Eve Ogden Schaub is turning a modest vegetable patch in Vermont into a living laboratory for an audacious fashion statement. By sowing flax in her back garden and guiding it through every stage of transformation, she is not only creating a single linen dress but also challenging the prevailing fast‑fashion paradigm that dominates today’s clothing landscape. The project, which began in April 2025, is being documented on Instagram, where Schaub shares videos of her hands‑on experiments with retting, breaking, scutching, hackling, spinning and scouring – steps that would feel right at home in a medieval workshop.
The Slow Fashion Experiment Begins
Schaub’s motivation stems from a desire to find “the slowest fashion imaginable.” As she explains, “I had this idea that I wanted to find the slowest fashion imaginable. And that’s when I had the idea I could grow a dress from seed in my back yard,” she says. The concept emerged as a direct response to the convenience of cheap, mass‑produced garments that are routinely delivered to consumers’ doors. In her view, the speed and affordability of modern apparel have come at a steep environmental and social cost, with textile waste accumulating in places like Ghana and workers in Indian recycling factories suffering from severe health issues.
The decision to cultivate flax was not taken lightly. Schaub converted a 600 sq ft vegetable garden into a dedicated plot for the crop. She harvested the first yield and, after careful planning, sowed a second batch. The process, she notes, “is an enormous undertaking, but something that not all that long ago was completely commonplace, and I found that a very attractive, interesting facet of the project,” she says. By embracing a method that was once the norm, she hopes to demonstrate how much value can be reclaimed from practices that have been discarded in favour of speed.
From Soil to Fibre: The Labour‑Intensive Process
Once the flax plants mature, the real work begins. Schaub describes the early stage: “We retted it, which is a sort of decomposition process, and then you do breaking and scutching and hackling, and you have to spin and scour and then maybe dye your yarn,” she says. At present, she has not yet reached the dyeing phase, but she is already growing indigo plants to colour the final fibre. The sequence of steps is reminiscent of a traditional craft, and Schaub often enlists family and friends to help with the more strenuous tasks.
The spinning stage, captured on camera, is both comical and humbling. As she admits, “There’s something inherently funny in the learning process, because you screw up and you screw up, and you know you’re going to screw up,” she says. The trials and errors are part of a broader educational journey that she believes is essential for appreciating the true cost of a garment. The skill‑intensive nature of flax processing is a stark contrast to the effortless click‑and‑buy experience that most shoppers enjoy today.
When the flax is finally spun into linen yarn, the next milestone is weaving. Schaub plans to use a large loom, drawing a parallel to the mythical Penelope, whose weaving and unweaving of a shroud kept her suitors at bay. The loom will transform the raw fibre into a fabric that can be cut, sewn and fashioned into a dress. This final step, she acknowledges, will require collaboration with an experienced friend who can help translate historical dress patterns into a wearable design.
Challenging the Fast‑Fashion Status Quo
Schaub’s project is more than a personal hobby; it is a statement about the broader clothing industry. She points out that “fast fashion” has become an environmental and health catastrophe, with garments ending up on huge rubbish dumps in Ghana and workers in India’s recycling factories experiencing ailments including lung disease. The ease of obtaining cheap clothing, she argues, has obscured the true price paid by both the planet and its people.
In her view, modern culture rewards speed and low cost: “if you can do something cheaper and faster, it’s always the preferred option,” Schaub says. She wants to provoke a rethink: “And I want to step back and say: but is it? What might we stand to gain if we were to slow down and try to find things that are more meaningful to us, that bring us something that we can’t get from this fast‑paced commercial world?” Her experiment is an invitation to consider the benefits of creativity, craftsmanship and the intrinsic value of handmade items.
The project also ties into Schaub’s broader lifestyle philosophy. She is a self‑described “fibre‑person and maker” who has previously written books on projects such as a year‑long sugar‑free challenge and a 12‑month zero‑waste experiment. The latter, she notes, dovetails with her current endeavour: “Unfortunately, we’re all walking around wearing plastic bags most of the time, and we don’t even realise it,” she says. By avoiding synthetic materials, she hopes to highlight the hidden plastics that permeate modern clothing and the impact they have on both the environment and human health.
Schaub’s critique extends to the labour practices embedded in the fashion supply chain. She asks, “The whole system, I want to question and say, is this what we want?” Her willingness to interrogate the status quo has attracted a significant online following. Many viewers comment on her social‑media posts, expressing newfound appreciation for the difficulty of textile production. As she reports, “I get so many people commenting on my social media posts saying, ‘now I understand. Now I understand why clothes were so expensive, why cloth was a valuable commodity, why people only owned one or maybe two outfits, because it was so hard to get’,” she says.
A Personal Journey with Global Resonance
Beyond the technical challenges, Schaub’s experiment has reshaped her own relationship with clothing. She admits that department‑store garments no longer hold her interest, and she now feels a stronger impulse to cherish and mend the pieces she already owns. This shift reflects a deeper cultural conversation about consumption, sustainability and the emotional connection we might forge with items that require time, care and intention.
The final dress remains a work in progress, and Schaub is candid about her limited sewing experience – she has only crafted Halloween costumes up to now. Nevertheless, she is optimistic: “I cannot predict when this project will end, but I promise I’m going to wear something at the end of this,” she says, adding that whatever she produces, it will be deeply meaningful to her. “Because of that, I hope it will be beautiful,” she says. “I know it will be beautiful to me.”
Her journey has sparked curiosity far beyond her immediate circle. By sharing each step – from sowing the seed to the eventual stitch – Schaub has turned a personal experiment into a public dialogue about the possibilities of slower, more mindful consumption. The project demonstrates that, even in an age of instant gratification, there is a growing appetite for authenticity, craftsmanship and a reconnection with the origins of the things we wear.
Why it Matters
Eve Ogden Schaub’s flax‑to‑dress undertaking is more than a quirky lifestyle blog; it is a tangible illustration of how individual actions can spotlight systemic issues within the fashion industry. By embracing a process that was once commonplace, she forces consumers to confront the hidden costs of cheap, disposable clothing and to reconsider the value of slow, intentional creation. Her experiment also underscores the potential for a cultural shift toward sustainability, where creativity and shared knowledge replace the relentless pursuit of speed and low price. As the fashion world grapples with mounting environmental damage and ethical concerns, Schaub’s garden‑grown dress stands as a powerful reminder that the future of apparel may well be rooted in the soil we nurture today.
