Where Am I Wearing: A Global Tour to the Countries, Factories, and People That Make Our Clothes by Kelsey Timmerman

Author:Kelsey Timmerman [Timmerman, Kelsey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Political Science, Business & Economics, International, Industries, Fiction, Consumer Behavior, Globalization, Labor, Fashion & Textile Industry
ISBN: 9781118277553
Publisher: Wiley
Published: 2012-04-24T00:00:00+00:00

It’s 5 PM, and the workers stream out of the space between the retractable gate and the guard building in front of the factory. The majority of them cross the street and enter a narrow alley. Angel and I follow them until the alley intersects with another. This is where we’ll wait.

“Okay,” I say, “this looks good. Ask them if they mind chatting and if they manufactured Tevas.”

Some of the workers ignore us, while others take a wide berth and stare from a distance. I don’t blame them. I’m getting somewhat used to this, after having done similar things in factories in Honduras, Bangladesh, and Cambodia, yet I still feel a bit like a survey taker at the mall trying to impose on others.

But the randomness of the experience is exciting. I’m in China because my sandals were made here. I’m in front of this factory because they make Tevas. I found the factory because someone at Deckers slipped up and gave me the address. The workers walk by with their stories waiting to be told. Who will share theirs with me?

Angel stops a woman wearing a green badge. Zhu Chun is shy, and doesn’t want to talk with us. Rings of onlookers begin to form. A man with a flat-top haircut and a confident step pushes his way through them all and encourages the woman to talk.

“Are you a couple?” I ask.

The man named Dewan gives Zhu Chun a half smile. “Yes, we are married.”

“Do you make these?” I point to my flip-flops.

They nod.

“Where are you going right now?” I ask.

“Back to our room,” the man says.

“Can we join you?”

“Yes.”

We follow them through narrow alleys. I try to keep my directions, but it’s pointless—everything looks the same, and the sun, lost beneath the smog, is no help in guiding me.

We climb a set of concrete steps that stick out from the side of a brick building, and Dewan unlocks the door. The steps turn in to the house and are met by metal steps, like a fire escape’s. I have to duck as I enter the doorway and enter the community kitchen. There are five unattended woks that smell of warm oil. The second landing is theirs. We come to a wood door that has “305” scrawled on it in permanent marker along with Chinese characters I can’t read.

The room is just wide enough for the bed, which takes over half of the limited space. A rice cooker and TV/DVD player sit on a shaky table. Speaker wires run from the TV to speakers in the corners. I’m not sure if surround sound is needed in such a small room, but you have to appreciate the effort.

Dewan, 36, and Zhu Chun, 31, are on a break. On a normal day, they work from 7:30 AM to noon, break for an hour and a half, work from 1:30 PM to 5:00 PM, and after that, they can choose to work from 6:00 PM to 9:00 PM if there is work to be done.

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