What Does “Sustainable Living” Actually Look Like in Practice?
Five climate educators, activists, chefs, and entrepreneurs discuss the nuances of a more ecological existence
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In February 2022, “recycled home decor” and “zero waste lifestyle” increased by 95% and 64%, respectively, from the previous year’s searches on Pinterest. Sustainable is a term that now can describe everything from our mattresses and couches to tampons and ziplocks. According to the American Society of Interior Designers’ latest trend report, 50% of consumers say they’re willing to change their purchasing behavior to reduce negative environmental impact. So, basically, we’ve heard the call for conscious consumption and we’re responding to it—but are we? Capitalism has done it again, folks. We’ve officially commercialized a climate crisis.
The term greenwashing was coined by environmentalist Jay Westerveld in 1986 to describe the use of misleading actions or phrases evoking environmentalism by corporations as marketing ploys. And this effort to sell sustainability—packaged in words like nontoxic, organic, or eco-friendly—has only increased in recent years, which is why the insight from climate educators—particularly women of color and Indigenous community members—is crucial in disseminating accurate information and ideas on how to actually live more sustainably.
“I look at my mom and her lifestyle—she has this beautiful coconut farm in Kerala, south India. She has solar panels, she composts, she hangs clothes up to dry. I told her, ‘Mom, you live such a sustainable lifestyle.’ And she said, ‘What do you mean? What is that?’”
This is how sustainability content creator and advocate Ashley Renne encapsulates the cognitive dissonance surrounding what we call “sustainable living.” And Ashley’s mother is not operating in a silo. Environmentalism has been shaped by Indigeneous communities, communities of color, and low-income communities, who are accustomed to reducing their consumption and reusing materials. And yet, somewhere along the way, that expertise has been co-opted by wealthy and mostly white elites to mean organic pants worth a whole day’s wages and pictures of all-beige minimalist bedrooms.
“There’s a cookie-cutter, palatable image associated with this lifestyle that is aesthetically pleasing but, in reality, inaccessible to a lot of people,” explains Christine Platt, author of The Afrominimalist’s Guide to Living With Less. “There’s also a difference between people who are minimalist and sustainable by choice, and those who are so by circumstance.” As it turns out, you don’t have to grow strawberries on your balcony or only buy one expensive T-shirt every three months in order to integrate environmentalism into your day-to-day. In fact, the top tip gleaned from many experts in the field is priceless: Shift your mindset.
For chef and activist Sophia Roe, this process starts by going backwards. “When you’re a child and you need to go somewhere in 1995, you get a map—there are no cell phones, no Google, no Wi-Fi,” she shares, “so it all comes back to bare bones.” She gives me a simple hack: The next time I need a coffee or have to run an errand nearby, study the route and leave my phone at home. In its innocence, it works.
At the center of Sophia’s definition of sustainability is what we do with our time, not how we can have the most eco-friendly kitchen set. She further elaborates on how capitalism has imposed a perceived need for convenience. We currently live in a world where buying a prepackaged meal feels like a relief. Sophia is focused on shifting from the “now I don’t have to make dinner” mentality to “now I get to make dinner” and, in doing so, rejecting tendencies brought about by capitalism. “Forty-five less minutes of scroll time is 45 more minutes to actually make the guacamole for dinner,” she adds.
But before you even get to that point, she recommends taking stock of what you have left in the fridge, analyzing what could go bad, and using that as a base for a recipe. Sophia always shops with a recipe in mind as a means of reducing food waste, and recommends trying to keep the number of ingredients you buy premade or wrapped in plastic under five.
Since following Sophia’s valuable insight, I’ve noticed an excitement around discussing recipes with my partner and cooking something new—a sentiment I’ve never felt until now. And that’s a clear thread revealed by climate educators: that making sustainable choices should be about joy, accessibility, and healing, not chastising yourself for using plastic, or forcing yourself to buy the most expensive brand on the market.
“It really irks me when I hear from very wealthy or privileged sustainable fashion advocates shaming people, knowing that their prices are just inaccessible,” says environmentalist Leah Thomas, whose book, The Intersectional Environmentalist, debuted in March. “They’re telling people ‘you only need two shirts,’ and that doesn’t feel fair.”
As someone whose familiarity with sustainable living comes from an upbringing that necessitated it, Leah has noticed how there’s a huge disconnect between how we encourage sustainability across income levels. “We don’t see the same narrative rewarding people who are living this way out of survival, but we’re really quick to reward someone who’s wealthy,” she notes before citing the difference in reception of tiny homes (“remodeling your Sprinter van for $50,000”) that now have their own shows versus trailer parks. So, how do we rectify this?
First and foremost, Sophia argues that we should “acknowledge the neighborhoods that have pioneered [sustainable living] from a need-based perspective.” She points to her own in Brooklyn, where tomatoes grow out of two-liter bottles, to seeing coke bottles used as paint cans in Mexico; or being in South Africa and witnessing folks cover bubble wrap in fabric as a pillow. “Ask yourself: what can I make with the things that I have?” she emphasizes. “Just because it’s past the point of viability doesn’t mean it’s not still beautiful or useful.”
Perhaps that’s taking the old fennel and using it as home decor, or washing a peanut butter jar as a vessel for pens. “I remember seeing foster moms use newspaper and distilled vinegar—cleanest glass in your life,” Sophia recalls. She underlines that it’s about consistently reverting to the past to inform how we approach our current futuristic lifestyle. “Our ancestors made it work without Tide Pods,” she laughs.
There’s no formula for this type of living, so everyone’s approach is going to look different: Tara Thomas’s version of sustainability involves cutting off the produce middleman and joining a community garden—or building one yourself, which she did through her nonprofit, Breaking Bread. For Isaias Hernandez, also known as @queerbrownvegan, this means sharing foraging tips with his community.
For Liz Turrigiano, CEO of Esembly, it’s about switching from single-use diapers to cloth diapering—even just occasionally—and leaning on hand-me-downs when building a family. “Pick a category that is personal to you and consume less,” she says. “For us, that was parenting.” And that’s the main takeaway here: We can’t be 100% sustainable 100% of the time. As self-identifying climate caretaker Sophia Li says, “sustainability isn’t binary.”
Leading advocates in the space—specifically BIPOC women who recognize the role race, gender, and income play in climate preservation (or lack thereof)—acknowledge that we have to learn how to incorporate environmental-forward living into our lives, not the other way around. “I’m not speaking to the person who can just throw everything away and start over—which was a big part of the minimalist movement—or who decided to live out of a backpack and travel the world,” Christine explains. “I want the marginalized person to see these small changes they can make that will bring about big benefits to their lives, individually and collectively.”