I’ve been thinking about the word “sustainable”- have you?
Sustainability has become fashion’s most marketable virtue, but are we being sold a story? A closer look at greenwashing, cultural wisdom, and the quiet power of circular craft.
This piece began as a quiet frustration with all the “conscious” collections and “green” tags I kept seeing, often without substance. As I dug deeper, I found stories and voices that asked better questions. I hope this article gives you a moment to reflect on the clothes we wear, the systems behind them, and the values we might have overlooked.
Thank you for reading.
Vera
There’s a particular hush in the air when a brand releases a new “conscious collection.” The press releases arrive in our inboxes dressed in tender words: responsible, carbon-neutral, regenerative. Windows fill with soft linen suits labeled “eco-friendly,” and mannequins wear tags that murmur “green choice.” We step into boutiques that smell faintly of new wood and marketing, each hanger a promise of redemption.
But beneath this gentle theater of sustainability lies a question that has grown too urgent to ignore: what do these words actually mean?
In today’s fashion landscape, sustainability has become the industry’s favorite performance. And like any well-rehearsed act, it depends on illusion.
The language of eco-consciousness is often lush, but rarely precise. A T-shirt made from “recycled cotton” might be stitched with virgin synthetics. A tote bag stamped “natural dyes” may have left chemical residues in waterways thousands of miles away. Even “carbon neutral” is a phrase that floats conveniently above complex supply chains rarely detailed to us.
Dr. Adrian Mabalay, a professor of environmental management at De La Salle University-Manila, believes the vagueness is by design.
“Instead of vague promises, brands should specify what they mean. Show the impact. Be measurable. Just like nutrition facts changed how we read food, we need that for fashion.”
His words strip back the green gloss and expose a far simpler truth: marketing has made sustainability feel good, but it often hides more than it reveals.
The consequences of this ambiguity are more than rhetorical. They allow overproduction (fashion’s deepest wound) to slip by largely unchecked. Swap a plastic mailer for a paper one, and swap virgin polyester for recycled blends, the runway carries on at its relentless pace. Meanwhile, landfills grow quietly at the edges of deserts and villages, ghostly heaps of once-hopeful garments.
Jude Macasinag, a Filipino designer based in Paris and Manila, takes a different approach. His work rarely trumpets sustainability, yet embodies it more intimately than many certified campaigns. He uses deadstock fabrics, stitches by hand, and refuses the churn of seasonal speed.
“Sustainability for me is learning how to focus on longevity,” Macasinag tells me. “It’s less about output and more about purpose.”
In his Manila workshop, quiet but for the whirr of a single sewing machine, garments become small testaments to patience.
There is a lesson here that feels almost radical in its simplicity. To be truly sustainable, fashion needs to get smaller, slower, and less insistent on being new. It might look less like a global billboard and more like a local practice, such as mending, reusing, or designing only what the community needs.
Miki Herme Morita, the Global Editor-in-Chief of Oui Speak Fashion, has spent the past four years navigating fashion’s evolving language across Tokyo, Taipei, Paris, and New York. For her, sustainability is not a single narrative but a series of dialogues shaped by place, culture, and policy.
“Yes, I strongly feel there are clear differences in how each country approaches and communicates sustainability,” Miki says. “In Europe, particularly in France, Germany, and the Nordic countries, sustainability is deeply rooted in both policy and consumer awareness. Meanwhile, in the U.S., it’s shaped more by consumer interest and brand storytelling, but lacks consistency in definitions and standards. In parts of Asia, innovation leads, but institutional support is still developing.”
This fragmented landscape makes the media’s role even more critical.
“If we simply relay beautifully packaged brand campaigns or press releases without context or critique, we risk diluting the true meaning of sustainability.”
At Oui Speak Fashion, her team prioritizes a more balanced approach, spotlighting grassroots movements alongside global brands, always asking: What is the real impact? Is this initiative actionable, or symbolic?
Beyond watchdog work, Miki also champions a return to deeper cultural values, particularly the ones she grew up with in Japan.
“One of the most inspiring philosophies I’ve encountered is the concept of circular craft. In Japan, we have mottainai — a sense of regret over waste — and yo no bi — the beauty of function. Practices like kintsugi, where broken ceramics are mended with gold, show us that repair can be beautiful. That something aged can still hold value.”
Circular craft, she notes, is not just about materials, but about emotional durability, making things to be kept, loved, and passed on.
Her vision for the future is one of quiet transformation.
“Sustainability should no longer be a ‘special topic’ but an integrated part of how we discuss creativity, commerce, and culture in fashion. The language must shift from abstract values to measurable impact.”
Like Dr. Mabalay, she imagines something akin to nutritional labeling, clear, standardized, and grounded in truth.
In a world where “sustainability” is often reduced to a slogan, the real work lies in creating a system of fashion that is as sustainable in its practice as it is in its promise.
The path forward may not be bold and branded, but quiet and considered. Choosing repair over replacement. Craft over convenience. Meaning over marketing.
As Miki says,
“Sustainability is not just about innovation — it’s about returning to values we may have forgotten.”
The real future of fashion lies not in who can claim the greenest credentials, but in who can show the most integrity.
It lies in the brands, designers, and editors willing to slow down, ask better questions, and tell more honest stories.
What does sustainability mean to you?
Have you seen examples of greenwashing or brands that truly walk the talk? I’d love to hear your reflections in the comments.
With gratitude,
Vera