The waste and exploitation of fast fashion shouldn’t blind us to the joys of making beautiful clothing with care.
Most fashion folk, including us, start out in fashion convinced of its importance in spreading the joy of creation, making beautiful things that bring a smile to the face. But then, as they (we) get to know the industry, it turns out to be about money and driving the engine of consumer spending: of late, it appears to be about using up the world’s finite resources and racking up global warming. To its critics (hi there!), the growth of fast fashion, and even ultra-fast fashion where clothes are typically worn once and then thrown away, has turned fashion into a pariah industry, a disturbing illustration of the self-destructive tendencies of humankind.
Not initially perceived as a problem, the fast-fashion system that evolved in the late 1990s took the selling of cheaply made fashionable garments to a new level. Retail brands such as Zara in Spain delivered new drops to their stores across Europe every week to encourage consumers to shop more regularly and spend more. Like many naive consumers, I perceived this as the ultimate democratisation of fashion, extending its pleasures to almost every consumer.
However, as new entrants copied the Zara formula and the pressure to reduce prices intensified, fast-fashion players began to focus their garment sourcing on low-cost countries across Asia to make their clothes even cheaper. The ‘faster’ the fashion, the more a ‘wear once, throwaway’ ethos took root. A wake-up call that exposed the wasteful exploitative churn of it came with the Rana Plaza disaster in Bangladesh in 2013, in which at least 1,134 people – mostly garment factory workers – died inside an eight-storey building that collapsed. That brought up questions. Could it be that fashion was not just frivolous, but also immoral?
I look back with some embarrassment at my younger self since I have also been part of that problem. For a long time, I believed sustainable fashion was exclusive to those who could afford it—celebrities, influencers, and the wealthy. It seemed like a distant, luxurious option that didn’t quite fit my lifestyle or budget. We’ve all been there. Walking into a fast fashion store or scrolling online, spotting a trendy shirt for a few bucks, and adding it to our ever-growing collection, only to throw it away a few months later. I used to do too—buy, wear, discard, repeat. It seemed harmless at first. When clothes are so cheap and accessible, replacing them doesn’t feel like a big deal. Forgive me Mommy Earth.
I vividly remember the first time I encountered a piece of sustainable clothing when I was in fashion school. It wasn’t just well-made, but it also carried a sense of purpose—a connection to something greater. The fibres, the dyes, the trims, and the thoughtful craftsmanship behind them all stood out against the backdrop of fast fashion’s quick fixes. The makers believed they were fighting to sustain the artisanal traditions of the craft industry. And that moved me. The sustainability sector has argued for years that a vast unsung army of artisans with specialised skills and a long history of preserving technical knowledge, transferring it down the generations, represents the ultimate riposte to the fast-fashion system. Now, as a maker, I believe that if we make goods with passion and emotion – and wear them similarly, darning clothes when they develop holes, refurbishing shoes and bags when they fray – then we appreciate them more and shop less.
As I meditated on the thought further, I understood how sustainable fashion is (and is not) inherently expensive. I realised fast fashion is built on a false sense of value. Sure, you’re saving money upfront, but at what cost? Fast fashion encourages overconsumption, fueling waste and environmental harm, with millions of underpaid employees making garments ending up in landfills each year. Who's going to pay for it when we ruin it all? We’ve been led to believe that if we get to grab something for cheap, we've made a victory in defeating the capitalistic industries whose only motive is to churn money out of us. But the real question is: what are we gaining, and what are we losing in the long run? What is the broader impact of our choices—not just on the environment but also on the people and systems behind the clothing?
So the question is- Does sustainability matter in a world in frantic turmoil? I would argue that it does. Craft has long been perceived as the poor cousin of high art, but does art have to hang on the wall of a gallery? There is artistry aplenty in what you can do with fabric – and the pleasures of fashion are more accessible than the kind of art you might find in a gallery. Conscious fashion reconnects us to the bigger picture. It reminds us that each item has a journey—from the hands that created it to the materials it’s made from, and finally, to the way it will return to the earth when its time with us is over. This awareness creates a sense of responsibility and mindfulness, one that aligns our choices with a larger purpose, unlike the constant distractions of the fast fashion world.
The alternative that Whakato envisions is the rediscovery of a slow and honest fashion world, where clothes take time to create, are made to last, and are developed by people espousing sustainable values. Slow fashion invariably means more expensive clothes – therefore the luxury sector is its natural driving force (although we should not put all the luxury brands too high on a pedestal: some luxury brands do cut corners and work with questionable subcontractors for their lower-priced products). Hand-weaving is exceptionally slow, but our looms are treated with reverence as if they hold the very soul of Whakato. The embroidery is done by hand, giving the garments their life stitch by meticulous stitch.
Anyway, circling back to the question- is sustainable fashion expensive? It can be if you’re only thinking through the price tag lens. But when you look beyond the surface, you see that the true value lies in other aspects. You’re investing in longevity—clothes that will last and evolve with you. You’re supporting ethical practices that respect workers and the environment. And you’re contributing to a system that challenges the wastefulness of fast fashion. It's about learning to measure cost in values, longevity, quality, and ethics. And that’s worth far more than a fleeting trend.
As always, you can get ranty or inquisitive by contacting us here.
Himanshi x