A Love Letter to Herderin: My Personal Journey with Clothing

Written by Lexi Fujii

I met Alix back in 2022 when I was managing the producer network at Fibershed. I had come across her work and instantly fell in love with the simple beauty of Herderin’s pieces – the natural fabric taking center stage, the elegant minimalism, and the color scheme that I find much of my closet to be. Really, just the colors of the Earth – myriad shades of tans and browns reflecting the bark of a tree, the soil and sand that coats the coast, and the off-whites of the clouds above, punctuated by deep oranges and muted yellows. When I see these colors, with a depth that can only be found with natural fibers and dyes, I am grounded in place. My first dip into Herderin was really just its aesthetic beauty, but there was something deeper that called to me that I wouldn’t be able to put into words until much later.

Throughout the last few years, Alix/ Herderin and I’s relationship has taken different iterations and through each phase, my own understanding of Herderin has evolved. Last Fall, I began writing creative pieces for the Herderin Journal and it is here where everything changed for me – from working directly with Alix, to interviewing other creatives who have collaborated with Herderin, to reviewing interviews and writing stories from our Clothing the Self Series on people’s social and emotional relationships with clothing. I’m still uncovering the layers of what Alix is evoking through this work. And Herderin itself is a shape-shifter, but always with the same essence. When I first met Alix, she spoke about clothing and design in a way I had never heard before – it is philosophical poetry imbued with a clear intellectual understanding of human behavior and needs. 

Like a river slowly shifting the shape of a valley, my relationship to clothing has followed this trajectory; You don’t realize it’s happening but later look back and see the gentle flow of water was a force so large it shifted the floor below your feet.

Since middle school, my “style”, or how I have dressed myself has had many different forms. In middle school it was a mix of my sister’s hand-me-downs with a quirky flare or pop of color, of course with dyed purple or pink streaks in my hair and blue eye mascara. In high school, influenced by our ability to drive into Berkeley and think we were suburban hippies, it turned into thrifted high-waisted shorts dip dyed into rainbow colors, hand-knitted vests, and anything we deemed to look like it was from the mid-60s to early 70s. 

And in college, my look was an amalgamation of all the new identities I was exploring – from farm girl to hipster meets punk, to a rejection of fashion and consumption all in itself. My freshman year I would wear velvet leggings to the student farm I would work on in the mornings before class. I wore black platform shoes with collared shirts buttoned to the top and space buns to class. And by my last year of university, I truly can’t remember what my “style” even was because it was something I chose not to care about. In my mind, fashion was linked to overconsumption and the climate crisis and superficial human behaviors. I didn’t want anything to do with it. My early 20s were spent in a mix of farm-wear (when I worked on farms), Zen-wear (when I lived at a Zen center), and random thrifted items that brought me no sense of true identity beyond putting my money where my values were.

It wasn’t until learning more about natural fibers and sustainable textiles through working at Fibershed, and until meeting Alix who introduced the blending of comfort, somatic design, and beautiful adornment, that my relationship to ‘style’ and ‘clothing’ transformed into something deeper. I learned that clothing didn’t have to equal ‘fast fashion’ and ‘climate disaster’. It’s a huge driver, yes, but Fibershed’s soil-to-soil vision gave me hope. I learned that clothing didn’t have to equal ‘superficial’ and ‘fast fashion trendy style’ but could be a representation of deep values, inner philosophy and marrying how our inner world can be expressed outwardly. 

I value goods that don’t harm people or the environment, and value buying items made by someone I know or have at least met once. I value meaningful, place-based creation using land-based materials. I value knowing where the things I use come from and being aware of that intricate journey. This isn’t always possible, and like many values, realistically we don’t live by them 24/7. But they are guiding principles for me that hold true for clothing, but also with food, medicine, and other goods. My “style” has become: 30% Does this align with my values?, 30% Do I like how it looks and feels on my body?, and 30% Does this intuitively just feel like me?

One perspective that has greatly shifted for me is around comfort and its relation to clothing. Alix herself is one of the most authentic people I have met. Someone who is not afraid to live in her own skin, share her ideas and believe them to be good, and has this awareness of herself that leads with intuition. Aren’t we all trying to feel comfortable in our own bodies, and crave to be seen as our true selves by those around us? And for so long I saw people’s relationship to identity, which could be seen as portraying their true selves, was outwardly expressed through style. Something that until the recent athleisure movement I hadn’t seen tied to the idea of comfort. 

Before, comfort was soft fabrics in the form of sweatpants and loose t-shirts. Something I wore at home and to sleep, but not necessarily out in public. It was wide Birkenstock shoes my grandma would wear around the house, and 80s/ 90s sweatshirts my mom often sported at home. When I was younger both of these items felt so dorky (although I now sport birks on a daily basis). Comfort was something I acknowledged when dressing myself but not necessarily the deciding factor on what I put on my body. 

Now, comfort is both how something literally feels on my skin and also if what I am wearing feels representative of my truest self. I’ve spent a couple of years, of what feels like, “studying” under Herderin, understanding how clothing can support our physical and emotional selves. Parallelled by my own journey to understand myself somatically, I can now pinpoint when a garment also helps or hinders my emotional state. Sometimes a pair of jeans might feel like my truest form, but that day the waistband feels too tight, so it's both uncomfortable against my skin and eaves me with an agitation I cannot ignore. That agitation turns into an emotional state. 

I grew up in a society where style comes first. For so long I wasn’t even attuned to how a garment felt on me besides, “that looks good” or “I like that style” or “others will like this too”. I feel like I am finally finding clothing that meets my three needs: Does this feel comfortable on my skin? Does this represent my values? Does my emotional self also feel comforted and represented? Not everything I wear meets all three of these, but they are questions I find myself asking more and more.

This Fall I start graduate school. I haven’t been a full-time student in over eight years so understandably so, I am feeling nervous. Recently I had a thought, one that felt like it came from a deep intuitive place: I want some Herderin pieces for when I start school. Ones that drape my body and leave spaciousness that I don’t even register that I am wearing clothes. I want my time in school to be focused and grounded. I want to wear clothing that is comfortable without distraction, and that feels good all the way down to my soul so I can feel supported as I study and dive into my new career path. I want to be comforted by Herderin, like a warm bowl of jook on a cold winter morning, or a loving hug from a dear friend. And I want others to have this experience too.