Can fashion design Its way out of extraction?

When PETA activist Sascha Camilli stormed the Gucci catwalk at Milan Fashion Week in September 2023, the spectacle was instantly amplified across social media. Yet the most consequential part of her campaign now unfolds far from the flashbulbs – in lecture halls where tomorrow’s designers, marketers and journalists are being urged to rethink the very foundations of fashion. Through PETA’s “Change the World With Your Wardrobe” series, Camilli is confronting the industry’s reliance on animal skins and fossil‑fuel plastics, arguing that material innovation is only a first step towards a truly sustainable future.

The university push: embedding sustainability in fashion curricula

Camilli notes a stark contrast between her own student days and the present landscape. “The attitude is completely different from when I was a fashion student,” she says, pointing to the fact that a sustainability module now sits in “pretty much every fashion course”, whether the focus is design, textile technology, marketing or journalism. This shift, she argues, is driven by the climate emergency that forces the sector to confront its environmental footprint.

The PETA lecture tour, which has expanded from the UK to Italy and the Netherlands, seeks to seize this moment of heightened awareness. By addressing students before they enter the professional arena, the programme hopes to embed a habit of questioning material choices at the earliest possible stage. “It opens the door for conversation. It makes students wonder, ‘What will my future career look like? What will my priorities be?’” Camilli explains, underscoring the strategic importance of shaping mind‑sets before they become entrenched industry norms.

Challenging the myth of leather and wool as luxury staples

At the core of the lectures lies a challenge to two long‑standing fashion assumptions: that leather is synonymous with quality and that wool, by virtue of being natural, is automatically sustainable. Camilli contends that these beliefs obscure the broader ecological costs of animal‑based textiles. “The impacts are massive,” she asserts, reminding students that the environmental toll of raising livestock for skins mirrors that of meat production, encompassing land use, deforestation and biodiversity loss.

Even the chemical processes involved in tanning, often highlighted as the primary environmental concern, are only part of the picture. While vegetable‑tanned leather is sometimes promoted as a greener option, Camilli warns that focusing solely on the tannery “can obscure the impacts created while raising the animal itself”. By broadening the discussion to include the entire supply chain, she pushes future designers to consider the full lifecycle of every material they specify.

From mushroom leather to cactus fibres: the rise of next‑generation alternatives

Camilli’s enthusiasm for material innovation is palpable. She cites the rapid evolution of “mushroom leather”, noting that it now looks “so leather‑like” and has already been adopted by luxury houses such as Hermès. Other high‑profile experiments include Karl Lagerfeld’s work with cactus, Stella McCartney’s plant‑based collections and Balenciaga’s use of Lunaform, a vegan leather derived from plants. These examples illustrate that the fashion elite are beginning to experiment with alternatives that do not rely on animal agriculture.

However, Camilli is careful to frame these developments as complementary rather than substitutive. She stresses that “no alternative material… can solve fashion’s environmental crisis unless the industry also learns to produce less”. The allure of a new, glossy vegan leather should not distract from the fundamental issue of overproduction and the relentless churn of trend cycles that drive disposable clothing.

Why material swaps alone cannot curb the climate impact

The lecture series repeatedly returns to a simple, if uncomfortable, truth: replacing leather with cactus‑based fibres does not automatically reduce the sector’s ecological burden if the volume of production remains unchanged. Camilli explains that students often ask whether a full substitution would “eventually create the same environmental pressures”. The answer, she suggests, lies not in a one‑for‑one material swap but in a systemic reduction of output.

She argues that the fashion industry’s “endless growth, accelerating trend cycles and disposable clothing” are the real drivers of environmental degradation. Even the most innovative raw material cannot offset the carbon and resource intensity of a system that encourages constant consumption. In this light, the push for vegan leather becomes a stepping stone towards a broader cultural shift away from the “make‑more‑more‑more” mantra that dominates contemporary fashion.

The hidden environmental costs behind every garment

Camilli reminds students that the environmental footprint of a handbag, shoe or jumper extends far beyond the visible material. Behind each product lie “landscapes, animals, agricultural systems, water, energy and human labour”. These interlinked impacts are often invisible to the consumer, who judges a product primarily on its aesthetic and price.

She highlights the paradox that while public concern frequently centres on the meat industry’s impact, the textile side of animal agriculture receives far less scrutiny. “Leather, wool and any kind of product that goes hand in hand with that industry are definitely part of it,” she says, urging a more holistic view of how fashion contributes to land use change, greenhouse‑gas emissions and biodiversity loss.

Public perception: the emotional gap between fur and everyday fabrics

Camilli observes a stark difference in public reaction to campaigns against fur or exotic skins versus those targeting leather and wool. “Whenever we do a protest or any campaign against fur or wild skins, it’s met with such a positive reaction,” she notes. By contrast, calls to abandon everyday animal‑based fabrics are often dismissed as “too extreme”. This resistance stems from the deep cultural familiarity and perceived practicality of leather and wool in daily life.

The emotional attachment to these materials makes it harder to mobilise public support for change. Camilli argues that this is why targeting fashion students is a strategic move: by reshaping the values of those who will design the next generation of garments, the industry can gradually shift consumer expectations from the inside out.

From undercover investigations to classroom samples: PETA’s dual strategy

PETA’s outreach combines stark undercover footage with tactile education. Camilli explains that the organisation’s “best way to show what happens” is through investigations that expose the cruelty and environmental damage of animal agriculture. Yet she acknowledges that such material can be difficult for audiences to watch, describing it as “not always easy to get people to watch because it does not make for nice viewing”.

To counter the sense of helplessness that can accompany such revelations, PETA brings physical samples of alternative materials into the classroom. By allowing students to handle mushroom leather, cactus fibres and other plant‑based options, the programme offers a tangible vision of a different future. Yet Camilli remains vigilant against the notion that “innovation alone can sustain the industry’s current levels of production and consumption”. The overarching message is clear: material breakthroughs must be paired with a cultural shift towards less consumption if fashion is to align with the planetary boundaries imposed by the climate crisis.

This article was produced with AI-assisted research and editorial support. Reporting is based on the source material cited below. Sources: The Independent; independent.co.uk; Global1.News (11 September 2026).

By Erica Thornton, Staff Writer