Styles: Beyond Canvas

AFTER BEING LAID OFF as a sales representative for a software company, Andy Keller, 34, found himself down in the dumps. Specifically, the Neal Road Landfill in Chico, Calif., to drop off yard waste as part of a home improvement project.

"I don't know if you've ever been to a landfill before," he says. "What stood out to me were all of the plastic bags. There were thousands! They were blowing around and caught on fences. It disgusted me and inspired me to do something."

Keller's horror may spread as the public becomes increasingly aware of the environmental downside to using plastic bags — the U.S. alone uses 100 billion annually. That's why entrepreneurs like him are devising shopping sacks with more allure than plain old canvas.

After his landfill encounter, Keller had a revelation about reusable bags: "Even when you're well-intentioned, you end up forgetting them at home or in the car. They're not easily integrated into someone's life." With the aid of a thrift-store sewing machine, ChicoBag was born on Earth Day 2005.

Today, he works with a staff of seven to produce the nylon pouches, which are pocket-sized when folded but expand to hold up to 20 pounds. Each $5 bag is outfitted with a carabiner for easy access.

Other bag artisans focus on fashion to lure consumers. "You can walk by people a million times with a canvas bag and they won't notice it," says b. happybags' Mary Kay Field. "But if you've got one that has zebra stripes or polka dots, then it's like, 'Wow, she's using her own bag.'"

Since forming b. happybags in Phoenix in 2004, founders Field and Cathy Mahoney have gone from selling hundreds of their cheerfully patterned $24 carry-alls per year to thousands. They were even used as gift bags for Entertainment Weekly's "An Inconvenient Truth" party for some obscure Nobel Peace Prize winner named Al Gore.

Tara Casagrande of Alexandria-based Carrot Seed, which distributes b. happybags locally, notes that — contrary to popular perception — they're not just for groceries. "We're encouraging people to bring them to Nordstrom, to Old Navy, to the drugstore," she says.

Susan Moinester doesn't make substitutes for plastic bags — instead, they're her secret ingredient. Her nonprofit, Manos des Madres distributes Trash Bags — clutches, purses and satchels made by women in Honduran coffee-farming communities.

"They live in mud huts. They don't have windows and doors," she says. "Strangely, a large part of their diet consists of these cheap but high-calorie chips. So, the small chip bags just litter the communities. Periodically, the trash is burned, which releases all sorts of toxins."

It takes 30 chip bags to weave a small clutch ($20); a purse ($95 to $125) can take an entire week to make, as the women weave only in their spare time. While that price might seem steep, the proceeds benefit the makers.

What's the first step one should take toward kicking the plastic habit? Admitting your addiction, says Keller. "It's a constant challenge," he bemoans. "There are so many bag pushers out there trying to make you walk out of a store with a bag. I've actually had people request a plastic bag from me when I sell them a bag. Most are joking, but one out of the 10 isn't."

Photos courtesy of ChicoBag, b. happybags, Manos des Madres