A natural fabric without traceability doesn’t automatically become sustainable.
Over the last 14 years, I’ve played multiple roles within the fashion industry and interacted with countless fabric suppliers - small shopkeepers, textile mills, wholesalers, retailers and sourcing agents. More often than not, I’ve heard fabrics being described as natural, organic, recycled or conscious the moment those questions are asked.
But when you start digging deeper, the answers become less certain.
What I’ve come to realise is that honesty in sustainability requires far more than a label. It requires a genuine understanding of the problem and a willingness to engage with it, even when the answers aren’t convenient.
Very few suppliers can actually tell you where a fibre originates from, how it was processed, who handled it along the way, or whether the certifications attached to it are legitimate and traceable.
And yet, sustainability claims continue to be made with confidence.
Which brings me to another question I’ve been sitting with.
A few days ago, I walked into a designer store in Khan Market. A skirt, blouse and jacket set was retailing for ₹35,000 under the banner of artisanal craftsmanship.
I remember asking the consultant whether the Bandhani featured in the garment was hand-tied and dyed.
“No,” they replied. “It’s digitally printed.”
What made it artisanal, then?
A small amount of glass bead and sequin embellishment on the blouse.
Now, this isn’t a criticism of digital printing.
I’ve worked with digital printing myself. I’ve designed prints, developed collections and explored it as a medium for storytelling. Digital printing can be incredibly powerful when it is used to communicate original ideas, translate concepts and create new visual languages.
But replication is different.
A digitally printed Bandhani-inspired motif doesn’t automatically become sustainable because it uses less water. Nor does it become artisanal simply because it resembles a traditional craft.
When craft is reduced to a surface pattern detached from its people, process and context, we are no longer preserving culture.
We are reproducing its appearance.
And there is a difference between celebrating a craft and borrowing its aesthetic.
And perhaps that is the question I keep returning to.
Have we become more interested in looking sustainable than actually being sustainable?
I don’t know.
But I do think we need to start asking harder questions.
Of brands.
Of systems.
And of ourselves.
Because sustainability isn’t a claim to be made. It’s a responsibility to be practised.
From my late-night notes while building Omally.
— Megha