Globalization of Dress

Compromising Culture

Nyki Duda
Winter 2007, Divisadero 

The holidays can inspire guilt. Credit cards maxed out and car trunks full of gifts for the family, US consumers rush home to clean out their closets, determined to “give back” in the spirit of the season. Unwanted clothes are dumped into charity collection bins. From there, it’s on to the thrift store. 

Charity shops can be cluttered, too, and when their racks can’t accommodate the overstock, the clothes are sent to the needy. Right? 

Well, sort of. Some US organizations have begun to send their excess to Latin America, where “donated” clothing from the US is sold at dirt-cheap prices. A fine idea in theory – provide affordable clothing to impoverished Latin Americans. Beneath the surface, the practice poses a serious threat to Latin American culture as Western brands and style overtake traditional ways of dress.

Due mostly to questionable labor practices, US customers are offered lower prices on clothing made overseas in developing nations. As prices deflate, clothing becomes disposable and we continue to replace it. Out-of-style duds are donated to second-hand stores where they are (usually illegally) exported to Latin America. Like other shadow economies, the illegal trade in used clothing is near-impossible to control. 

Now, on US soil and in metropolises like Mexico City or Lima, it is common to see city dwellers dressed in the latest Western styles. Lately, Nike and GAP labels have been cropping up in the cerros of Honduras and the pampas of the Southern Cone alike. Traditional rural or gaucho wares are less common, outshined by US used imports. Indigenous communities that have sustained their post-contact cultures on a semblance of tradition find their native dress impractical compared to blue jeans.

Patricia Salinas, a resident of Munster, Indiana, has family in San Luis Potosi, Mexico. As a youth spending her summers there, she recalls the women would wear “shawls, long skirts, leather sandals; things you associate with Mexico and its culture.” A mostly mestizo area, the regional style was far from distinctive. 

Still, after returning to her family’s home last summer after 15 years, she was in for a shock when she saw her 87-year old aunt, Jovita Salinas Fuentes, in a familiar getup. 

“She was wearing jeans and a button-up shirt from Wal-Mart,” she recalled.

In April 2007, Bolivian President Evo Morales banned imports of used clothing from countries like the US. Bolivia, like neighboring Peru, has a large, vibrant and impoverished indigenous population with unique traditional styles.

The land-locked nation is the 32^nd country in the world to implement this strict conditional ban along with Brazil, Mexico and Argentina. But is the ban ethical when traditional clothing like the pollera of the Aymara women, is almost prohibitively expensive? 

Like other leaders, Morales feels affordable used clothing isn’t worth the cost of a loss of national identity. In fact, he often sports an artisanal Bolivian-made sweater at official functions. Both moves could and are being construed as statements against US imperialism, but for his countrymen, the option to buy Bolivian is hardly a realistic one. 

In his July 2007 article “Morales to Ban Used Clothing in Bolivia,” journalist Dan Keane spoke to Jose Luis Hernandez, a Bolivian citizen concerned by the ban. 

“I don’t know what it’s like to wear new clothing,” he said. “My pay isn’t enough after food, the rent.”

A wider Latin American ban of used clothing will leave families like the Hernandezes with few options. But should the shipments of Western apparel continue to roll in, maintaining national and indigenous identities will undoubtedly become more of a struggle.