Wallet Mouth

Red-flag sale

On the subway in San Francisco this morning, I did a double take as we pulled into one of the downtown stations. Milling around among the other commuters were three women dressed in business casual, but something was slightly ... off. First of all, I could tell by their body language that they were promoting something. Then I saw that attached to every article of clothing they wore—even their shoes—was an oversize price tag bearing the Marshalls logo. As I watched, of of them handed a flyer to a woman who was clearly intrigued by the gimmick. The prices were pretty low: $12.99 for a blouse, if memory serves.

As the train pulled away, I started wondering what sort of person might have stitched that $12.99 blouse, and how old he or (more likely) she is. Does she earn a fair wage? Does she get to use the toilet when nature calls?

That reminded me of an article from the current issue of ReadyMade (which happens to be one of the magazines I freelance for) about a Dutch organization called Made-By that’s both an umbrella label for companies that aim to produce their garments in a socially responsible, sustainable way, and an initiative that’s working to create greater transparency in the supply chain and helping clothing companies to clean up their production process. Especially cool is the Made-By labels “Check it out” tracking feature, which lets you type in the garment’s bar code to find out where it was made.

Hooze got the answers?

Who knows, but the folks at Grass Commons, an Oregon nonprofit, are asking the right questions and framing the issues intelligently. I’m very excited about a new, community-driven project of theirs, Hooze.org—and not just because it has an owl in its logo (though as anyone who's seen my email sig knows, I have a soft spot for fat hooting raptors).

Ahem. Basically, what makes Hooze so cool is that it’s both a wiki and a database—an editable, searchable, multidimensional collection of data all focused on companies, products, and issues that responsible consumers care about. So you can, for example, add info about businesses or brands that make you happy or angry, and also search for, say, the environmental and human rights records of a company you’re curious about.

I like Hooze so much that I’ve started contributing to it myself, mostly by adding corporate parentage tidbits as I continue to research that subject. I faced a bit of a learning curve with the interface, which can probably still be made more intuitive, but the more I play with it, the more I get my head around it.

You can participate  too; just email hooze@grasscommons.org and request an invitation.

Missions and emissions

While on the train from Madrid to Barcelona, I met three travel buddies who had just graduated from Palm Beach Atlantic University, a Christian school. One of them—who’s preparing to embark on a mission that will take him to some far-flung corners of the world—said the first thing that came to mind when he thought of money and values was the role of charity in his faith. He mentioned a book called The Treasure Principle, which talks about the various ways in which giving is an integral part of Christianity.

It was interesting perspective, and it reminded me that religion had come up in a debate I’d had some time ago while fantasizing about an invention that would let people quickly discern whether a product was really green, sweatshop-free, etc. My husband and I envisioned a value-neutral tool that could be calibrated to anyone’s unique world views and preferences—which could include things like religion and political persuasion—whereas our friend wanted the product to be designed from a strictly environmentalist and generally left-leaning perspective, so that it couldn’t be used by, say, religious-right fundamentalists to keep constituents away from liberal-owned products. 

On the same train ride, I happened upon a magazine ad for the new Mini Cooper and noted with interest that the fine print disclosed not only the car’s mileage but also its emissions. Hmm, a Europe thing or a Mini Cooper thing? In any case, I like it. Would that U.S. car ads did the same.

Questions of travel

I’ve been rambling around Portugal for the past week and a half, and an interesting research question has come up.

The other night, the ketchup that appeared on our dinner table with our french fries (I know, I know, but fried potatoes are part of the territory when traveling while vegetarian) was called Calvé. After splurting some of it onto my plate, I idly started examining the label, and I noticed something interesting. One line in the fine print said, “Una marca de Unilever” (A brand of Unilever).

Why on earth, I wondered, would a maker of ketchup want the world to know that it is owned by such a huge corporation? Or was it compelled to disclose that fact? Perhaps there was some EU regulation behind it? After all, Europe has been more on the ball than the U.S. about GMO labeling issues.

I asked a Portuguese friend about it, and he said there is no such rule and it must have been voluntary; most likely the ketchup distributor thought Unilever’s presence on the label would be a badge of honor, a sign that the product is trustworthy.

Which is funny to me, because I’ve always been irked by the fact that product labels pretty much never address corporate parentage. I remember feeling distinctly deceived many years ago when I found out that Plank Road Brewery, which makes Red Dog beer, was actually Miller Brewing Company. The Calvé-Unilever label embodies a fantasy I’ve long had in which labels disclose their ultimate maker—albeit in the fine print. And really, why shouldn’t they? After all, food items are required to list their ingredients on a nutrition label. Don´t we have a right to know who’s receiving the money we’re forking out for any product, edible or no?