Fabric info

Local or offshore production? Transparency in the fashion business is a funny beast. I love everything about apparel fabric and for the past few years I’ve always wanted to do something with fabric – but not in the traditional way. Every time I think of clothing or fabric production my autopilot mind heads offshore. Mostly Asia, but also Turkey, Poland or Portugal. The million-dollar question though: even if I know where my stuff is made, does it actually change whether I would buy it? Apparently I’m not the only one thinking about this:

“Have you become obsessed with looking at your tags to see where your stuff was made? …. why was this the case and what led the company to do their production there?”

Kestrel Jenkins, Conscious Chatter podcast

I start by thinking about my interpretation of local. For me, this is typically about smaller companies with a proportion of operations in-country. As opposed to a company that happens to be founded or headquartered here but outsources all production.

Clothing vs fabric transparency

Transparency in terms of where clothing was made is a mainstay of sustainable fashion brands. The only high street name I know which makes a song and dance about transparency is H&M. Click on a product online and you’ll see the name of the factory where it was produced. Whilst it’s a positive initiative, is the average consumer going to track down the working conditions etc. of the listed factory? Do they care whether the label says Made in China or Made in Turkey? (or anywhere else?)

Finding the “where” is less easy when it comes to textiles in general (as opposed to RTW clothing). According to the World Trade Organisation (WTO), in 2018 the top textile exporting countries (all textiles not just clothing) were … *drumroll*…. China – by far the largest (no surprises there), followed by the European Union (no breakdown of specific countries). Then Bangladesh, Vietnam, India, Turkey, Hong Kong, Indonesia, Cambodia, and the USA. In terms of top imports, the EU sits at the top of the list followed by the US and China.

How did we get to this situation?

The end of the WTO Multi Fibre Arrangement in 2004 meant that quotas on clothing/textile exports from developing countries were lifted. You’ll hear it reported that this was a key reason for the death knell of manufacturing in Western Europe and the USA. Not to say that there isn’t any manufacturing left, but there is no doubt that it has dwindled due to cheap labour elsewhere. (I could write a whole essay on this but not today).

However, fast forward 15 years and the situation is changing a little. Labour is no longer as cheap in top manufacturing countries and there is even talk about whether near-shoring of apparel manufacture is going to happen. A quote from an interesting report by consulting house McKinsey & Co last year (well worth a read if you have time/interest – link below):

79% of respondents in our survey believe that a step change in nearshoring for speed is highly/somewhat likely by 2025.

McKinsey & Co, “Is apparel manufacturing coming home?” – October 2018

Why I choose local over offshore (where possible)

Given the manufacturing situation in Western Europe, finding fabric that is locally produced has for me always found a bit of a challenge. (Less so for clothing as small sustainable fashion brands do the work for you). And even if the fabric is marked Made in Italy or Made in the UK, what do you really know about it? There have been some pretty shady stories about local manufacture as well which I’ve linked below. Instead, I’ve typically gone for the deadstock / second hand / small independent fabric store route where I feel I can connect with the person running it.

When I then decided to look at fabric production and sourcing, my research told me that selling fabric is a volume game where offshore, large volumes or trading deadstock wins if you want to be really commercial about it. Doesn’t mean to buy sell fabric that way is a bad thing, just that it wasn’t going to be my thing.

Which is why I really feel strongly about being able to put out something for sewists with my recycled fabric project with Enschede Textielstad (launching next week!) The fabric will only be available as part of a kit. Here’s a sneak peek where you can see both sides of the same fabric in the teal colourway. And yes, the leather is upcycled and local as well.

Factors to consider in the local vs offshore production debate

But I digress. Continuing with the theme of things to think about with local vs offshore:

1. It is often not possible and/or financially feasible for retailers to source locally manufactured products.

There needs to be a demand for a product at a price point that people are willing to pay. The labour cost and the standards of living in Western Europe mean that products manufactured here are likely to be higher priced (unless there’s a lot of scale). The cost of wholesale then makes it hard for the retailer to make a living.

On the flip side, I don’t think I’ve ever heard any local craftsperson say that they don’t work hard for a limited amount financial return. Especially if they make things themselves and don’t outsource, then they don’t have a scalable business.

2. Local doesn’t always mean better.

True story. Heard about exploitation in the UK? The Environmental Audit Committee work into fast fashion this year heard evidence about garment workers in Leicester being paid less than UK minimum wage. And in Italy there can apparently be some pretty shady practices as well, read about that here.

3. Textile and clothing production is a mainstay of some economies

What would happen to employment if brands suddenly stopped manufacturing in places with low-cost labour? This was a question put to Clare Farrell (co-founder of Extinction Rebellion) at a sustainable fashion event earlier this year where I invited her as a guest speaker. She was very straightforward in saying she had no answer for that (does anyone)?

FYI, one view put forward by Kalpona Akter (Bangladesh Centre for Worker Solidarity) in the Autumn 2019 issue of Peppermint magazine was “we want these jobs with dignity” rather than a boycott which would mean loss of jobs.

What about ethical offshore production?

I’ve found more of a big deal being made of ethical production / social justice amongst sustainable fashion brands rather than fabric manufacturers. By social justice I’m referring to things like better working conditions, family-run factories, giving local artisans a global platform for their work etc.

Whilst I’m all for the social justice side, it makes me mad that sometimes the same brands massively greenwash on the eco side. I acknowledge that no one does things perfectly but I have boycotted brands before if I’ve received a dodgy (or no) email response from them when I’ve asked about their eco marketing and credentials.

Final words on local production

From where I stand, it’s about being selective. On the environmental side, it’s a nice idea that my stuff doesn’t have to travel that far to get to me. (This might be totally the wrong answer from a carbon perspective if production efficiency outweighs the transport.).

More significantly though, because local businesses are often smaller, I feel like there is a tangible economic impact on the local / regional economy. And if I live here and I’m in a position of privilege to support this, then why wouldn’t I?! Like everything sustainability-related though, it’s a decision for each individual to make on what matters and what you can feasibly do.

Click here to read about the fabric project woven with recycled yarns where production is in the Netherlands.

Deadstock. Over the last couple of years, I have heard a lot of people talking about buying deadstock (or overstock) as their method of incorporating sustainability into their sewing. The reasoning behind it is usually along the lines that the fabric would otherwise have gone to landfill. But how big a problem really is landfill, or in other words, how dead is deadstock?

A quick reminder:

Deadstock / overstock is the unwanted fabric from milled fabric (i.e. a specific fabric that has been commissioned by someone). For example, this could include leftovers because of over ordering, fabric being unwanted due to colouring being incorrect, or there are printing errors. You’ll often see this in independent sewing shops being labelled as “ex designer” and it can be quite inexpensive.

Last year I wrote about the sustainability case for using deadstock, you can read that here. For me, deadstock is a sustainability yay in one sense as it isn’t milled fabric, but I don’t see it as being the be-all and end-all solution to sewing sustainably. There are a couple of things I think worth highlighting that make a simple “fabric in landfill” line a bit problematic.

Is deadstock actually destined for landfill?

The generic phraseology thrown about in terms of things “going into landfill” can be just misleading. For example, in the UK, 85% of waste is incinerated, not landfilled (see my post here about landfill). Perhaps it is semantics, but it irks me that landfill is used to conjure up this powerful image of piles and piles of textiles being dumped and this is what captures public imagination. The statistic I found for Bangladesh from a UN report dated 2017 is that textile waste forms on average 3.06% of all landfill in cities – less problematic than food and veg waste at 68.69%.

In some ways I guess this is not so different from the Burberry incineration incident that also made all the media headlines a year ago (they announced 3 months later that they would stop destroying unsold stock – assume the reputational damage was more than what the unsold stock was worth). Whilst we know that many brands share the same practice in terms of destroying stuff for brand protection purposes, Burberry was singled out because it was transparent about it…. which kind of makes it a no-win.

What happens to leftovers in big factories?

In looking at deadstock I decided to read the Reverse Resources white paper again (dated October 2017). Whilst there is dumping of unwanted fabric going on, the paper also includes a graphic depicting a model of the types and proportions of spillage from big vertically integrated fabric and garment production factories. This shows that only 2% of spillage is end of rolls (>90in), and 9.9% overproduced/defected full fabrics. Which is really small compared to the sum of jhoot and yarn waste and overproduced/rejected garments. Interesting right? Suddenly the deadstock issue doesn’t feel like the biggest waste problem around (for factories anyway).

The authors also point out later on in the paper that selling the leftovers is actually an important source of revenue for factories, particularly as the margins on garment production are so low. Because of this, there is little incentive for them to be transparent about waste and there isn’t too much transparency in the secondary market. If we apply this thinking further along the chain that also implies that we probably aren’t going to have too much luck with knowing what we are buying or where it comes from. So as a consumer it becomes even more convenient to think that fabric is just unwanted, and move on.

Deadstock doesn’t solve the consumer culture problem.

In the last couple of years I have talked extensively about consumer behaviour and how we are encouraged to buy more all the time – see here for some opinions on a symptom coined “affluenza”. And I get it, I love buying stuff too! And sewing new stuff! Who doesn’t like new and shiny things? Especially an inexpensive “ex-designer” deadstock fabric that makes us feel like we’ve scored a massive bargain?

It is convenient that deadstock can be marketed as a sustainable product just because the reason for selling is that it is not fit for purpose. No different from any second-hand product really except that the material is still virgin. Indeed, the contradiction of all sustainable fashion related sales is that no one in their right mind will ever say don’t buy – we just say buy better if you are going to buy.

If you want more on why deadstock isn’t as good as it sounds on the surface, here’s an extract from an article from an industry insider:

Dyeing, knitting, weaving, and printing require huge, complex machines. Some ranges can take up entire city blocks, and take multiple people to operate. It takes a lot of man power to turn off the machines, clean them, set them up for the next fabric, and then run a new fabric. It is cheaper for mills to produce extra fabric that they plan to sell at a discount than to shut the machines off after the order is fulfilled. 

This means that in their basic costing, mills plan to sell x percent at full price and y percent at a discounted deadstock price. At no point are they calculating a percent going to the landfill. Remember mills are in the business of making money, not wasting it.

Melanie Di Salvo, Shop Virtue and Vice

Deadstock is just one way of sewing sustainably

At this point I’m reminded by something that Clare Press (Sustainability editor for Vogue) said to me when I interviewed her:

One of the secrets to make fashion circular or sustainable is recognising that different kinds of consumers are looking for different things.

– Clare Press, author of the books Rise and Resist and Wardrobe Crisis

Committed upcyclers probably buy something every now and again from a thrift shop. Other sewists spend time in fabric stores. Some might be looking for designer prints, others might look for deadstock. The point is that we all buy stuff and we all have different attitudes towards buying, sewing and sustainability.

I’m not suggesting that buying deadstock is a poor way to try and be sustainable about sewing – nor is it the only thing that can be done in the name of sustainability. I’m just keen for us to remember that there are shades of grey with most things fashion and fabric related and that there is more to think about beyond simple statements along the lines of “deadstock would have gone to landfill anyway”. And on that note, I’ll leave it to you to decide whether deadstock is actually dead!

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