The Sustainable Fashion Question

Noul sweater (similar)
Zara shorts (similar)
Zara heels (similar)
& Other Stories handbag
Celine sunglasses
Vintage necklace (similar)
Stella & Dot ring (similar)
Daisy London earrings (c/o)
Location: The Manitoba Legislature – Winnipeg, Manitoba

“The most sustainable garment is the one already in your wardrobe.”
– Orsola de Castro

I am highly suspicious of the concept of sustainable fashion, much like I’m suspicious of concept of clean eating. This is, admittedly, new. Until recently, I hadn’t given sustainability in the fashion industry much thought. At least, not beyond the fact that shopping sustainably wasn’t philosophy I was ready to adopt because, frankly, I have enough challenges to deal with already without making buying clothes harder.

…but the more I think of it, the more it smacks of virtue signally and privilege. Sustainable clothing, from most of the brands I’ve seen recently – and they pop up, more and more often, in ads on my Instagram feed – is shockingly expensive. The idea, I’m sure, is to buy less and choose well. But I’ve seen no evidence that’s what happening. We all love instant gratification, but most can’t afford it from allegedly sustainable brands. Those who can do not appear to be buying less, based on the sheer volume of new sustainable brands debuting each week, just “better.” The question is, what does better actually mean?

Perhaps I haven’t done my research. But the idea of sustainability in fashion appears to be much more philosophical than evidence-based. After all, Zara and Mango both produce “sustainable” garments. What isn’t clear is what they mean when they say sustainable. How do they define that term?

All sustainable actually means, according to the Merriam Webster dictionary, “Of, or relating to, using a resource so that the resource is not depleted or permanently damaged.” Which resource is Inditex, the parent company of Zara and Mango, referring to? I’m not sure. And if you consider the question youself, I suspect you won’t be, either. Maybe they mean the disenfranchised people labouring to make their garments? They’ve already proven that those people are available in a seemingly endless supply, willing to work in dangerous conditions for pitifully low pay, based on the accelerated rate at which they are a retail group are able to produce and ship new garments.

“Fast fashion isn’t free. Someone, somewhere, is paying.”
– Lucy Siegle

Even smaller brand purporting to produce sustainable clothing aren’t actually required to demonstrate any proof of sustainable manufacturing or distribution practises. There is no governing body in the fashion industry that sets criteria for sustainability. There is no oversigh. And there is certainly no specific requirements for a brand to meet before using the term to describe their products. Evidence is not required, only good intentions. But we all know that good intentions are the paving stones on the road to a place no one trying to do “more” and be “better” believes they are going to go.

There are, undoubtedly, brands out there making garments in a truly sustainable manner – designers hand sewing dresses in their basement before shipping them out of fabric parcels. But every brand calling itself sustainable is not. Which means that approaching this burgeoning niche industry with a critical eye and willingness to ask hard questions is extremely important. If we don’t challenge the concept of what sustainability really means, ultimately, in fashion, it will come to mean more expensive, and little else. More expensive, it is worth noting, also means exclusionary. Sustainability, as a concept, you may have noticed, is marketed largely to white consumers.

Beyond that, a garment produced sustainably but worn only once and discarded is no more sustainable than one mass produced in a factory in Asia.

Orsola de Castro was spot on: the most sustainable garment is still the one you already own. I thought of that looking at these photos. My shopping habits cannot be defined as sustainable, no matter what you consider sustainability to be. I am not proud of how much of my wardrobe has come from Zara over the years. But I make my clothes last. I bought my pumps in 2017, my shorts in 2018. My sweater dates back to a 2019 trip to Vancouver, and my handbag to our trip to New York the same year. I saved and saved for the sunglasses, finally buying them in 2016. The necklace, vintage from my mom’s jewel box, is from the seventies – or maybe earlier. Only my earrings and ring are new this year.

Sustainability means not depleting or damaging resources. That requires us to avoid waste, not just in the manufacturing process but when we make purchases. If you don’t hold onto a garment, wearing and loving it for years, it ceases to be sustainable. Conversely, if you buy something mass produced and wear it for years, it becomes more sustainable, since you aren’t replacing it with something new. (Cost per wear is a real equation, not just a way of rationalising a purchase. It deserves consideration every time you open your wallet.)

“Buy less. Choose well. Make it last.”
– Vivienne Westwood

Basically, I don’t think we can accept the concept of sustainable fashion at face value. Like anything else, it is neither inherently bad or good. But it is popular. And that popularity means it will be exploited by less than altruistic individuals for their own financial gain. We need to be collectively vigilant about calling our their hypocrisy when we see it. We as consumers are accountable for where and how we spend our money. If we think critically, we will realise that sustainability doesn’t just mean one thing. There are many ways to embrace decreasing our consumer foot print. And many of them don’t come labeled “sustainable.”

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