It’s been six years since this story unfolded, but it shaped everything I do today.
I still remember crunching numbers at my first job—calculating production costs in an export house, comparing them to inflated markups on the final product, understanding how mass production functioned. Or rather, how it didn’t. Not for people. Not for the planet. As studies confirm, the bulk of fashion’s value is retained by brands and retailers, while the people who craft our garments—primarily women—receive less than 2% of the final retail price. Fast fashion thrives on this disparity, profiting from economies of scale while externalizing environmental and social costs. In 2018, the United Nations reported that the fashion industry was responsible for about 20% of global wastewater and 10% of carbon emissions—more than international flights and maritime shipping combined. Mass production did not work; not in a way that honors either human dignity or ecological limits.
That rejection led to a kind of pilgrimage—a journey to the Himalayas in search of something I couldn’t name then.
I was still finding my footing when I stumbled across Looms of Ladakh. I cold-emailed Abhilasha Bahuguna, who generously gave me a chance. Next thing I knew, I was living in a remote village, working directly with women artisans on design interventions and helping set up their cooperative.
Discovering Design as Dignity
As a fashion design graduate, I thought I understood what design meant. But this was the first time I saw its true power—not just to create, but to organize. To build dignity, livelihoods, and systems. Design as infrastructure, not just output.
It was here—a girl from Mumbai—that I first lived a fully circular life. Fetching water at -30°C. Melting snow to wash fabric. Watching food waste feed cattle. Nothing went to waste, not even time. Even gossip was recycled with care.
There was a day a snowstorm hit. I assumed we’d stay in. But the women looked at me and said, “Aaj chhutti nahin hai.” Three kilometers uphill to the cooperative, and they showed me what resilience truly looks like. No fear. No fight. Just adaptation. Nature wasn’t an enemy or a resource. It was a rhythm.
The Dark Reality: Exploiting Sustainability
Yet the more I saw, the more I realized how the language of sustainability is being co-opted. Greenwashing pervades the industry: in a 2021 analysis, over 50% of claims made by major ‘sustainable’ fashion brands were found to be misleading or unsubstantiated. Certifications are treated as marketing tools, not as guarantees of fair practices. Fast fashion giants churn out “eco” lines, but continue producing at volumes that negate any environmental savings.
- The average consumer today buys 60% more clothing than 15 years ago, yet keeps each item for half as long.
- Less than 1% of clothing is recycled into new garments; most ends up in landfills or incinerators.
Gaps in the Market and Unjust Rewards
What’s most disheartening is the persistent gap in recognition and reward for the people and systems truly making a difference:
| Challenge | Data Point / Evidence |
|---|---|
| Living wages for artisans | Most garment workers in the Global South earn far below living wages, with only a fraction of fashion profits reaching them1. |
| Value recognition | Artisanal, low-impact textiles often cost 2–3x more to produce but fetch only marginally higher prices compared to fast fashion products1. |
| Small brand struggles | Brands advocating circularity and local value chains lack access to marketing budgets or buyer networks, rendering their efforts nearly invisible amid greenwashed advertising. |
I didn’t have the language back then—“circularity,” “just transitions,” “value chain equity.” But I knew. I knew I had to work with brands that cared for the entire chain, that didn’t cut corners or stories.
Years later, when I joined 200 Million Artisans, it all came full circle. I learned the anatomy of handmade enterprises, how business models shape lives, how climate resilience and inclusion are design problems as much as business ones.
And now, I find myself circling back to that Himalayan winter more often than not. That first lesson in dignity. In systems. In patience. In presence.
