Whenever possible, I buy organic.
This is not just confined to food, but extends to any materials, clothing and
household products I can purchase. Yet like many consumers, I am often confused
by the available choices, as it has become harder and harder not to buy organic. Like many important terms, once the economics of the idea prospered, it became a vague and often
meaningless adjective.
This
is not to say that there isn't integrity in adopting a lifestyle by which you
know that the least possible environmental damage is being done in the
manufacturing and growing of your purchase. I've worked and been around enough people and companies in the natural foods and sustainable living
world to know that good intentions abound, and ecological promises are
oftentimes followed through. There are a lot of people fusing
philosophy and economics in creating a sustainable environment. The hard part
is deciding which companies are doing so when two dozen choices stare at you
from supermarket shelves.
In
general, I adhere to one of Michael Pollan's golden rules: buy locally. Just
this morning I walked through the Union Square Farmer's Market, which not only
informs me of what marketers are gearing up for Spring, but also of what crops
are actually available at the moment–not imported internationally or trucked from
California. Granted, I too enjoy eating strawberries in March, but knowing the real
cost of those berries (including transportation fees, read: gasoline),
I often seek out another sweet. When I see "locally produced" signs in Whole
Foods, I tend to pick up that product over another, if the product seems of
worth.
Perhaps
it's because I run a small business, and know the value of supporting local
initiatives. While most of my shopping is done at Whole Foods, I try to buy
whatever I can at Subia's, a small organic grocer across the street from my
Jersey City apartment. Sure, hemp milk is one dollar more than at the competition,
and their yogurt is thirty cents more per container. But there's the satisfaction
of knowing that the store owners are being supported, and in this age of
conglomeration, there is something quaint when every worker knows your name and
engages you in conversation.
This
practice extends to all my shopping habits. While I occasionally peruse Barnes
and Noble, I go out of my way to make it down to Prince St. to support McNally Robinson,
a great small chain based in Canada. The booksellers handpick each title and
are very open to suggestions. If they don't have what I need, I can wait four
days until it is special ordered. Supporting independent businesses is part of my
yoga practice–a disciplinary approach to patience and understanding. I have to
agree that the greatest vote we have in America is through our dollar, and how
and where we spend it. There is little maneuvering around the vices of
capitalism, yet by "inconveniencing" ourselves to not just settle for whatever
chain is right in front of us, we put our money to good use. And
yet–and here is what inspired me to write this piece today–buying organic and
locally also means being a discriminate consumer.
Last year I purchased a great
hemp knapsack from a company that I love called Livity. I own five of their
hats, and their design creativity made me an instant fan. Being that I'm in and
out of different Equinox clubs all day as a yoga instructor, a strong and
dynamic bag is essential.
Within
two weeks of purchasing it, the shoulder stitch ripped. No problem, a quick sew
and you could hardly tell. Yet other things kept falling apart, namely the
entire front of the bag. The cloth ripped easily from the simple weight of
whatever was inside. Within three months it looked as though my cats had
shredded the entirety of it. (They hadn't.) Having paid $70 for the bag, I was
pretty upset. When I asked others familiar with the company, they told me that
their product is not the most reliable. Their hats have held up great, but I was
not a fan of this shoddy manufacturing.
While
I'm devoted to the companies I support, I'm not a sucker. True, I may have purchased
a bunk bag from the beginning, but having heard other reports, I wasn't so
sure. While in the Adidas store one day I noticed a bag of equal proportions
for exactly half the price-$35. I've had the bag much longer now, and it still
looks brand new.
While
a fan of the organic and natural industry in every facet, there has to be
comparable quality being offered, especially if we're expected to pay premium
prices. I've purchased organic soaps that have left my skin dry, organic towels
that feel like sandpaper, and organic toilet tissue that felt the same (and that's
a lot worse than the towel). I've bought organic juice so full of sugar that
it tasted no different than swallowing a mouthful of Tang. The other day, while
in the pet store and noticing organic cat treats, I had to draw the line.
The
art of discrimination takes many shapes and assumes many forms. One can never
be content with what the label says–just because a company tells us it is
sustainable, this does not mean their claim is true. Sometimes a bit of
research is of primary importance, for we truly get what we pay for. And if we're
going to pay more for organic products and produce, we have to be certain the quality
equals what we're trading in. Sustainability has to be present in every aspect.
Photo by Scoobymoo, courtesy of Creative Commons license.