I do something with things that, in the normal world, gets called “upcycling,” but in the psychic world — the one that works 24/7 behind our backs — is a very slow attempt to repair certain micro-fractures in our tolerance for being ourselves. Because it’s precisely there, in the space between “an object” and “living with that object,” that the whole drama takes place: the small, barely perceptible movements thanks to which a person stops feeling so painfully disposable. Upcycling — a nice, eco-friendly word — is here more like a kind of emotional lamination, layering on meaning so we don’t leak through.

When Trashka designs fashion, she operates like
an engineer in a power plant of meaning: calibrating voltage, connecting circuits, testing where a spark might occur. She asks about “objects of one-day exaltation”— where does that heat come from, the kind that fades after a day.

A stadium, a wedding, a protest, a concert —
these are high-voltage situations. It’s under these conditions that souvenirs are born. I give them a second life,

but under different rules.

“This is a social experiment disguised
as a fashion brand.
See what happens when you walk out
into the street wearing it.”

This is where the philosophical layer begins
— one that can’t be ignored, especially when a
pile of scarves looks back at you like a library.
Clothing is a language. Scarves are only the beginning,
only a pretext. What Trashka really proposes
is a new philosophy of fashion —
one that doesn’t behave like a system of commands.

Perhaps the first garments with footnotes instead of labels.
Check on
instagram.