Low-cost fashion: Who's really paying the price?

As the sun sets on Newbury Street in Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood, Zara’s storefront marquee lights up the block, beckoning the city’s college-aged and millennial women like a fly to a lamp. The line to enter the store trickles down the street, with eager shoppers striking up conversations to pass the time.

“I love your top,” one woman says to the next.

“Thanks,” she replies. “It was only $15!”

There’s a rush of excitement when the line attendant admits a patron into the store. Shoppers wander aimlessly through a dizzying maze of bright colors, patterns and textures, balancing clothing hangers on their arms and scrunching their faces as they mull over potential purchases in front of one of the store’s many mirrors.

The designs appear as though they were pulled straight from the Fashion Week runways. Customers can buy a trench coat modeled after an original Burberry or a sleek silk dress that resembles Gigi Hadid’s custom Jacquemus — but for a fraction of the price. It almost seems too good to be true.

And in reality, it is. In a modern, capitalist society characterized by endless supply chains and the preeminent desire to profit, little comes so cheap. As we boast about our $15 tops and indulge in regular sessions of retail therapy, someone — or something — is paying the price.

Zara is often credited as the architect of the “fast fashion” industry, which involves rapid, inexpensive production of garments that mirror the ever-changing catwalk trends. In the 1980s, founder Amancio Ortega effectively redesigned the fashion biosphere with his philosophy of clothes as “perishable commodities” to be consumed and discarded as trends come and go. His business model, which relies on low-cost, short-lasting materials and a quick design-to-retail timeline that keeps pace with trends, has since been co-opted by the fashion industry at large — but critics are calling for reform due to extensive humanitarian and environmental harm.

“There’s this exploitation of workers, exploitation of the environment that's common across the entire fashion industry,” said Kathleen Grevers, director of education with fashion advocacy organization Fashion Revolution USA in Boston. “There needs to be some sort of radical shift to really get those things to change.”

But such radical change is difficult to implement when the core principles of “fast fashion” — low-cost and on-trend — are dependent upon exploitation.

To keep prices low, retailers look to shoddy materials and outsource labor to the Global South, where lenient labor laws allow factory workers to construct garments for as little as 3 cents per hour. On U.S. soil, workers are incentivized to work quickly with a “piece rate” rather than an hourly minimum wage, taking in about 2 to 6 cents per piece constructed. Naturally, these pieces rip, stretch or fade shortly after purchase — research from the International Journal of Consumer Studies reveals that fast fashion garments rarely last more than 10 wearings, which is awfully convenient for a business model that seeks to foster continuous consumption. These damaged clothes, produced mostly from synthetic materials, pile up in landfills across the globe — and they don’t biodegrade.

To ensure that designs are manufactured and distributed before the relevant trend loses traction, companies have sped up their production methods through large-scale mechanization. The fashion industry has thus become one of the world’s most polluting industries, accounting for 20% of the world’s wastewater and 8-10% of global greenhouse gas emissions — more than the emissions of the aviation and maritime shipping industries combined. The process is also expedited by the 14 to 16 hour workdays (plus overtime) that garment workers endure to make ends meet.

Professor Frances McSherry, head of the global fashion studies department at Northeastern University, identified capitalism as a root cause of the exploitative cycle.

“The industry wants to profit as much as possible,” she said. “So the thought of less profits, because more money goes to the worker and the materials is something that the companies don't want to hear. They want low, low, low.”

Ayesha Barenblat, founder and CEO of the ethical fashion nonprofit Remake, holds a similar perspective. During a virtual panel regarding garment worker justice in partnership with Fashion Revolution, she addressed major brands’ chief emphasis on profit, saying, “it’s become this tagline, that anything to do with environmental protections or labor protections is automatically equated to being a job killer.”

The mentality behind this tagline is unlikely to change as long as capitalist structures remain in place. And as much as corporations uphold a business model of continuous production and consumption, no matter the toll it takes, shoppers subscribe to it. According to a study by German moving company Movinga, Americans wear only about 18% of their wardrobe regularly, leaving countless clothing items to waste away in their closets, tags often still attached.

Even amid a much-publicized discussion about the lack of ethics and sustainability in fast fashion, the industry is booming. Online retailer Fashion Nova still receives countless preorders on its near-exact replicas of the Kardashian sisters’ designer dresses, British brand Missguided uploads 1,000 new styles to its site every month and the line at Zara’s three-story Newbury Street location still wraps around the block.

Why fast fashion remains popular

The vicious cycle of overproduction and overconsumption, which continues to harm both the planet and its inhabitants, is largely fed by the consumerist culture that pervades 21st century society. It seems like a distant memory when shopping trips were occasions, coinciding with the change in seasons or one’s latest growth spurt. In recent years, the fashion biosphere as a whole has undergone a metamorphosis — with new styles hitting store shelves every week thanks to fast-moving production, shopping has evolved from a periodic errand to a frequent hobby.

Akshey Nischal, a second-year computer science student at Boston University, estimates that he embarks on at least 50 shopping trips per year. “I go at least once a week,” he said, often finding his way to H&M or Foot Locker.

“The first semester I was on campus, it was very popular for us all to say, ‘Oh, let’s go to Prudential Center, let’s go to Copley Plaza” or one of those places and just like go around shopping,” he said. “It definitely became a social event, a way to meet new people and hang out with friends.”

The fast fashion store has become a site of amusement and gathering, a Disneyland of sorts for the fashion-obsessed. But with this information circulating regarding the exploits of the fast fashion industry, how do these businesses remain popular?

Primarily, there’s a relatively low level of public awareness surrounding the issue. According to a study by British charity organization Oxfam, more than half of adults surveyed were not aware of fast fashion’s detrimental impact on the environment. A separate survey conducted by Fashion Revolution estimated that 69% of consumers know little about how their clothes are manufactured, but wish to know more.

Zara shopper Sajni Patel, who studies health science at Boston University, knows that issues exist regarding fast fashion’s ethical and environmental shortcomings, but said she “doesnt know too much” about the specifics. Nischal felt the same.

And perhaps it's natural. With several degrees of separation between the consumer and the maker, consumers rarely think about a garment’s journey before landing in-store at a fast fashion retailer. They’re so removed from the product’s production, that it’s out of sight, out of mind — and brands are not necessarily eager to fill in the gaps about their malpractices.

The 2013 Rana Plaza disaster in Dhaka, Bangladesh was a glaring reminder of just how dangerous this separation can be. After airing concerns about the factory building’s construction the day before, laborers sewing garments for the likes of Primark and United Colors of Benetton were forced to enter the building and get to work. It crumbled to the ground later that day, killing more than 1,100 people and injuring more than 2,500 more.

“Once Rana Plaza hit, it was a jolt to the whole fashion system,” Grevers said. “We don't know where our clothes are made. We don't know who's making the clothes… As a nation or government structure, we're not establishing rules and policies where we have to know who's making the clothes.”

To Grevers, the collapse of Rana Plaza was one of the most visible manifestations of the fashion industry’s impact, and therefore a crucial call to action. In the aftermath of the disaster, industry leaders mobilized in the fight for accountability in fashion, founding Fashion Revolution: the world’s largest fashion advocacy movement, pushing toward “a global fashion industry that conserves and restores the environment and values people over growth and profit.”

One of the organization’s most well-known initiatives is the Fashion Transparency Index, which measures the extent to which 250 major fashion brands publicize their manufacturing practices. And each year, brand transparency is lacking across the board, with an average score of just 23%. H&M, once grouped among the least sustainable and ethical fast fashion companies, was the highest scoring brand at 73%. Forever 21 scored an alarmingly low 7%.

But Grevers makes it clear that 73% is not necessarily a statistic to celebrate.

“A lot of people misconstrue that number… that H&M is doing really good,” she said. “No, H&M is not doing really good… It's showing that they’ve made enormous strides in an enormous company to be better with their supply chain management, their living wage, transparency, all of the categories of the index.”

McSherry believes that this transparency “needs to open up” in the near future. “We have the money, we'll be able to shell it out to things that are worthy,” she said. “As we're able to become more informed consumers, we're going to make the right choices, as opposed to just kind of being fed whatever it is that the big fashion company told us.”

But transparency is not a cure-all solution — not all consumers are simply unaware of the issue. As the conversation surrounding fast fashion expands, especially among younger generations, it becomes more and more difficult to disregard. The somewhat exclusive nature of sustainable shopping is keeping fast fashion brands rife with customers.

Everlane has emerged as one of the U.S.’s most popular sustainable brands, opening up flagship stores from Los Angeles to Boston, selling garments made from organic and recycled materials. The brand’s organic cotton white tee is priced at $30, while a nearly identical white tee is available at Forever 21 for $4.99.

Jessica Brite, a second-year journalism major at Northeastern University and student ambassador for Fashion Revolution, thus finds it difficult to shop sustainably on a college budget.

“Ideally, I’d say yes, I’d spend more money on a garment if I knew it was sustainable,” she said. “But if it’s a basic t-shirt, I'm not going to be willing to spend 40-plus dollars — and that’s how much sustainable fashion costs.”

Brite’s ideology is representative of her generation as a whole. Millennials and Generation Z have been dubbed “Generation Green” thanks to their more environmentally conscious behaviors, but these individuals have boundaries when it comes to spending on sustainable shopping. A study by IBM and Morning Consult revealed that members of Gen Z would pay an average of $10 for a basic white cotton tee, but an average of $15 if that same tee was sustainable.

But Maya Caine, who co-founded the slow fashion, made-to-order marketplace Mive with her sister, Mica, seeks to remind shoppers that “sustainable shopping” is not limited to higher-priced boutique brands.

“It's important to let everybody know what their options are, because options do exist at every accessibility level,” Caine said. “You can buy second hand, you can swap with friends, you can go to an estate sale, you can sell on Depop and then you can give yourself a nice sustainable piece every now and again.”

Further, she strikes down the misconception that fast fashion stores have democratized the fashion industry. Though brands such as Forever 21 might appear to be inclusive solutions to a historically exclusive, elitist industry, Caine argues that such stores are mostly playgrounds for the higher social classes.

“We always say that we do not have the right to tell a woman with lesser means how she has to shop,'' she said. “But ultimately, the profitability of the fast fashion industry is driven by people with disposable incomes.”

And Caine is right. According to Euromonitor International, the fast fashion market is composed largely of upper and middle class consumers, with only a small cohort of consumers coming from lower-income communities.

The prevalence of fast fashion is not as attributable to accessibility as it is to the modern consumerist culture. With the average American purchasing about 59 garments per year and social media influencers popularizing massive try-on hauls, there’s a shared value of quantity over quality — individuals often apportion a select amount of money across several cheaply-made pieces, rather than across fewer sustainable pieces that last.

“I'm very guilty of buying into that culture… If I had $100, impulsively, I'd want to buy a lot of things,” said Isabella Arundale, a first-year communications major at Boston College and frequent customer at Zara. “But when you buy all these cheap clothes, they fall apart, they’re poorly made… I don’t even end up wearing those clothes anyways when I look to put an outfit together.”

Caine is eager to combat the culture of overconsumption by encouraging a “less is more” attitude.

“When we talk about lasting fashion, it's hard to preach that when everyone thinks they need to have a new outfit for every occasion,” Caine said. “It’s about changing your relationship with clothing, being able to wear the same thing in multiple different ways to accomplish very different looks.”

The march toward sustainability

As the climate crisis continues to worsen with each passing year, the pressure to mitigate humanity’s ecological footprint is mounting. A recent McKinsey & Company report found that two-thirds of surveyed customers value sustainability in fashion. And with such an uptick in demand for more conscious products and practices, fast fashion brands — to some degree — are responding.

H&M is one of the largest businesses actively laying the groundwork for a more eco-friendly business model. CEO Helena Helmersson has touted her ambitious goal of creating an entirely circular supply chain, meaning that clothes will be produced from recycled materials and damaged pieces will be repaired and resold. Irish retailer Primark also received positive press after joining the fashion industry’s Ethical Trading Initiative and paying over $12 million in compensation to victims’ families following the collapse of Rana Plaza.

Such changes are testaments to the power of consumer demand, but experts fear that they are largely performative measures. Companies often engage in “greenwashing,” using buzzwords such as “sustainable” and “ethical” in their branding to attract the more eco-minded consumer base. However, they often fail to present any tangible evidence to substantiate these claims. Even after launching their recycling program in 2013, H&M was accused of burning over 60 tons of unsold inventory since that year. Skepticism about Primark’s dedication to improving working conditions rose when a customer discovered a garment worker’s “SOS” note in a pair of trousers just one year after the Rana Plaza disaster.

Considering the aforementioned scandals and the fact that design-to-retail cycles still operate at lightning speed, the Caine sisters question just how genuine the fast fashion giants’ reform efforts are.

“Everyone has a goal by 2030 by 2050,” Maya Caine said, referencing H&M’s vague pledge to be “100% sustainable” in the next 10 years, with no promise to slow the speed or reduce the scale of their production. “But when you really go digging in the corporate responsibility page, you can't find anything that's really concrete.”

The sisters have also seen brands apply to join Mive’s marketplace, but fall short of the ethical standards associated with slow fashion. Mica Caine believes that greenwashing in fashion has come to a point where consumers “can’t rely on brands for [their] information and advocacy.” In response, she and her sister have created their free “Wake Up Your Wardrobe” guide for those looking to adopt conscious, circular shopping habits. They also advise shoppers to support to smaller, minority-owned businesses that valued sustainability before the movement was co-opted by majority-white influencers and environmentalists.

One example is Queen Adeline in Lowell, Massachusetts, founded in 2014 by designer and sustainability consultant Queen Allotey-Pappoe. Using entirely biodegradable wax fibers from her native Ghana, she creates bold, extravagant garments that pay homage to her culture and homage to the earth.

“We need to live, and we need to be alive,” she said. “With the designs I make, I want people to be present, I want them to be participants of the life here. By all means, come alive in your clothing … but we’re meant to live here. So, we might as well make sure that it is a livable place by the time we are done.”

Allison Daroie founded Paridaez, a Boston boutique on Newbury Street along similar principles of environmental preservation. By creating transitional pieces that fit the styles of different events or environments, she seeks to provide an antidote to overconsumption and waste. Further, she values sustainability across the supply chain, from ethically sourced materials to local production.

“Everything is timeless and classic, meaning that there are wardrobe staples you can keep in your closet for many, many years to come, versus short lived fads or trends, which come in and out each season and then often end up in the dumps,” she said. “I’m also keeping in mind quality, using high quality textiles and high quality, local construction so that the pieces don't just fall apart.”

Queen Adeline and Paridaez are just a few of the sustainable, BIPOC-led brands popping up around the Northeast. Taneshia Camillo-Sheffey of Boston’s premiere fashion incubator, Made InCubator, notes a greater trend of environmental and social consciousness in the region, and thus sees sustainable fashion as an opportunity for economic development in Boston.

“There were so many incubators here dedicated to other industries, but nothing in fashion, in the arts, in culture. For me, it was a huge movement and mission to create this space for designers and creators,” she said. “We’re helping to keep businesses here.”

Camillo-Sheffey challenges the designers and creatives with whom she works to adopt more conscious practices and business models, particularly along the lines of smaller-scale manufacturing and nonseasonal collections.

“I know so many designers who are in this stump, where they have thousands and thousands of pieces in their studio, at their house or in their basement just sitting there, because no one bought them because they were seasonal,” she said. “We’re really teaching our designers and the people we work with to look at the bigger picture.”

She also pioneered the “United State of Fashion” webinar this past Sunday, which was the culmination of Fashion Revolution USA’s “Fashion Revolution Week” — an annual series of events and educational programming surrounding the anniversary of the April 24 Rana Plaza collapse. Other events throughout the week tackled thrifting advice, the intersection of feminism and fashion and perhaps most poignantly, garment worker exploitation on American soil.

During this panel, California State Senator Maria Elena Durazo emphasized the importance of seeking change at the legislative level. She highlighted her introduction of SB-62 in the State Senate last December, which aims to abolish the practice of compensating workers through cheap “piece rates” and sidestepping minimum wage.

She continued the conversation with journalist Elizabeth Segran of Fast Company, discussing the government’s tendency to dismiss fashion-related issues as frivolous, perhaps as a result of the industry’s associations with superficiality and femininity.

“[Garment production] is an industry of women,” Durazo said. “And we cannot allow an industry that's so important for the world and for the fashion industry to let women be treated that way.”

As a fashion lobbyist and advocate on Capitol Hill, Jennifer Fisher has seen a similar disregard of fashion legislation.

“When many people think about fashion, they just think about the aesthetics, like how could people be concerned with what they wear,” she said. “But it's deeper than that. It's the industry that represents millions of jobs, millions of people, millions of families.”

However, Fisher cites additional reasons for such dismissal. Amid a global pandemic and desperate calls for healthcare reform, there are causes with greater senses of urgency. Fashion regulation is naturally put on the backburner.

“We’re in this recovery phase, and that’s our focus,” she said. “Fashion is not at the top of their list when they're talking about these big broader issues. So, if you have someone at the table who can represent the depth of the fashion industry and their needs and their concerns, that’s really important.”

To ensure that fashion maintains a seat at the bargaining table, Fisher, along with many other industry officials, suggests appointing a “Fashion Czar.” This idea has been a hot topic of discussion since Segran called upon Biden’s administration to nominate an individual who will regulate carbon emissions, textile waste, labor practices and more. Her plea, published on Fast Company’s site in late February, was transformed into an official letter that has since garnered more than 80 signatures from an array of brands, organizations and experts.

Perhaps the institution of a Fashion Czar is the first step in bridling an industry that has spiraled out of control. But reform is not possible without the investment of all stakeholders, from consumers to corporations to government officials. In Fisher’s eyes, true change involves presenting a united front.

“The industry cannot be fractured on this… we have to come together, that's really how you influence change,” she said. “And once we do, it will strengthen and amplify our voice even more.”
…