In the spring of 2020, I began taking my faith and spirituality more seriously and started regularly reading the Bible. Early in my journey, I read through the book of Deuteronomy, and chapter 22, verse 11 stood out to me.
“Thou shalt not wear a garment of diverse sorts, as of woollen and linen together.” (KJV)
I wondered, “Why would fabric matter enough to even be mentioned?”
In an attempt to figure out the meaning behind that verse and why that instruction was given, I began looking deeper into synthetic fibers, chemical treatments, dyes, textile manufacturing practices, and the composition of modern fabrics in a way I never had before. After going through a ton of articles, artificial fibers and polyester no longer registered to me as just normal clothing materials. It clicked for me that these were essentially glorified forms of plastic and mystery chemical concoctions being worn directly on the body’s largest organ.
Now, I of course still don’t truly know why that Biblical instruction regarding mingled fibers was given beyond speculation. Nevertheless, that short verse is what initiated the research that completely altered the way I viewed clothing.
At this point in time, I already had a background in fashion. I studied fashion merchandising in college, had spent years immersed in clothing and retail environments, and understood textiles from a technical and industry perspective. I was already well-versed in fiber names, fabric compositions, garment construction, and the basics of textile education. But despite all of that, I had never truly stopped or even cared enough to think deeply about the impact of modern fabrics beyond functionality and performance.
This research was truly eye-opening, and once I became aware of all the detrimental aspects, I couldn’t unsee it. It genuinely felt like the verse and the research that followed had removed a veil from my eyes. For the first time, I was understanding textiles, fabric composition, and my wardrobe in a way that had simply never registered to me before.
With some encouragement from a close confidant, I eventually felt pushed to stop viewing this information as just interesting research and assess my own closet through this new lens.
I began by reading tags and sorted through everything I owned. If the item in question wasn’t made from 100% non-blended natural fibers like cotton, linen, wool, or silk, it went in a pile that was destined to be donated, re-sold, or trashed. Eventually I realized a few practical exceptions had to exist for things like elastic waistbands and minor percentages of spandex and elastane, which are difficult to avoid entirely. But overall, I adhered to my 100% natural fiber composition standard. This left me with an odd assortment of pieces: four t-shirt dresses, a few oversized men’s button-down shirts, two handmade skirts, one hoodie, and a random pile of vintage/school/club t-shirts.
My wardrobe was by no means curated or stylish. It barely functioned.
But I didn’t care. I was determined to rebuild my wardrobe in a way that aligned with my newfound values, despite how chaotic it initially looked. The problem was I had absolutely no strategy.
To further add to the chaos of the situation, shortly after I made this commitment, I found out I was pregnant. (Talk about great timing!) Suddenly, I was navigating a rapidly changing body, limited finances, and a closet that no longer made sense for my life. I didn’t want to spend money carelessly on clothing that might only fit temporarily, so I turned heavily toward thrift stores, Poshmark, and eBay bids. When doing this, I unfortunately made the mistake of approaching shopping with tunnel vision.
I became obsessed with fiber content and ignored almost everything else. I searched racks for linen, cotton, wool, and silk tags without considering whether the pieces actually reflected my personal style or, in a broader sense of wardrobe curating, worked together cohesively. My rule was simple: If the fabric met my standards and was a “steal of a deal” regarding price, I bought it.
In hindsight, this approach clearly lacked structure and balance, and what followed should not have come as a surprise. After a few months of sourcing pieces, I stopped looking like myself.
Before all of this, I genuinely loved fashion. I loved styling outfits, finding unique pieces, understanding silhouettes, and expressing myself through clothing. I had a very clear aesthetic and style that took me years to cultivate. When fiber content became my main priority, I began to disregard my personal style.
It’s worth noting that part of what led to this problem was that the pieces I felt were in line with my style and naturally gravitated toward were often astronomically more expensive when made with higher natural fiber compositions, while the cheaper and more accessible versions were usually made from heavily synthetic materials and blends. Thankfully, today, more brands are beginning to shift in a better direction, and there are far more wallet-conscious options available now than there were when I first started this journey. But initially, I quickly realized there was a major gap in the market between intentional materials and accessible style.
So, my closet became what I lovingly refer to now as my “little house on the prairie era.”
There is absolutely nothing wrong with that aesthetic, especially if it genuinely reflects someone’s style, but it doesn’t reflect mine. This style sort of became a “default setting” as I was seeking “modest” pieces made from natural fibers and found no shortage of old-world-style cotton dresses that could fit me at any stage of life (pregnancy, postpartum, etc.). Well, when “life was lifing,” as they say, and I had more children, my clothes then demanded a much higher level of functionality for things like breastfeeding and baby wearing. My prior need for looking stylish had pretty much disappeared, and the need to be stylish was overtaken by practicality, simply because I didn’t see how the two could possibly co-exist. Roughly 3 years into abiding by my fiber standards, I had a hodgepodge collection of cotton prairie dresses, oversized basics, and random wool and silk pieces. My closet went from being likened to Raven Baxter’s (seriously, I would get this ALL the time) to looking like something Laura Ingalls hand-crafted.
During this season of life (multiple children, changing body, etc.), it’s a pretty common phenomenon for women to feel out of place, but I no longer felt connected to myself through the way I dressed. This realization came upon me after I was preparing to “reintegrate” back into society after years of staying home. After scouring my closet and trying to put together outfits I felt confident walking around, I simply couldn’t. My determination to have a healthier closet that functioned came at the expense of my style identity.
This just shouldn’t be.
You should not have to sacrifice your sense of beauty, style, creativity, or individuality when implementing a heightened standard for the materials your clothing is made out of. So after several years, multiple pregnancies, endless research, countless mistakes, and a lot of trial and error, I finally began approaching my wardrobe differently.
Instead of randomly collecting natural fiber pieces, I started building systems. I developed outfit formulas, intentional wardrobe categories, personal uniforms, and methods for balancing healthier materials with actual style and functionality.
I focused on finding well-made pieces designed to last, learned how to thrift with far more purpose, began making some of my own clothing, and leaned heavily into tailoring, repairing, and upcycling whenever possible.
Little by little, I found my way back to fashion again.
And that journey is ultimately what led to the creation of Fibers With Fashion.
Through this space, I’ll be sharing everything I’ve lived and learned:
fiber education, wardrobe systems, styling methods, industry research, brand discoveries, balanced closet transitions, etc.
In highlighting these topics and bringing awareness to some of the scary realities of our clothing and the fashion industry at large, my goal is not to fear-monger or produce a sense of panic. My goal is to simply contribute to this growing conversation that is waking people up; providing education about the fibers, fabrics, and textile compositions that make up the modern clothing industry while simultaneously offering help to realistically navigate building a healthier, more intentional wardrobe.
So whether you’re just beginning to question what’s hanging in your closet, rebuilding your wardrobe from scratch, or trying to rediscover your style after making lifestyle changes, welcome.
I’m grateful you’re here, and I hope that you’ll stick around. We have so much to explore together!