Fashion That Lasts Because of Community
The ‘ie lavalava is one of those quietly genius things that’s been doing the most for generations, long before anyone thought to call it fashion. It’s a simple piece of cloth, usually rectangular, always versatile, that’s been wrapped, tied, folded, and flung around the waists of South Pacific Islanders for hundreds of years. And it’s still going strong.
You’ll see it on farmers in the plantations, school kids in uniform, aunties at church, uncles at the Sunday lunch, dancers at cultural events, and in more recent years, popping up at fashion shows and festivals. But it’s not new. Not even close.
Despite what your favourite swimwear label might be hinting at, the ‘ie lavalava didn’t just appear one day with a coconut scent and a cute campaign. It’s not a trend plucked from paradise for a limited-edition drop, it’s been doing its thing across the Pacific for generations. In Samoa, yes, but also in Fiji (where it’s called a sulu), Tonga (tupenu), Tahiti (pareo), and plenty more. Each island has its own style, its own way of tying, folding, and wearing. But they all share the same clever design philosophy: comfort, respect, practicality, and community.
The ‘ie lavalava was born from practical brilliance. Samoa’s weather is hot and humid, so naturally, our ancestors came up with something breathable, lightweight, and easy to move in. It carries the practicality of its tropical roots, the strength of Samoan tradition, and the flair of modern expression. Whether tied in the plantation fields or styled down a Paris runway, it stays true to what it’s always been, a quiet but powerful marker of who we are, and where we come from.
And really, that kind of thinking, clothes designed with community and longevity in mind, feels like a bit of a revelation in today’s world of fast fashion, where garments are churned out faster than you can say "add to cart." In fact, the average piece of clothing is worn just seven times before it’s discarded. Seven. That’s not a wardrobe, that’s a costume change.
Fashion that serves community doesn’t rush. It considers the whole picture: who made this, where did the fabric come from, how long will it last, and what will it mean in ten years? It might not move as fast as the trends, but it moves with purpose.
Designing and dressing this way, with care, intention, and a sense of community, isn’t just lovely, it’s smart. Smart for people, smart for culture, smart for the planet. The fashion industry, glamorous as it may seem, is responsible for around 10% of global carbon emissions and is a top offender when it comes to water pollution. A lot of that comes down to overproduction, cheap synthetic fabrics, and the constant pressure to keep up with trends. For places like Samoa, where climate change isn’t a theory but a daily reality, rising seas, disrupted weather, threatened ecosystems, this stuff matters. Fast fashion might seem harmless on a rack, but when it ends up in landfills or burned in backyards, it hits close to home. Literally.
But when we design with our communities in mind, everything slows down, in the best way. We take care of what we wear. We create things that last. And in doing so, we hold onto our stories, not just our styles.