Narrator: On April 24, 2013, in Dhaka, Bangladesh, thousands of garment workers were ordered into the Rana Plaza factory complex, despite visible, terrifying cracks that had appeared in the building's structure. They were told to work or lose their jobs. Hours later, the eight-story building collapsed, killing 1,138 people and injuring over 2,500 more. In the rubble, rescuers found clothing labels for major Western brands, exposing a horrifying truth hidden behind the glossy facade of fast fashion: a system built on secrecy, exploitation, and a complete disregard for human life. This single event laid bare the brokenness of the global fashion industry, forcing a question that many had never thought to ask: what is the true cost of our clothes?

In the book Loved Clothes Last, author and activist Orsola de Castro provides a powerful answer, arguing that the path to fixing this broken system begins not with a boycott, but with a revolution in our own wardrobes—a revolution of care, repair, and love.

Narrator: The book begins by dismantling the common perception of fashion as a trivial pursuit of passing trends. Instead, it frames fashion as a fundamental part of human culture and a colossal global industry. It’s a multi-trillion dollar business that dictates global politics, shapes economies, and employs millions. However, behind the glamour lies a dark reality. The industry’s insatiable drive for newness has created a culture where clothing production has doubled in the last 15 years, yet garments are worn less than ever before. This has turned our "ready-to-wear" culture into a "ready-to-waste" one, with the equivalent of a garbage truck full of clothing being sent to a landfill every single second. The author argues that to address the industry's problems, we must first recognize its immense power and cultural significance.

Narrator: The impulse to discard and replace items is not an innate human flaw; it was a manufactured concept. The book traces this back to the 1920s and a strategy pioneered by Alfred P. Sloan, Jr. at General Motors. He introduced "planned obsolescence," the deliberate design of products to break or become unfashionable sooner to encourage more frequent purchases. This business model, created to sell more cars, has since infected nearly every industry, especially fashion. It has created a system where products are not built to last, independent repair is discouraged, and manual skills are devalued. This mindset is the engine of fast fashion, driving a cycle of cheap mass production and hyper-consumerism that benefits corporations at the expense of the planet and its people.

Narrator: As a direct antidote to planned obsolescence, the book champions the act of mending. It’s presented not just as a practical skill, but as a powerful state of mind and a political statement. To illustrate this, the author points to ancient Japanese philosophies that celebrate imperfection and repair. In the art of kintsugi, broken pottery is mended with gold lacquer, highlighting the cracks and celebrating the object's history and resilience. Similarly, boro textiles, created from patching together scraps of indigo-dyed fabric, transform mending into an art form. These practices teach that a repaired object is not just fixed, but enriched with a new story. By choosing to visibly mend our clothes, we challenge the throwaway culture, declare our intent to keep our possessions, and honor the resources and labor that went into making them.

Narrator: Loved Clothes Last delves into the specific materials that make up our wardrobes, revealing their often-devastating environmental impact. Cotton, often perceived as a natural and wholesome fiber, is one of the biggest culprits. Conventional cotton farming is responsible for immense water consumption and pollution. The book points to the Aral Sea disaster, where one of the world's largest lakes was almost completely drained for cotton irrigation, as a stark example of the consequences.

Synthetic fibers like polyester, nylon, and acrylic present a different, but equally alarming, problem. As plastic-based materials derived from crude oil, they are a major source of pollution. Every time we wash these garments, they shed millions of tiny plastic microfibers, which flow into our oceans, contaminate ecosystems, and have been found everywhere from the summit of Mount Everest to the deepest ocean trenches. The book argues that understanding the story of our fibers is the first step toward making more conscious choices.

Narrator: The book confronts the illusion that when we throw something "away," it simply disappears. It highlights the two major streams of fashion waste: pre-consumer waste (fabric offcuts and unsold stock from factories) and post-consumer waste (clothes discarded by us). While many people believe donating old clothes to charity is a perfect solution, the reality is far more complex. Charities are so overwhelmed by donations that a vast majority of clothing is bundled and sold to developing countries. This influx of cheap second-hand clothing, as seen in places like Ghana, has decimated local textile economies, putting local tailors and designers out of business. Our discarded clothes don't just vanish; they often become another country's environmental and economic burden, proving that there is no such thing as "away."

Narrator: The book culminates in a powerful call for transparency, arguing that "if we can’t see it, we can’t fix it." The fashion industry has long thrived on secrecy, with complex and fragmented supply chains that make it nearly impossible to trace a garment back to the people who grew the cotton or stitched the seams. This opacity allows for human rights abuses and environmental negligence to go unchecked. The Rana Plaza collapse was a direct result of this lack of transparency; in the immediate aftermath, most brands didn't even know if their products were being made in the factory. In response to this tragedy, the author co-founded Fashion Revolution, a global movement that campaigns for a more accountable industry. By demanding that brands answer the simple question, "Who made my clothes?", the movement forces them to map their supply chains and take responsibility for the people and planet behind their products. Transparency is not the final solution, but it is the essential first step to repairing the entire system.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Loved Clothes Last is that we must fundamentally shift our relationship with clothing. We must move from being passive consumers in a disposable system to becoming active citizens and caretakers of the things we own. The book teaches that true style is not found in the constant acquisition of the new, but in the stories, memories, and love we stitch into the clothes we already have.

It leaves us with a profound challenge: to look at our wardrobes not as a collection of trends, but as a personal archive. What stories do your clothes tell? And how can you, through the simple acts of care and repair, ensure those stories last a lifetime, honoring both the planet and the people who made them?