My entry into the world of sustainable fashion was a bit like finding the room I was standing in slowly starting to tilt to one side. Before working with Fashion Takes Action (FTA), I spent my mid to late 20s learning about textile waste, excessive overproduction, and the lack of commitment by the fashion industry to make things better. Suddenly, everything I thought I understood about fashion, shopping, and the fun of expressing myself through clothes began to shift. It felt like a huge revelation.
Fast forward to a festive dinner with my younger cousins. Between bites of dessert, they were casually talking about how “fast fashion is so bad,” comparing their favourite thrift stores and Depop finds as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “We only thrift,” one of them shrugged. I felt a wave of awe and hope. That moment showed me that the next generation is picking up the thread of the past—before synthetic fibres dominated our homes, and brands put out weekly drops and seasonal collections—and what the rest of us can learn about making more sustainable choices in our closets.
What Is Fast Fashion?
For many in my generation, fast fashion is just...normal. We’re used to seeing new styles drop weekly, getting free shipping, and scrolling endless “new arrivals” pages from the couch. An entire outfit can cost less than taking the family out for dinner. Behind that convenience is a business model: fast fashion is about producing clothes very quickly, very cheaply, and in huge volumes. The goal isn’t to sell us what we need; it’s to keep us buying, whether we need it or not.
Here are a few things to know:
- The fashion industry is responsible for up to 8% of global carbon emissions.
- It also consumes 215 trillion litres of water per year, equivalent to 86 million Olympic-sized swimming pools.
- Annually, 92 million tons of textile waste are generated globally—roughly a garbage truck of clothes is landfilled or burned every second.
Approximately 500,000 tons of textile waste end up in Canada’s landfills, while the United States produces nearly 11.3 million tons of textile waste each year. That extraordinary number isn’t because we “wore things out”; it’s because we moved on—the trend shifted, and suddenly what we had in our closet didn’t feel “right” on us anymore.
Has Anything Changed in the Last Decade?
The answer is yes—a lot. Here’s how:
- We talk openly about sweatshops, exploitation, and unsafe factories. The Rana Plaza garment factory collapse in Bangladesh in 2013, which killed more than 1,100 garment workers, led to a legally binding accord that’s driven tens of thousands of inspections and over 140,000 safety fixes in factories supplying major brands.
- A global movement has pushed for more transparency. Campaigns like Fashion Revolution and tools like the Fashion Transparency Index now publicly rank big brands on how much they disclose about their supply chains and impacts, creating pressure to “name and shame” laggards and reward leaders.
- New laws are slowly raising the bar. From California’s Transparency in Supply Chains Act to the EU’s new corporate sustainability due diligence rules, more governments are starting to require companies to check for human rights and environmental harms in their supply chains, not just look the other way.
Some brands are investing in deeper traceability. A few early adopters are experimenting with digital product passports and scannable QR codes that let shoppers see where and how their clothes were made, reflecting growing pressure for honest information rather than vague “green” claims.
But that doesn’t mean the problem is solved. Many brands still haven’t signed safety accords, and labour groups warn that progress in some factories is at risk of “backsliding.” Meanwhile, production keeps going up, and ultra-fast fashion brands can launch hundreds of new styles a day, driving more waste and more emissions.
My younger cousins, by contrast, have grown up with TikToks about climate change, thrift hauls, and exposés on Shein and Zara in their feeds. For them, “fast fashion is bad” is almost background information in a way it never was for me. That generational awareness is powerful, but only if we choose to nurture it.
What Is Slow Fashion?
If fast fashion is rushed, disposable clothing, then slow fashion is the opposite: clothes designed and used with care. It doesn’t mean buying expensive linen and never shopping again. It’s more about pace and respect for people, for the planet, and for the clothes themselves.
The idea of slow fashion emerged in the mid-2000s, inspired by the slow food movement. It asks us to:
● Buy less
● Choose better
● Wear what we have for longer
From Niche Movement to Everyday Habit
About 15–20 years ago, slow fashion was mostly small designers, ethical boutiques, and a handful of “green” brands. Today, you can see slow fashion values everywhere.
- Secondhand is booming—and cool. The global secondhand apparel market is projected to reach around $350 billion USD by 2028, growing much faster than the overall fashion market. A big part of that growth is new thrift shoppers: One recent report found that 60 percent of projected secondhand growth through 2029 is expected to come from people who didn’t previously shop used. For many in Gen Z, thrifting isn’t a backup plan; it’s the first choice.
- Upcycling and mending are making a comeback. Search “thrift flip” or “visible mending,” and you’ll find millions of views. Kids and teens are turning oversized men’s shirts into dresses, adding patches to jeans, and sharing tutorials. Statistics show upcycling in fashion has grown sharply in recent years as consumers look for more sustainable options. My grandparents once darned socks and stitched elbow patches out of necessity. Today, kids are doing similar things out of creativity and climate consciousness, and that’s a beautiful full-circle moment.
- Policy is slowly catching up. Countries and regions are starting to explore laws that make brands responsible for what happens to clothes at the end of their life and discourage ultra-fast fashion. In Canada, Bill C-337 proposed a national strategy to reduce textile waste and explicitly called out our 500 million kilograms of clothing going to landfill each year.
Slow fashion is no longer just a niche conversation between eco-de-signers. It’s filtering into classrooms, TikTok feeds, policy debates, and family dinners.
What Slow Fashion Looks Like in a Busy Family
In a real household, slow fashion isn’t perfect capsule wardrobes and coordinated neutrals. It’s messy and lived-in.
- Shopping the closet first. Before buying something new, you check what you already have, what’s in storage, and what can be borrowed from a family member or friend.
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Leaning into hand-me-downs and swaps. For kids, especially, clothing swaps can be magical: they get new-to-them clothes without actually buying new. Setting up a school, daycare, or neighbourhood swap makes this feel normal and fun.
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Buying fewer pieces that actually last. This can mean choosing better stitching, thicker fabric, or classic cuts that won’t feel “out” next year. (It doesn’t have to mean designer prices; there are good-quality options at many price points.)
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Mending, altering, and caring. Sewing on a button, fixing a small tear, and washing less often and in cold water are little acts that dramatically extend the life of clothes and reduce their environmental impact.
When I watch my cousins enthusiastically show off their thrifted outfits, what I’m really seeing is slow fashion in action: less new stuff, more creativity, more wear, and more care.
How to Avoid Fashion Greenwashing
We hear that fashion is bad for the planet. We see our kids being more informed than we were. And then we walk into a store or open an app and every second label says “conscious,” “eco,” “green,” or “responsible.” Greenwashing is when brands sound sustainable without backing it up. In fashion, this often shows up as:
- A tiny “sustainable” collection, while the rest of the brand relies on overproduction
- Vague claims like “planet-friendly” with no numbers or details
- Cherry-picked facts; for example, boasting about recycled polyester while ignoring labour conditions or the total volume of production
Some big brands have even been investigated over misleading “sustainability scorecards” that gave certain items a greener image than they deserved. The good news is that you don’t need to decode every label. You can start with a few simple steps that line up with what our thrifting, climate-conscious kids are already doing.
1. Start with behaviour, not branding. The most sustainable garment is the one already in your home. Before believing any sustainability claim, ask, “Do I really need this? Could I borrow or buy it secondhand instead?” For special events (concerts, weddings, recitals), consider renting, borrowing, or buying secondhand first. Rental and resale platforms are growing fast, especially among Gen Z, who see sharing and renting as both fashionable and eco-conscious.
2. Read the fibre label, and think about longevity. You don’t need to memorize every fibre type, but you can look for:
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Fabrics that feel sturdy and comfortable, not flimsy
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Fewer synthetics that shed microplastics every time they’re washed. Polyester and other synthetics now dominate global textiles and are a major source of microplastic pollution.
If something looks like it will fall apart after a few wears, no label can make it “green.”
3. Look for proof, not just pretty words. If a brand is serious, it usually:
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Shares where its clothes are made and under what conditions
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Talks about living wages, not just “fair pay,” and publishes progress
You don’t have to become an investigator. Even quickly checking a brand’s “sustainability” page can tell you whether it’s being specific or vague.
4. Make it a game with your kids. Your kids already know a lot. Invite them into the process.
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Ask them to help spot greenwashing. “Does this brand show us real information or just green leaves and buzzwords?”
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Challenge them to find the best thrifted alternative for something they want
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Celebrate repeats. “You wore that hoodie all year; it must be a good one.”
I still think about that dinner conversation with my family. Younger me would have walked into the new school year excited about new outfits in shiny bags, not asking many questions. My cousins walked in wearing thrifted clothes, trading clothing swap event dates, and calling out unethical practices like it was common sense.
The industry hasn’t magically transformed. Fashion still contributes heavily to climate change, water use, and waste; exploitation and unsafe working conditions have not disappeared. There is a lot of work to be done at the level of laws, brands, and global supply chains.
But in that living room, I saw something shift. Slow fashion was no longer a niche idea from a documentary; it was just everyday life for them.
As parents and caregivers, you have the power to encourage this positive behaviour: making swaps normal, praising creativity over constant newness, teaching simple mending skills, and asking curious questions about where clothes come from. Every hand-me-down they love, every thrifted treasure they’re proud of, every conversation about what’s behind the price tag is slow fashion in real life. And it’s already happening in our homes.
