Reflections of a Former Child Garment Worker — Inside the Sweatshop: Part 3

Working in a sweatshop as a child shaped my view of work and wealth as an American immigrant. I was six years old when I started. Part 3 of 4.

Continued from Part 2

Jealously toward other kids

I was a highly sensitive child in a cold environment. Growing up, I was immensely envious of my elementary and middle school classmates.

As a kid, I was envious for typical reasons — such as when kids had endless toys or gadgets. As a girl, I was jealous for usual reasons — when girls had prettier skin, make-up, or got to dye their hair.

But as a child sweatshop worker, I was jealous of much more. These reasons were different, and the feelings dominated my thoughts, much beyond silly things like make-up or gadgets, especially when I approached middle school.

Where I grew up in LA, there were a lot of Asians. I want to say there were seven Asian students for every ten kids in class. The stereotypes of Asians being “smart or driven” aren’t always true, but in this area, the stereotype is mainly held. This napkin statistic will make more sense in a moment.

As such, after school, many of my classmates went to learning centers like Kumon, where students receive supplemental learning. They all became close friends, and many effortlessly did better than me in school. One of them eventually became valedictorian in high school and went to Stanford.

I was seething with jealousy that all these kids had to worry about were their grades. I wasn’t old enough then to know my garment work was unusual, and didn’t appreciate how unique my younger self was.

As for me, all I had to look forward to after school was the next batch of cuffs I had to sew. I didn’t get to hang out with friends, and I also didn’t have anyone to help me with homework. I often had to figure it out myself.

To my detriment, this set me up for years of not relying on anyone for help and a chronic habit of hiding the truth.

I didn’t necessarily enjoy school, but receiving good grades was the only thing I felt I had control over. I was resentful; these kids were always ahead of me no matter how hard I tried.

For example, in the “gifted” English class I took in middle school, I shyly volunteered to read one of my essays to the classroom. The topic of the week was “symbolism.”

I don’t remember my paper, but the valedictorian girl read hers after mine, and it was brilliant. A sentence from her paper made me reel with envy. She used “broom bristles” to describe coarse blonde hair. Was this really the work of a seventh-grader?

No wonder she got into Stanford. But back then, I was ashamed of myself for not being near her level.

Despite these rather unusual reasons for jealousy, one positive aspect was that I became hardly jealous of things that held people back later in high school, college, and adulthood. While people are busy comparing themselves to others in pursuing romance, possessions, and looks, I became more focused on the world around me and my feelings.

I felt more strongly than others. I could feel the waste being generated from my fingertips as I pressed the sewing pedal. Who needs this many clothes? I would wonder.

Observing the Consequences of Fast Fashion

Because of my experiences with garments, I have a personal and unique view of the excess that characterizes the fast and regular fashion industries.

I witnessed our work in action when I went back to school shopping one year.

To my surprise, I saw the same pair of UFO pants we had recently sewn being sold for $50+ at a famous, celebrity-endorsed clothing brand (which I won’t name).

But a few months later, I found the same item marked down at TJ Maxx, where we often shopped. It was impossible to overlook our work in the garments we had painstakingly assembled.

This eye-opening experience made me realize the work my family was doing was just a small part of a vast machine.

We were like tiny cogs, easily replaceable despite the hard labor skills we possessed.

It was obvious we were not instrumental at all, and it dawned on me our efforts were not valued for their significance; instead, they were lost amidst the cycle of mass production and rapid consumption.

For those unfamiliar, UFO pants were baggy casual pants popular in the 90s, and ironically, they are coming back with the current generation as I write this.

This exemplifies how fashion styles change with the seasons and sometimes resurface in trends. My family's hard work to meet delivery deadlines resulted in clothes that would only last for a season or two at most.

It was a road with no end.

At its surface, this cycle may appear driven by big business, but it starts with the consumer.

Corporations design items to meet a consumer fashion trend or to create a trend based on current consumer tastes or habits.

Then, textile parts are ordered, cut, and sent to sweatshops to be assembled. Finally, retailers attach price tags and sell the products in stores.

The production chart doesn’t cover unsold leftovers, which might end up at off-price retailers like Ross or TJ Maxx, or worse, in some cases, they might be discarded or burned to preserve brand value.

According to Fashion Revolution, the number of garments produced annually has doubled since 2000, exceeding 100 billion for the first time in 2014. Furthermore, the fashion industry creates an estimated 92 million tons of textile waste annually, with the equivalent of one garbage truck of textiles being landfilled or burned every second worldwide.

A harsh reality of fast fashion is that the materials used lack quality. My sewing experience taught me that skillful sewing techniques cannot compensate for poor materials.

Even good threading can’t prevent cheap rayon or polyester from ripping in no time.

These realizations shaped my perspective at a young age regarding how wasteful we, as consumers, can be regarding our clothing and fashion choices.

The increasing textile waste in the 2000s suggests consumer habits have worsened since my family started garment work in the 90s.

Understand me; as someone who grew up in poverty, I appreciate affordable clothing, particularly during times of high inflation like the present.

However, raising awareness about the wastefulness of fast fashion and its negative impact on work conditions and compensation for the workers involved in production is crucial. Amid our drive for capitalism, there must be a way for our society to find a harmonious balance that benefits all stakeholders.

Over the past year, I’ve hopped around several cities, like New York City, Seattle, Portland, Los Angeles, Miami, and Dallas. And you know what I found in their shopping districts?

Loads of those fabulous vintage consignment and thrift stores.

Seeing these shops out there makes me pretty confident our current and future generations are striving toward sustainability regarding clothing.

Even Forbes said it in a recent article — Gen Z is all about that re-commerce scene, including secondhand goods. Fantastic work, Gen Z!

In the final Part 4, I reveal why I finally decided to talk about my story almost 30 years later, how this affected my mental health, and how I balanced school with sewing work.

Part 4 is linked below.

Hey everyone, thanks for reading. I’m a former corporate management consultant writing about work, culture, and personal finance. I’m not a financial advisor. I’m just an average person.

This article is for informational purposes only and should not be considered Financial or Legal Advice. Consult a financial professional before making any significant financial decisions.