Manifesto | Michael Drummond, Sustainable Designer St. Louis

I've been crafting garments for over twenty years, and I still get a thrill walking the aisles of a deadstock supplier, running my hands over bolts no one else has noticed yet. Somewhere in there is a piece that hasn't been made yet. This is a little about what I believe, how I work, and why I think the future of fashion is brighter than it looks.

Where I'm Coming From
My creative path has wound through sculpture, photography, film, and painting. It's taken me backstage at theatre, dance, and opera companies, onto Project Runway, and, for one long day, onto the floor of a garment factory right here in the American heartland. It wasn't a sweatshop by anyone's definition. It was clean, well lit, and, by industry standards, a nice place to work. But depressing all the same.

That day I sat in a swivel office chair pushing gold lamé dance pants through a serger, over and over and over, until it felt like my spine was separating from my pelvis. A whistle told us when we could eat and when our short breaks ended, and we had to be back in our chairs before it blew again. A floor supervisor walked behind every station, making sure we were going fast enough and not making mistakes. Everyone had to park many blocks away and walked in through the cold and snow to get there. At the end of the day, the production manager informed me they couldn't pay what they'd promised because I hadn't worked fast enough. I quit and never went back for that paycheck.

I was one of the only people on that floor who wasn't an immigrant, and one of the few who had the luxury of walking away and finding other work. Most of the people sitting beside me, I'm certain, didn't have that choice. If this is what a good factory looks like, I can only imagine the rest. I think about those coworkers all the time, and about the people working thousands of miles away whose names I'll never know. Whenever I pick up a cheap garment and wonder who made it, I remember: someone's hands did.

That day shaped so much of what I do. It's why I care about who makes our clothes and how they're treated, and why I'd rather make fewer things, slowly, with people I know by name.

And here's what gives me hope: more people than ever are asking those same questions. Who made this? How long will it last? Makers are reviving old techniques, and shoppers are choosing less and choosing better. I believe we're at the beginning of more thoughtful consumption, and I want my work to be part of it.

Less, But Better
I'd rather make one piece you'll wear for twenty years than ten you'll forget by spring or lose in the back of your closet. My goal is clothing you love, wear often, mend when it needs it, and someday gift to someone else.

Treasure Hunting
I got my start digging through a rag mill dumpster on the north side of St. Louis, pulling out textiles the world had already given up on. These days I do my hunting in person at deadstock suppliers, searching out leftover production runs, overstock, and forgotten inventory that would otherwise go unused. The spirit hasn't changed: every fabric arrives with a past, and I love giving it a future.

Honest, Not Perfect
I work mostly with reclaimed materials, but not exclusively. When a piece is meant to be treasured for generations, sometimes a beautiful new material is the right call. I'll always be open about those choices.

Room for Synthetics
I don't think synthetics are the enemy. A well made synthetic piece that's cared for and worn for decades can be a wonderful choice, and some designs need the structure, stretch, weather protection, or strength only synthetics provide. What matters most is that a garment is made to last and loved enough to keep.

Slow Hands
Fully fashioned knitting, hand guided machine embroidery, corsetry, textile manipulation, patterns drafted from scratch. These techniques take time and skill, and that time is where the magic lives. It is a thrill keeping these crafts alive and working alongside other artisans who feel the same way.

A Small Team, Known by Name
Every piece passes through hands I know. My knitters, seamstresses, artists, and assistants are collaborators, and a little of each of them goes into everything we make.

Wear It Like It's Yours Clothing is one of the most personal ways we show the world who we are. My work isn't for everyone, and that's the point. It's for the people who see a piece and feel a kinship, who want to wear something with a story, a point of view, as if they are peeking under the veil. If that's you, you're my people. Howdy.

Dreams Are Welcome
Some ideas start in the pages of a book, a passing conversation, or in my headphones. Some start at three in the morning in a dream I scribble down before it fades. I invite the peculiar and sublime in. That's usually where the process begins.

Still Growing
This is a living document. As I learn better ways to make things, I'll keep updating it. Thanks for being here and for caring about what you wear. Let’s make something worth keeping.