The Year of Rewilding

Life has a way of happening whether one likes it or not, and just as I decided to give myself permission to shop, a lot of it happened all at once. 

One night a stone came through our bedroom window (the previous resident of our house is apparently not a popular man locally). As well as being a bit of a shock, this was an unwanted expense as we had to have the glass replaced. Then I had to have my dad's car moved by a recovery firm. Then the deposit came due for the little one to start nursery in the new term. Then the Department of Work and Pensions made an error with Dai's taxes. A car veered too close to Dai's vehicle and scraped the wing mirror off. Again and again we had to dip into our piggy bank and watch the balance go down. 

It felt frustrating and unfair. Our finances had taken a battering several months prior when Dai's former employer decided not to pay him what he'd earned, and they'd never really recovered. Friends and family offered support, but it's hard to take money from loved ones when you don't know when or if you'll be able to return the favour. We'd gone from feeling not exactly well-off but able to afford some luxuries, to doing the food shop with vouchers and barely being able to afford the heating. 

Between being suddenly skint and the loss of my father, it was really hard to stay focused. I found that I could sit in my armchair, fall into Facebook or Instagram and still be there a couple of hours later. I was forgetful and slow - jobs that used to take ten minutes might now take whole days. It was getting more and more difficult to face the wind and rain to get out for our daily walks. Sometimes we didn't leave the house until evening. The to-do list was getting so long it made me nauseous just thinking about it.

The bright spots were few. Lighting candles on my altar and casting a warm cosy glow throughout the kitchen. Curling up with the Spud to listen to a local folklore podcast, as the rain drummed softly against the windows. Reading strange, mournful, viscerally beautiful poetry. 

I hadn't yet settled on a word for 2022. I prefer choosing a word to setting a resolution. It's like setting a heading to steer by, whereas traditional resolutions can be rather like selecting a personal failing to beat yourself up about for a few months. Much like trying to do a year-long shopping ban, I suppose. 

The word arose almost spontaneously, just a whisper at first, slinking out of the shadows around the edges of my mind.

Rewilding.

I tried to dismiss it at first - I have a three year old, a mortgage, and a business account on Instagram, what chance do I have to be wild? Wild is for the carefree, the unencumbered, the privileged, the courageous. Artists, artisans, nomads, small farmers, bush-crafters, van dwellers, communal-living-people, people who don't need at least one member of the household holding down a nine-to-five to keep the roof over. People I admire and follow on the socials, but am too comfortably domesticated to become.

Maybe that was the challenge. Maybe that's what I needed.

I saw a meme one day about feral housewives, and it made me laugh, but it also made me think (and not just me either). The next day I stumbled across a book entitled The Modern Peasant. Then I met a woman at a craft market selling baskets and decorations woven by hand from willow. My IG feed was filling up with foragers, home brewers, people weaving their own clothes from linen and dyeing them with leaves and berries, people who found happiness and empowerment in living simply and close to nature.

[Image text: The term "domestic housewife" implies that there are feral housewives, and now I have a new goal.]

Fair enough, I can't pack up our household into a caravan or narrowboat (yet). But being a feral housewife? That, I could probably manage. Or at least have fun setting out in that direction. Rewilding in baby steps. 

A wilder life was also a different way of looking at living frugally, which can be a fun challenge when your coffers are full but a stressful grind when they're nearing empty. One of my favourite reads in the last few years was Radical Homemakers by Shannon Hayes, which seemed like a pretty good jumping-off point for further disconnecting my life from consumer culture - which right then seemed to be doing its damnedest to reel me back in, because sometimes it's harder than others to resist the endless scroll and the easy fix.

Maybe I could choose foraging over Facebook, take up reading poetry by candlelight, make things with my hands, get dirt under my nails and stars in my eyes, and in so doing become a little stranger and a little wilder over the course of the year. It definitely seemed worth a try.

Authenticity and the Introverted Bard

My word for the year last year, as you may remember, was 'authenticity'. I've been choosing a word to steer by each year since about 2014, but I found this to be one of the most meaningful and powerful - I am still feeling its effects throughout my life. Particularly in the latter half of the year when money became tight, events felt out of my control and I had to contend with the all-pervasive and visceral nature of grief and loss, keeping my focus on living authentically meant that I was able to forgo a lot of bullshit and avoid performing the complicated dance of people-pleasing. 

Being authentic, it turns out, involves owning your needs and being unapologetic about them. It means being honest, being imperfect, and being okay about being imperfect. It means getting okay with discomfort - my own, and other people's. For me, this was quite a radical thing. Not rushing to fill uncomfortable silences, not prefacing every thought with "Sorry, but..." , not rushing to smooth things over or taking personal responsibility for everyone else's experience. Not constantly wondering, "Did I come across weird there?", not striving to micromanage everyone's perceptions all of the time. 

It meant accepting how much emotional energy I had to give and not over-committing. It meant not agonising over composing perfect texts. It meant being more direct than I have ever been. Sometimes it meant facing up to mistakes and looking at how I could do better next time. I noticed that I stopped avoiding eye contact, or feeling silly if I didn't always have a pithy response ready.

Authenticity as a practice is both freeing and scary. One of the biggest things it gave me was the freedom and strength to speak at my father's funeral. Until the very last moment, I wasn't sure if this was something I could do. But I did - I probably rushed a bit, as I was nervous, but I didn't hyperventilate, or panic, and when I tripped over my words I was a able to gather myself and carry on without feeling embarrassed. I've rarely been so proud of myself.

This held relevance for my spiritual life as well. The first grade in many formal Druidic orders is that of Bard. As a lifelong writer, I felt some kinship with this idea - I'm a great believer in nurturing and developing our creative expression. I'm a published poet and previously performed once or twice with a bellydance group (although I got so anxious about this that I stopped, a good few years ago now). But my mental image of a bard was of someone who is comfortable on a stage, a talented musician, performer or storyteller, and that is definitely not me. I once stumbled over my words reading out a poem I'd written at a writing class, and instantly froze, unable to continue - I had to pretend I'd only written a single verse! 

There are, doubtless, innumerable ways to express oneself as a Bard, by the way - I certainly don't think that getting to grips with public speaking is an intrinsic part of Druidry! But to me, as someone who loves stories and the art of storytelling, it feels like an important step to get more comfortable with being able to express myself to an audience.

I'm not a brilliant orator, and I don't know that I'll ever be a fully confident performer. But the power of authenticity has shown me that I am capable. I'm not as frightened of people as I used to be, and I have really come to understand that mostly everyone is worrying about their own stuff, rather than scrutinizing me or expecting perfection. Storytelling, or even speaking out loud in front of others, no longer feels like an impenetrable realm accessible only to the extroverted.

Shopper's Guilt

We all know about buyer's remorse, but I'd like to coin a new term: shopper's guilt. This is something I have noticed I now feel when buying, well, anything, from a new item of clothing - even when necessary - to a hot chocolate on a cold day. I think it stems from having tried for so long not to buy anything at all. I love to see whole weeks of no-spend days on the page in my journal where I write down my daily spends, and sometimes it's hard to remember that groceries, birthday gifts for other people's kids, and even - deep breath here - the occasional treat, are not failures.

The thing is, I've read about so many people who successfully completed a year-long shopping ban that I just assumed it was something I would be able to do with enough willpower. I didn't really take into consideration other factors at play in my life, such as the struggle I'd had to put a wardrobe together post-baby. As long-term readers will know, due to a number of factors such as lack of self-esteem and not much sense of personal identity, my wardrobe for the last couple of years has largely been made up of items gifted by friends and family during their own clearouts, which helped to tide me over when I didn't have money to spend to buy new items for my changed body and really needed a break from online shopping.

But now, three years after the Spud's birth, I am finally starting to get comfortable with who I am, what my shape is and what I like, and I'm able to make good choices about what to buy and when. But I felt so guilty about wanting to do so, when I already had things I could wear.

Then recently I read Real Life Money by Claire Seal. Actually I put off reading it for ages after checking out the sample, because I was super invested in trying to be as anticonsumerist as possible at all costs, and sentences like "it's not about bullying yourself into frenzied frugality and then beating yourself up when, inevitably, you need to buy a new toothbrush on a 'no spend day'," gave me the Fear. I'd learned to think in very simple terms regarding money - spending = bad. I was sceptical - and nervous - about the suggestion that there might be other ways to tackle my shopping habit other than the extreme frugality method.

But after feeling terrible for buying myself a new jacket - even though I'd already identified that I needed one, and had had it on my wishlist for nearly a year - I decided I'd better give it a go. I've gotten way better with money since starting this blog - I actually have savings now - but I was tired of the guilt. I'd spent years feeling small because I shopped too much - now I felt bad if I shopped at all, which didn't really feel like an improvement.

After reading Real Life Money - or rather, devouring it in two days - I bought two items from a local business run by some friends of mine - a pair of rainbow dungarees with a celestial print, which were discounted, and a deck of Tarot cards I'd been looking at on Amazon for about eight months. 

Immediately I felt awful and texted Dai, telling him I needed him to hide my debit card, as I "was suffering a lack of self-control". Then I stopped and thought about it. Did I want to return the items? Well, honestly, no. The dungarees fit beautifully, went with a lot of my favourite items, and were gorgeous. I was pleased that I'd been able to find something so me in a local shop. The Tarot deck was bright and colourful, and had a very different vibe to my other deck, which is more dark and earthy. I do try not to collect decks, as I don't see the need, and I'm sceptical of collecting things just for the sake of it (everything takes resources, after all) but having two beautiful sets for different moods and different readings didn't seem like the end of the world.

I texted Dai again. "Actually, belay that. I've spent within my means and I don't regret what I've bought. It's not a self-control issue I'm having, it's a guilt issue."

Learning to shop mindfully scares me a bit, because historically I find moderation harder than an all-or-nothing approach. Last winter I tried to take a break from my endless shopping bans and immediately bought far too much. I'm the sort of person who finds it hard to eat just a couple of cookies. But, is all-or-nothing healthy, or have I been shooting myself in the foot trying to go from full-throttle shopaholism to a dead stop? Have I been subconsciously telling myself that I don't deserve nice things, or that I am bad, wrong or brainwashed for wanting those things in the first place?

Real Life Money was a really useful read for me, not just because of the similarities between Claire's shopping issues and mine - she discusses how new motherhood, body image and social media can all be factors at play, which I have definitely experienced. But I teared up reading things like this: "The appeal of stripping out every extra cost from your budget can be hard to resist, especially if you’re angry with yourself. But punitive budgeting just doesn’t work in the long run, because you grow resentful and bitter as you start to feel more and more deprived. If we take things right back to our goal of happiness, security and mental wellbeing, months and possibly years on end of putting your life on hold for the sake of improving your finances doesn’t really make sense. After all, to put a slightly morbid spin on the matter, you could finish off paying your debt or reach your savings goal, and promptly get hit by a bus. That’s not to say that it’s not healthy or necessary to make a few sacrifices – after all, if we carry on doing the exact same things, we can only expect the exact same outcome – but making sure we keep our emotional wellbeing front of mind is important."

A note: I regularly add new books to my Recommended Reading list (which lives in my sidebar for easy reference), and this month I decided to add an extra section specifically for books that I would definitely have included in the bibliography of The Anti-consumerist Druid, had I read them before submitting the manuscript. So if you're hunting for something new to read, you'll find all my favourites in that post.

Laura Morrigan reviews The Anti-consumerist Druid

Woke up this morning to a lovely advance review of my book The Anti-consumerist Druid from blogger Laura Morrigan! 

It's a pretty in-depth review, and like me, Laura has a strong interest in quirky fashion and alternative lifestyles, as well as having had a similar outdoorsy childhood, so I was fascinated to read about her own experiences with consumerism and overshopping. 

I found it particularly interesting that Laura found the Cottagecore lifestyle driving some of her purchases, despite it being a lifestyle encouraging simple, natural living, because I often experience the same pull to purchase when looking at some of my favourite simple-living Instagrammers such as @folk_hattie and @along_the_hedgerow. Is it because the lifestyles are portrayed in a very strong visual manner on social media, so if we already have that susceptibility towards wanting to shop and to consume, our first tendency is to try to recreate those visual aspects we feel inspired by, rather than focusing on other facets such as activities or mindset? Is it something to do with the nature of the media itself? I definitely experience more desire to shop when I spend more time online.

But I'm getting side-tracked! I was delighted by Laura's review, which you can read here.

 

"The Anti-consumerist Druid is a book that helps identify issues and solve them in a more creative way. It reminds us “the panacea for shopping is not asceticism” and to embrace creativity and mindfulness over consumerism. To simply do creative things and embrace the everyday joys that life has to offer.

Like Townsend I find “I want to fill my life with the richness of doing, even if I’m not very good at everything I turn my hand to, rather than spending my days passively consuming what other people have made.”

Personally, I think this book has inspired me to be more mindful of what I consume and how it affects me and those around me. It has reminded me of the importance of real connection and to become the person we want  instead of just trying to build a personality through consumption and social media.

5 Stars." - Laura Morrigan

Ethical Alternative Clothing

One thing that really surprised me when I started trying to shop more ethically was that the alternative clothing market, generally speaking, is no better than the rest of the fast fashion brigade. With the exception of a handful of notable brands, clothes marketed to consumers who want to stand out from wearers of 'mainstream' fashion are produced in the same environmentally unfriendly ways and in the same brutal conditions as other big-name companies. Hopefully this is an area where we will begin to see change, as we all become more aware of where and how our clothes are made, and as more and more consumers begin to speak up.

I must admit, I find it really ironic - and annoying - that clothes marketed towards the peace-loving hippie, the fiercely creative goth or the anti-capitalist punk are often produced in ways that are the antithesis of all those values. From ripping off indie designers and artists (Dollskill) to mass-produced punk clothing (what is the actual point?!), styles that were once proudly handmade or stood for something genuinely radical have become yet more fodder for the great consumption machine.

I kind of didn't get for a long time how radical were the advent of hippie and then punk fashion, but when I started to understand that before the sixties there was essentially one correct way for women (and men) to be attired within the boundaries of one's social class, defined for you right down to your hairstyle, make-up and undergarments, I began to see how shocking a statement the miniskirt and Mohawk really were. 

It seems to me that very little in fashion is genuinely shocking now (when I first dyed my hair blue, aged twelve, a lot of people pointed or gawked, which seems hard to imagine nowadays! Teenage me would have been very, very excited about the rainbow of make-up and hair colours that are now readily available on the high street), and the boundaries between what is 'mainstream' and what is 'alternative' seem to be getting blurry. Alternative, now, just seems to mean doing a different kind of consumption. You buy from Killstar instead of ASOS, Camden Market instead of Selfridges. But it's still about having a certain look, and about consuming, whereas back in the mists of time, those 'alternative' subcultural markers were often a political statement.

It's not that I think being different, or looking different, is only for activists and anarchists. But I find it interesting to note how clothing as a form of cultural shorthand has changed in just a couple of generations, and how pervasive is consumer culture that even the styles of sixties and seventies countercultural movements are now mass-produced.

However, it's not all negative. DIY fashion is still a thing, and there are hundreds, if not thousands of small makers and artisans selling their wares at markets up and down the country, as well as on eBay and Etsy, many of whom source their materials ethically and sustainably and strive to pay a fair wage to their workers. Of course, the second-hand market is a treasure trove for those seeking a more different or unusual look. I've found that since I started to follow bloggers like Sheila Ephemera and Vintage Vixen, I can more easily see potential amongst the charity shop rails. Vix's blog actually helped remind me of what I loved about clothes in the first place. As she says, "I don't follow fashion and if I look ridiculous so what? Not being noticed and blending in with the crowd is my idea of hell." This kind of individual self-expression, the skill and artistic eye required to develop a really unique look, is to my mind much more 'alternative', creative and meaningful than buying an entire outfit from Hell Bunny and calling it a day.

My personal idea of a way of dressing that is alternative in a meaningful way (rather than simply as visual code for Being Different - not a bad thing in itself, but less important to me now than it was ten years ago, and easily subsumed by the modern tidal wave of personal branding) would be something like that expressed by Nimue Brown in her post In Search of Greener Clothes. I've been thinking about this sort of thing as I move from trying not to shop at all to learning to shop mindfully and in moderation - I want to own and wear clothes that make me feel good, that make my heart happy, and I completely identify with Nimue's comment, "I have a horror of looking like the sort of person who has bought all their clothes from a supermarket." 

There's an excellent article about ethical goth clothing on the Domesticated Goth blog, which I recommend for further reading on this subject.

I generally try not to post shopping links on this blog, for what I think are fairly obvious reasons, but a handful of alternative ethical and/or sustainable brands I am generally happy to purchase from are:

Gringo

Wobble and Squeak

Wanderlust and Faeriedust

Celtic Fusion Design (although I'm getting towards the top end of their sizing, which is a bit of a shame)

Gippies range by GutsyGingers (their own designs - the name 'Gippies' being a blend of goth and hippie)

AltShop UK

MoonMaiden

I haven't personally purchased from these (yet), but my research also turned up the following:

Foxblood

Church of Sanctus

The Last Kult

Holy Clothing

Noctex