In conversation with Arizona Muse & Caravana’s Artem Del Castillo

Artem del Castillo

My journey actually started with my first brand, Delos and later with Caravana. As a group, the two brands share a dedication to everything I truly believe in – artisanship, expressive clothes, sustainability and social responsibility. In my work I found a real disconnect: the rise of this beautiful, graceful world of craft – and the reality of what my clients were actually wearing and what resources were available. So, I started researching fabrics and how they connect to the elements. I went to India and Mexico to learn from artisans on the ground and to see how crafts passed down through generations could be modernised – made sexy – and brought into the contemporary world.

The problem was the supply chain. Small, delicate operations don’t map neatly onto the long “journey of a dress”. Our pieces take so much time but they give us the opportunity to work with incredible communities – many artisans living week-to-week – and to create something that truly sustains them.

Arizona Muse

That is a beautiful story to hear. For context: I’ve been a fashion model for almost 14 years. For many of those years I felt profoundly unwell – mentally and physically – and I couldn’t figure out why. This was before mental health was openly discussed. My path into activism healed me. And by activism, I mean something gentle: kindness, encouragement, acceptance. We often think activism is loud or combative; it doesn’t have to be. I invite everyone here to find your inner activist – the part of you that wants to stand for a new truth.

For me, that meant falling in love with the Earth – this mother we all belong to but were taught to ignore. I was taught to walk past plants without acknowledging them. I’m not okay with that anymore.

The culmination of my activism is DIRT the charity I founded. Our mission is to regenerate soil – which is the least expensive, most effective climate solution we have. We’re in a climate crisis, so let’s do the thing that works. At DIRT we do this by reconnecting fashion and agriculture: every natural fibre in our clothes is grown by farmers in soil, and regenerative agriculture starts delivering positive impact on day one. We’re channelling fashion’s billions in sourcing power toward farmers transitioning away from conventional systems – GM seeds, heavy chemicals, human exploitation – toward regenerative, biodynamic practices that support Mother Earth and her communities.

Fashion is also tied to mining – think buckles, zips, metal trims. Historically, mining was ceremonial and reverent; today it’s extractive and toxic. Our work at DIRT is about restoring that sense of reverence in everything we touch.

We’re currently fundraising to build a system with Demeter, the biodynamic certifier best known in food and wine, so they can certify textiles – from the land where fibres grow (cotton, wool, leather, cashmere, tree fibres) to the dyes that are used, to ensure biodiversity, non-toxic processing and fair pay. It’s detailed, unglamorous work – but exciting. We recently finished the first of ten standards: dyestuffs. Dyehouses are often the most toxic link – if you look at river footage near dye facilities and you’ll see purple, foamy waterways. Our oceans are suffering deeply from agriculture and fashion. Every purchase we make is a chance to consciously back better systems and there are countless opportunities to reduce harm. One immediate fix: stop built-in overproduction. Retailers often require brands to make 5–20% extra units “just in case.” That waste is designed into the system.

Agora Ibiza

Artem del Castillo

When I started thinking about this 15 years ago (and launched five years later), I kept repeating: the world doesn’t need another dress. If you create, it must have meaning. That’s where Caravana has depth. Fashion should transport you. But the reality is brutal: huge brands overproduce and sometimes burn unsold goods to protect brand image rather than discount. It’s heartbreaking – exquisite work destroyed.

Working with artisans is incredibly tough and incredibly rewarding. Many are not trained as “businesspeople”; but they’ve been dying, weaving, stitching since childhood. We’ve partnered for seven years with a woman in Delhi who began as a tireless young entrepreneur and is now running a unit with master artisans. When we met, no one knew aqueous-free or non-toxic dye processes; harsh chemicals were the norm. We do a lot with shibori – once you see the dye volumes and where they go, it’s scary.

In Mexico, Caravana has helped build a community – homes, education, stability. More businesses must do this. Some luxury houses do (Loewe’s craft projects are great), but many high-street brands greenwash – “organic cotton” t-shirts for €9.99 can’t possibly reflect fair labour or healthy soils.

And storytelling is essential. I’ve watched customers light up when they hear who made a piece, how long it took, why it matters. That’s what turns a “mop” on a hanger into something electric on the body. The term “quality” is unregulated – true quality feels different. Department stores need to change: miles of rails don’t tell stories. Shoppers need the real cost behind a price tag.

If you’re fortunate, it’s your responsibility to spend more, buy less and support small, sustainable brands. There’s joy in that exchange, and a human on the other side who sees your order.

I also believe we live in the era of resortwear – not just beach clothes, but climate-appropriate, light, functional, beautiful garments for a hotter world and a travel-driven culture. The category is growing fast. Historically resortwear was a compromise—now it deserves ceremony and style. In an ideal future we localize: make in-place, with local resources and culture, and sell locally – though we’re still far from that.

Arizona Muse

There’s another layer to this: care. If we design for longevity – natural fibres with repairable construction – we also need to revive the culture of keeping clothes alive. Mending, re-dyeing, re-blocking a hat, replacing ties on a dress – these are small rituals that keep garments in our lives. Imagine if every brand sold a care kit or hosted a monthly mend-and-learn. Activism can be domestic and joyful, too. And traceability matters. I don’t need a QR code to be sexy, but I do want a truthful one.

If I can scan a label and meet the farm, the mill, the dyer, and the atelier, that’s a story I’m proud to wear. It collapses distance; it builds trust.

We should also be honest that access is an issue. Sustainable garments often cost more upfront. I support rental and repair models and community wardrobes – ways of sharing beauty without multiplying extraction. If we normalize renting a showpiece for a night and buying a handful of forever pieces, we change the math.

Artem del Castillo

On our side, we’re experimenting with batching and made-to-order windows – opening a design for two weeks, producing exactly what’s needed and publishing lead times. It respects the artisan’s cadence. It also means telling customers: slowness is a feature, not a flaw. The dress arrives with a calendar of hands – who touched it, when, how long. People respond to that intimacy.

We’re also mapping micro-supply chains: dye gardens next to weave houses, leather braided within a day’s travel of the tannery, buttons carved from local wood rather than imported metal. It’s not perfect, but every kilometre removed is a small victory. And yes, we fly less – consolidated shipments, sea freight when possible, staggered drops tied to place (Mexico for the Americas, India for Asia/Europe) so pieces don’t ping-pong the globe.

Arizona Muse

And we have to talk about materials literacy. Clothing labels are confusing by design. Natural doesn’t always equal benign; a poorly grown cotton can be worse than a well-stewarded wool. With the Demeter work on dyestuffs, we’ve started where harm is loudest – but the goal is a holistic standard that recognizes soil health, water cycles, human health and cultural continuity. If a fibre is gorgeous but erases a tradition or poisons a river, it’s not luxury – it’s loss.

Artem del Castillo

Exactly. Luxury is relationship – to place, to process to people. That’s why distribution is our current knot to untangle. Traditional retail asks: “Which floor are you? Evening or beach?” We’re neither and both. Our best partners are creating resortwear floors and training teams to tell the story. Because on a hanger, Caravana can look minimal – no shoulder pads, no metal, no scaffolding. On a body, with context, it’s architecture in motion.

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