When we think about fashion, we often picture the final product: the garment, the silhouette, the finished piece. Yet everything begins much earlier — during the sketching process, the development of prototypes, and most importantly, at the stage of sourcing raw materials.

For a fashion business, in Quebec or elsewhere, this step is both strategic and complex. Sourcing isn’t simply about choosing a fabric — it’s about finding the right balance between quality, cost, production timelines, and alignment with one’s values. It also means taking into account the needs and desires of consumers.

Designers have several options. Some turn to local suppliers, which allows for greater flexibility and, typically, shorter lead times. Others work with international suppliers to access a wider variety of textiles and, at times, exclusive materials. In all cases, building a relationship of trust with suppliers is essential. Transparency, consistency, and communication become key pillars of the process.

But behind these choices lies a more nuanced reality. A fabric, even when purchased from a local distributor, has often traveled a very long way. Fibers may be grown or synthetically produced abroad, then transformed, dyed, finished, and transported across multiple regions. A textile can pass through several countries before reaching us. As a result, even with the best intentions, it can be difficult to fully trace the origin of a material.

Another major layer of complexity is cost. In recent years, textile prices have continued to rise. With increasing production, transportation, and raw material costs, businesses must constantly adapt. Choosing a fabric also means making trade-offs — between quality and profitability, between sustainability and accessibility.

And then, there is the pace of the industry. Fashion still largely operates on a model of constant renewal. Collections follow one another, trends evolve quickly, and businesses must keep up to remain competitive. In this context, sourcing materials in sufficient, consistent, and reliable quantities becomes essential.

This is precisely where deadstock — surplus, unused fabrics — reveals both its potential and its limitations. From an environmental perspective, reusing existing materials is an obvious solution. It helps reduce textile waste, limits the production of new fibers, and makes use of resources that already exist. Economically, it can also present an opportunity, as these materials are often more affordable. By giving them a second life, we also prevent them from going to waste.

However, within a traditional business model, deadstock remains difficult to integrate. Quantities are limited, restocking is uncertain, and fabric characteristics can vary greatly. It becomes challenging to build a cohesive and reproducible collection at scale.

It is precisely within these constraints that my creative project finds its meaning. By choosing to work exclusively with upcycled materials, I intentionally move away from the constraints of standardization and mass production. Each fabric I find becomes my starting point, rather than a limitation. Each piece is conceived as unique, guided directly by the material itself. This is the beauty of slow fashion.

What may be a challenge within a traditional business model becomes, here, a creative freedom. Through this project, I am exploring a different way of thinking about fashion — one that is slower, more intuitive, but also more responsible. An approach that values what already exists, rather than constantly producing something new.

I’ve also been fortunate to source beautiful fabrics from Montreal-based designers I deeply admire, including DorsaLi, Marc Alexandrin, Eliza Faulkner, and Eve Gravel. In addition, I’ve received generous donations from the Cercle des fermières de St-Léon-Le-Grand and from people in my community.