a stone table on the side of the road: ubiquitous boiled eggs, soggy tomato sandwiches, Eet-Sum-Mor biscuits and a flask of tepid tea – unlike the pots of biryani, roti rolls and samoosas, complete with pickles and served on real plates, that accompanied my Durban cousins when Uncle R drove them to us. Pragmatic mama called it “taking things just too far”.

This special first Holy Communion shopping trip included ribbons for my hair, lacy knee-high socks for Sharon and me, and sailor suits for my brothers, Anton and Shaun.

My voile veil had been attached to mama’s wedding tiara – a precious thing that was a crucial prop in my childhood dress-up wardrobe. An angel, my father said when he saw me. My mother cried on cue. (Scenes in movies designed to move you to tears are made for people like my ma.) She hugged me, trying to stop her mascara running.

Dad bundled us into our olive-green Ford Corsair and we were off, me in my perfect dress, the image of which is still as clear to me in my mind’s eye as on that glorious 1963 summer day.

Some overseas online retailers are exploiting tax loopholes and are therefore able to keep prices extremely low. (Photo: iStock; Price tag and barcode graphics: Freepik)