Jessica Sorce, a filmmaker and mother, found herself frustrated while searching for healthy, all-natural products for her family. To simplify this task, she established Sunroom, a curated marketplace that offers food, clothing, beauty products, and more—ensuring everything is third-party tested and free from harmful substances like seed oils and carcinogens.
In this column, she shares insights and research as she continues to educate herself on health and wellness.
Whenever I go back home, I often end up in my mother’s closet.
With my parents moving, I’ll be lending a hand, but honestly, there’s something comforting about feeling the fabric of my mother’s clothes, reminiscent of my childhood. All silk, cotton, and wool—each piece remains sturdy and vibrant, just like they were decades ago.
Acrylic and polyester are dubbed “fake fur.” Polyurethane and PVC are now “vegan leather.” Such terminology certainly makes these substitutes seem, well, a bit more acceptable.
Equally striking is what’s missing from her closet—a sea of disposable fashion bought for a fleeting trend, only to be forgotten. Each piece in her collection feels deliberately chosen. There’s no endless consumption, but rather an accumulation of decades of preferences and thoughtful decisions. She invested in items she loved, cared for them, and kept them around.
Fast and Cheap
This kind of restraint seems almost outdated now. Modern closets can be quickly filled with cheaply made items, thanks to synthetic fibers. We’ve come to favor materials like polyester and nylon for their affordability and ease of care. Interestingly, even luxury fashion has jumped on the synthetic bandwagon. Natural fabrics, once celebrated for their inherent beauty, now sit alongside petroleum-based options. While we’ve gained a vast wardrobe, it seems we’ve lost some of the tactile richness that made clothing really special in the first place.
This shift started nearly a century ago. In 1935, DuPont chemist Wallace Carothers invented nylon, the first fully synthetic fiber available to consumers. This plastic, derived from petrochemicals, can mimic the look and feel of natural fibers.
Nylon first gained traction in women’s stockings, and the reasons were clear. Unlike the delicate and pricey silk stockings, nylon was strong, economical, and easy to maintain. When DuPont released nylon stockings nationwide in 1940, it saw approximately 800,000 pairs sold in just one day.
The appeal was straightforward: silk was fragile and costly, while nylon offered durability and practicality. Soon, other synthetic fibers followed suit—polyester promised to resist wrinkles, and synthetic blends offered elasticity and moisture-wicking properties.
Wool Undefeated
There’s a reason consumers were drawn to these innovative fabrics. Yet, in our quest for convenience, we seem to have overlooked the genuine beauty found in natural materials.
Acrylic may imitate wool for a fraction of the price and without the complications of care, but this comes with drawbacks: acrylic tends to hold onto odors, generate static, and can melt if exposed to flames. A quality wool sweater can last for decades, while those cheap acrylic alternatives? Not always a worthy replacement.
It’s hard to fathom that in 1940, many didn’t foresee how synthetics would take over our wardrobes. Today, polyester alone accounts for around 59% of global textile production. We live in a time when a significant portion of our daily clothing is essentially plastic.
Plastic by Another Name
The implications stretch far beyond the feel of a garment. Synthetic fibers release tiny plastic particles into our environment during manufacturing, wearing, washing, and drying. Researchers trace these fibers back to wastewater, household dust, and air—those cozy fleece jackets are still plastic at their core.
We’ve also crafted increasingly appealing terms for these materials. Fur and leather, historically utilized by humans, are now often deemed environmentally or ethically questionable. Yet, their synthetic counterparts bear names that suggest virtue: acrylic and polyester are referred to as “fake fur,” while polyurethane and PVC gain the label “vegan leather.” It’s remarkable how language can transform perceptions.
Recycling has made plastics feel more acceptable too. Converting discarded bottles into clothing can lessen the need for virgin petroleum-based materials, but it doesn’t eliminate plastic entirely. Even recycled polyester can shed those harmful fibers, leading to disposal challenges much like other synthetics.
You Are What You Wear
Then comes the more complicated issue of how this affects our bodies.
No one anticipated that microplastics could lead to new health problems. Synthetic fibers like polyester and nylon continually shed microplastic particles, which may host or carry harmful chemicals like PFAS and phthalates—substances known or suspected to disrupt endocrine function. While researchers are still probing the extent of how these chemicals permeate the body, evidence suggests that exposure could contribute to various health complications.
Research highlights that chemicals released from textile microfibers may lead to issues such as hormonal disruption, immune stress, and oxidative damage, with some studies indicating a potential impact on male reproductive health.
Understanding the long-term health effects of normal microplastic exposure is an ongoing area of study. In any case, the sheer prevalence of plastic poses significant environmental challenges.
House Cleaning
So, what should be our response?
There’s no need for a drastic overhaul of your closet, and we’re unlikely to eliminate synthetic materials entirely—they do have their place. However, it’s time to be more mindful.
Consider checking the tag before purchasing that sweater. Maybe you’ll choose wool over acrylic, linen instead of polyester, or cotton rather than synthetic blends. We could all aim to buy less and demand more—looking for manufacturers who provide transparency about what their products are crafted from, fostering a culture of durability.
Consumer choices have already shaped our world, and I believe they can lead to positive change. Each decision to opt for products made from natural materials, ones worthy of preservation, or simply rejecting disposables champions the need for better alternatives.
Connection with Clothes
This belief partially inspired me to create Solarium. I aimed to simplify the search for quality food, clothing, and household items while connecting people with manufacturers dedicated to quality craftsmanship. If convenience once drove us away from choosing thoughtfully, perhaps we can make it convenient to reconnect with these principles.
Buying less, selecting better, and keeping items longer might not be viewed as regressing in progress—it could instead be seen as a genuine way to care for the world we inhabit.
My mother’s closet is a reminder of what that once felt like. Those garments endured because they were cherished. Someone chose the fabric with care; someone crafted the pieces to last. And their longevity reflects the love that kept them.
There was once a relationship among the maker, the material, and the owner that felt natural. Maybe, just maybe, it could become that way again.
