How the North Face x Gucci controversy is hiding the real issue

The ecological destruction caused by the clothes we wear is by no means new knowledge. In Bangladesh in April 2013, the Rana Plaza disaster took the lives of 1,132 people, and injured over 2,500 more. Many were garment workers sewing clothes for the likes of Primark and Walmart, and the factory collapse tore down the glamorous façade of the fashion industry. Since then, the movement to combat the destructive practices of fast fashion and its artificially created cycles of insatiable need and desire has gathered momentum, with the industry facing increasing pressure to clean up its operations. Even pre-pandemic, some might say brands were having a tough time - but then again, with the clothing and textile industry having produced 2.1 billion tonnes of CO2 in 2018, so was the planet.

Fast forward to 2020, and COVID19 hit the fashion industry where it hurt the most - profits. Faced with falling consumer interest, and unsold stock piling up in warehouses and ports, the once infallible business model of relentless production and consumption began to falter. Even the largest brands rushed to cancel orders, many of which had already been cut and sewn, leaving already vulnerable garment workers unpaid and unsafe in the midst of a global pandemic. Among them was VF, parent company of The North Face and its commitment to “sustainability and morality”. Despite paying up at a later date, VF’s willingness to sacrifice others in order to protect itself reveals a hard truth: the outdoor clothing industry is dirty too.

The TNF x Gucci campaign was able to provoke such strong reactions for the very same reason that has for years enabled outdoor clothing brands to stand aside whilst the remainder of the textile industry faced criticism for their practices: a vocal rejection of the notion of ‘fashion’. But clothing is clothing, regardless of whether we call it “gear” or “couture” - made by human hands, with resources taken from the earth. Shared love, or brands’ promise of it, feeds the lie that our time outdoors relies on material objects - that we need them, and without them would be bound to an unadventurous life indoors. How could we ever harm the thing we love - except to love it more. To climb higher, travel further, run faster - to never stop exploring. The pursuit of endless adventure, so often presented as the antithesis to a life caught up in the economic rat race, isn’t quite as innocent as being “at one with nature”. Just like the climbers summiting Everest, we all leave footprints - regardless of whether we think we’re leaving no trace. Our footprints are in the carbon emissions of our long-haul flights, the fluorocarbons leeching from our waterproof jackets, and in the dyes that flow from garment factories into rivers on the other side of the globe. Whilst we’re admiring the view in our outdoors, the clothes we’re wearing are breaking apart somebody else’s; it’s the ultimate greenwash.

Greenwashing has been around for decades, emerging in the 1960’s as the environmental movement began to gather momentum. The purposeful ‘greening’ of corporate images, it’s rooted in the practice of placing responsibility on the individual rather than corporations. In the same way that BP coined the term ‘carbon footprint’ in 2004, prompting customers to calculate and then grieve over the climate chaos caused by their everyday lives, the partnership between Gucci and The North Face and it’s collection for “those who just want to listen to nature” carries a simple message: buy this, and be absolved of environmental sins. But ethical consumption is a symptom of greened capitalism. When faced with the horror of climate breakdown, our automatic reaction has become: “what can I buy?” In a pandemic-stricken world, this individual responsibility is emphasised; yet whilst we’re still agonising over the single-use coffee cup we used back in October, The North Face have seen their jacket sales skyrocket by 300% over the past year on Asos alone.