Eco-fashion: Transforming trash into treasures

Fashion designers are giving new life to worthless candy wrappers, newspapers and plastic bags; turning trash into trendy tote bags, purses and jewelry. From "post-consumer and industrial waste" comes durable, funky accessories reportedly worn by celebrities such as Lindsay Lohan, Cameron Diaz and Petra Nemcova.

One self-described eco-fashion label, Ecoist, has partnered with Coca-Cola, Luna Bar and Aveda to create handbags made from misprinted and discontinued packaging. "We tap into that source of waste because it is reliable, and unfortunately, it's abundant," Ecoist co-founder Jonathan Marcoschamer said. "We believe that for the next few years, there's going to be a significant amount." How about 7.6 billion tons of waste? That's how much American companies toss each year, according to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.

During the past four years, Ecoist said, it has sold more than 100,000 accessories created by its designers in Peru and Miami, Florida. The bags -- some of them one-of-a-kind -- are priced from about $30 for smaller versions to about $180 for larger ones. "For now, we're an immediate solution for many of these companies to utilize waste for something that's creative and promotes environmental awareness," Marcoschamer said.

Ecoist isn't alone. Katherine Rasmussen, owner of the label Reiter8, creates totes from recycled boat sails. Nicola Freegard and Robin Janson, the design team behind Vy&Elle, have recycled 100 tons of vinyl billboard ads to create wallets, bags and a variety of other products. Another designer, Anna Built, has opted to create jewelry from recycled tin cans.

But it's not always easy being green. Timbuk2, a company famous for its messenger bags, has encountered resistance in its attempt to produce totes made from discarded plastic bags. The idea seemed feasible when Timbuk2 formed a partnership with RootPhi, which developed a machine capable of bonding plastic bags together. The machine, called the Lamitron, allowed them to produce a new fabric while maintaining the visual details of the original plastic bag. See photos of the eco-friendly accessories »

The timing seemed appropriate; San Francisco had banned the use of plastic bags, and other cities worldwide were considering similar initiatives. Despite a following of 3,000 potential customers on the Timbuk2 Web site, the bags are unlikely to be sold any time soon, if at all. The companies have encountered legal and technical hiccups in their efforts to mass produce the bags.

"Everyone is afraid to be the large-scale manufacturer, to stick their toe in the water. It's a risk and a cost issue," says Doug Patt, co-founder of RootPhi. Tinbuk2 also found that, although trash may no longer have an owner, logos on trash still do. Target sent Timbuk2 a cease and desist letter in September when it discovered that some Lamitron bags showed the company's bull's-eye design. RootPhi and Timbuk2 scrambled to identify and remove the offending bags from its limited collection of prototypes.

"We encourage and promote recycling efforts, including ones that use our recycled bags," Target said in a written statement to CNN. "However, in this particular case we believed that the prominent use of our bull's-eye design mark implied a sponsorship or affiliation with Timbuk2 that did not exist at that time." Target said Timbuk2 has cooperated. Perry Klebahn, Timbuk2's CEO, acknowledges that Target wasn't technically wrong. "The onus was on us to talk to Target and get them to say OK, in this particular case, to grant us a license. If we really are going to make use of this, we should be responsible as the manufacturer."

However, the initial draw for Timbuk2 was the possibility that it could simultaneously clean up neighborhoods and satisfy a market demand for highly localized and personalized eco-products. "What's great here is that no two bags are the same. ... What if you could roll into a town and make artifacts that have a local flavor?" Klebahn asked. His vision was that one day, anyone could drop off their used shopping bags at Timbuk2 and receive a customized tote bag a few weeks later. For now, the masses will have to wait.

Eco-fashion has certainly proved that it has enough caché in the fashion world. Last year, British designer Anya Hindmarch created an instant eco-fad with her $15 limited edition "I Am Not A Plastic Bag" bag. The cotton bags quickly sold out in London and New York, with hundreds of people lining up for them. The bags fetched $400 on eBay and spawned a dizzying number of knock-offs.

Atlanta, Georgia, boutique owner Joyce Justicz said she doesn't think consumers buy eco-fashion exclusively for environmental reasons. "They buy them because they're cute, and it's an added bonus," she said. Will the trend last? Yair Marcoschamer, another Ecoist co-founder, is optimistic. "Businesses and individuals have realized that if something isn't done [about the environment], this is going to have a profound effect on each of our lives," he said. "Consuming products that are fair-trade, that are environmentally responsible, is our responsibility as consumers."

In West L.A., A Homeless ManInspires New Brand

Mr. Jermyn Is Face On Popular $98 'Hoodies'
Sister Fears Exploitation

By JON WEINBACH - The Wall Street Journal Online

November 14, 2007

LOS ANGELES -- The newest sensation at the center of Hollywood's fashion scene isn't a famous designer or starlet. It's a 56-year-old homeless man who spends his days dancing on roller skates.

John Wesley Jermyn has been a fixture in West Los Angeles for more than 20 years. Nicknamed "The Crazy Robertson" and "The Robertson Dancer," he is a constant presence on a stretch of Robertson Boulevard that has become the city's trendiest shopping corridor and a prime strolling spot for tourists and movie stars. Among locals and online, there's much speculation about Mr. Jermyn's personal history, including one oft-repeated rumor that he's a secretive millionaire.

In a plot twist worthy of Tinseltown, Mr. Jermyn now has a clothing label named after him. Since it was introduced last month, "The Crazy Robertson" brand of T-shirts and sweatshirts, created by a trio of 23-year-olds, has flown off the shelves at Kitson, a haunt of tabloid stars like Paris Hilton. The clothes feature stylized images of Mr. Jermyn, including one design -- available on a $98 hoodie -- that has a graphic of him dancing and the phrase "No Money, No Problems" on the back. At the largest of Kitson's three boutiques on Robertson, shirts bearing Mr. Jermyn's likeness are sold alongside $290 "Victoria Beckham" jeans and $50 baby shoes designed by pop star Gwen Stefani.

The label's owners, who grew up in Beverly Hills, have created a MySpace page for Mr. Jermyn. It doubles as an ad for the clothing brand and their nightclub-promotion venture, which is also named "The Crazy Robertson." The young entrepreneurs spent months trying to forge a relationship with Mr. Jermyn -- who now goes by the name John Jermien -- before gaining his approval. They have consulted him on design decisions and had a photographer shoot him for publicity images.

In May, Mr. Jermyn agreed to a deal that entitles him to 5% of "net profit" from clothing sales, according to a copy of the contract seen by The Wall Street Journal. He signed the contract, without speaking to an attorney or family members. But so far he has refused to accept much cash, preferring to be paid in food, liquor and paper for his art projects, according to Teddy Hirsh, one of the label's founders. "He tries not to involve money in his daily life," says Mr. Hirsh, who says he is Mr. Jermyn's agent and manager for future endeavors. Mr. Hirsh says Mr. Jermyn has already received several small payments, even though the company hasn't "made much profit" so far. "We haven't collected anything for ourselves," says Mr. Hirsh.

Videos of Mr. Jermyn skating and dancing are among a number of recordings of him posted on YouTube.Mr. Jermyn's slide into homelessness is a painful subject for his sister Beverly. And so is the clothing deal. She believes "The Crazy Robertson" founders are exploiting her brother's condition to build their brand. "I think these guys saw an opportunity and they took it," she says. "I am not happy with the arrangement."

Ms. Jermyn, who lives close to the alley where Mr. Jermyn sleeps, says her brother has a form of schizophrenia. He refuses to take medication, she says, despite suffering from fits of shouting and cursing. In the years since his condition began deteriorating in the late 1970s, "he slipped through my fingers like sand," says Ms. Jermyn, 64, who manages facilities for Oracle Corp.

In the late 1980s she testified in court in a proceeding to force her brother to seek help, but psychological evaluators found him "lucid and gracious," according to Ms. Jermyn. She has made countless attempts to provide him with shelter and therapy, and she still visits him twice a week with food. She also pays for his cellphone and collects his Social Security checks on his behalf.

The repackaging of Mr. Jermyn as a fashion front man comes at a time of increased fascination with homelessness. The producers of "Bumfights" -- a collection of videotaped street battles between vagrants -- claim to have sold more than 300,000 DVDs since 2002, and a British TV series called "Filthy Rich and Homeless" made headlines this year for its depiction of real-life millionaires posing as London beggars.

Across the U.S., a growing number of homeless people have gained attention through the Internet. More than 17,500 videos on YouTube are tagged with the word "homeless." Leslie Cochran, a street resident in Austin, Texas, who has twice run for mayor, has 10,775 "friends" on his MySpace page. In Boston, the profile of Harold Madison Jr. -- a homeless man better known as "Mr. Butch" -- rose through online clips and a Web site made in his honor.

Mr. Jermyn was raised in Hancock Park, a historic L.A. neighborhood that's home to some of the city's wealthiest families. His father managed one of L.A.'s largest Chevrolet dealerships. A star athlete in high school, Mr. Jermyn was selected by the Kansas City Royals in the 1969 Major League Baseball draft. He attended Pepperdine University and played a season for a Los Angeles Dodgers' minor-league team in Bellingham, Wash. (He hit just .205 and made 12 errors in 63 games, according to the Society for American Baseball Research.)

Joel John Roberts, chief executive of People Assisting the Homeless, which provides shelters for L.A.'s street residents, says the branding of Mr. Jermyn is "like designing a line of clothing patterned after Iraqi refugees fleeing the war."

Mr. Hirsh and Vic Ackerman, one of the other founders of the clothing line, are sensitive to Ms. Jermyn's concerns about her brother, but say Mr. Jermyn "specifically asked" them not to contact her about the clothing line or the contract. They view Mr. Jermyn as a "business partner" and say they make sure he's aware of how his image is being used.

"He knows everything that's going on," says Mr. Ackerman, noting that Mr. Jermyn nixed a set of promotional photos because he didn't like his outfit and thought he "looked a little puffy." In conversation, Mr. Jermyn speaks softly and mixes short, lucid sentences with longer, less coherent remarks. He has been arrested more than a dozen times since 1986 for violations such as trespassing and jaywalking, according to court records. Most of his skating and curb-side dancing now takes place near Robertson Boulevard, but in the past he roamed throughout Beverly Hills and West L.A., often cradling a boombox and shimmying to loud music. "He was always an extraordinary dancer," says Jim Horne, a classmate of Mr. Jermyn's at Los Angeles Baptist High School.

In addition to his sister, Mr. Jermyn speaks regularly with Ginny Berliner, a 64-year-old woman who befriended him when she owned an antique shop on Robertson. Mrs. Berliner, who now lives in Maryland, used to pay for Mr. Jermyn to sleep in a motel and covered his monthly coffee bill at Michel Richard, the well-known patisserie. "He wants notoriety and glory, but he can't accept money," she says.

On a recent afternoon, clad in his trademark black leggings and visor, Mr. Jermyn said he is "a facilitator" for the brand, and hopes it will expand into music or film. He has become a one-man marketing team, plastering company stickers and pictures of himself on a wall that faces pedestrians on Robertson.

At Kitson's boutiques and on its Web site, the first shipment of "Crazy Robertson" women's clothes -- about 35 items -- sold out in three days, and the store immediately ordered about 90 more pieces, according to owner Fraser Ross. Many of the online buyers were not from Los Angeles and presumably not familiar with Mr. Jermyn, he says. The brand may have appeal beyond L.A., says Mr. Ross, because its name includes "Robertson," which like Rodeo Drive is a destination associated with glamorous shopping.

Mr. Hirsh says the success at Kitson has already generated interest from other retailers. He calls Mr. Jermyn "our Michael Jordan" and is looking into a trademark for "the Crazy Robertson" name and logo. Ms. Jermyn, meanwhile, has different hopes. "I don't want to see my brother get hurt," she says. "They're taking advantage of someone who is very vulnerable and very trusting."

WATCH MR. JERMYN

Videos of Mr. Jermyn skating and dancing
are among a number of recordings of him posted on YouTube.