Life of a fabric

“Only an excellent fabric can originate an excellent fashion.”

• Nino Cerutti

I still remember as if it were just yesterday. Many years ago, on a bright sunny day, is when I was conceptualised. From absolute nothingness, my maker had painstakingly weaved me to life in the best form possible. 

I prayed to take the form of one of the more comfortable types of fabrics since these were more widely accepted, carefully maintained and also lived a fuller life. While I knew that ordinary synthetics don't breathe as well as natural fibres, I was glad when my prayers were answered as I noticed the first few fibres jutting out of me. I was made of a skin-friendly substance that would delight my eventual bearer. 

If you hadn’t guessed it already, I am the fabric in question here and this is the story of my life - from the cradle to the grave. 

After my specifications and my future was discussed by my maker amongst his peers, my delicate self was sent to the textile production facility where I would meet many more like me. This is where I learnt how to ride the roller coaster called ‘production’. From one machine to the other, all I had to do was lie down and I was toned into shape.

I was given some time to rest before being taken to the ‘drawing board’ as they called it. Here is where I was stylised and given a particular design texture. Post this process, I actually had my own identity to work with and to be honest, I even caught a few other pieces of cloth staring right at me!

I was in the middle of appreciating my new-found good looks when I was hurried to the final production chamber. There were many rumours that I had heard about this part of the process. A few garments did not have what it took to go through the rigours of this final stage and come out the other side looking finished and fine. I had trained my mind beforehand to be completely chin-up and chest-out about this and looking back at things, my bravery is the only thing that kept me from being devoured whole by one of the scariest looking machines that I had ever seen. They say “What doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger” and this is something that you have to really experience to understand. I know because I did. 

My packaging seemed to be tailor made as I fit into it perfectly well. The attention to detail was breathtaking as I noticed a pretty ribbon right next to my name. Me and all of my friends were then segregated and before you know it, we were taken to a swanky outlet where I lived life on the shelves. 

It was a while before my future owner noticed me and after trying me on for size, made the purchase. I spent many years with this boy, dressing him up almost always for evenings. He made me meet all his other fabric friends in his cupboard and would always pair me with another. Hardly ever did I meet the same friends twice, except of course when inside the cupboard.

Alas, the day did finally come where my owner outgrew me and I was then living life in the confines of the wardrobe. I admit, it did get a bit creepy at times, but nothing compared to the horrors of final production. 

I survived my long tenure of being sidelined until the day I was suddenly grabbed and brought back into the light. It was after a while that I realised that I was passed on to my owner’s younger sibling who I must say did not really mix and match me up with the rest of his clothes. He always had a standard pair of jeans that he would couple me with, no matter if it were morning, afternoon or night. 

I’m just happy now that I get to serve my owner and make him shine bright. Anything is fine as long as I'm not forgotten and stuffed into the dark caverns of a cupboard, which is as good as any grave.