Taking something old, unwanted or useless and make it useful, beautiful and wanted again.

Four years ago, I cleaned, painted and polished two Herman Miller chairs salvaged from a factory lunchroom in southern Ontario. Last month, I took my leaky boots to a cobbler to be resoled, glued and made new again. And last weekend I patched five pairs of jeans, turning dumpy work wear into high fashion.

Call it recycling. Call it refurbishing. Call it thrift. For me, it’s a hobby I shamelessly gloat about when I’m in good company.  This year’s home fashion and clothing trends lean heavily toward turning the world’s garbage problem into high art.  For cheapskates and craftivists like myself, these are exciting times.

What exactly does it mean to turn trash into wearable art or useful household goods?  Let’s examine the trend by looking at two extreme examples from the world’s fashion capitals. In New York City and London, fashion designers are turning to urban pests and road kill for their raw materials. Not for the animal-loving faint of heart, the hats and stoles worn by today’s young fashionistas are reviving an old social code that equates animal fur with status.

Nutria fur is particularly hot right now.  A dense, glossy material available in all shades of brown, this fur comes from a river rat considered pesky in some parts of the United States.  Wildlife officials have invited the fashion industry to check out the cozy coats of the animal, turning pest control into an old-fashioned fur trade.  What would otherwise end up in the landfill (the unwanted nutria) is upcycled to become a luxury item.

In London, two young designers have turned a modern tragedy into wearable art.  Not for everyone, their accessories are made from the parts of animals killed by cars.  Reid Pepper does purses and James Faulkner does hats. Their products simultaneously put a new spin on recycling and revive an old-timey aesthetic.

The art and love of refurbishing isn’t always macabre but the general process remains the same: take something old, unwanted or useless and make it useful, beautiful and wanted again.

At some point in the twentieth century, cobblers became fairytale characters along with candlestick makes, tailors and other skilled workers whose trades were made redundant by cheap goods.  Why fix an old pair of shoes when you can buy new ones (in jewel green, Italian made, with two-inch heels)?

Here’s a reason.  Because it’s creative and fun and it feels responsible.  I loved seeing my husband head to work today in his refurbished jeans.  His pants tell a little story about daily life in our home and about how he wears the same pants every day for as long as possible, until they’re paper thin and ratty and in need of an old-fashioned patch job.

If there were a manifesto for refurbishing, it would go something like this. Print it out, put it in your pocket and live by it.  It’s the new social code.

I will be that old lady with a coat that has history.

I will wear things made of scraps and trash.

I will repair broken things if possible.

And I will look good doing it.