Carbon Offsets Pt 1: What They Are and Why Fashion Loves Them

May 11

Every brand right now is throwing around the same climate buzzwords like they mean something:
“Carbon neutral.”
“Net zero by 2030.”
“Offsetting all operational emissions.”

Cool… but what does any of that actually mean?

If you’ve ever paused and thought “Wait, how exactly are they doing that?” — you’re not crazy. You’re just paying attention.

This post isn’t about dunking on brands or writing another think piece that makes sustainability feel like a PhD seminar. It’s just me — breaking it down the way I wish someone did for me when I first started learning this stuff.

So if you’ve heard the word “offset” 300 times but still don’t fully get what it means or how it works, you’re in the right place.

By the end of this post, you’ll have a no-BS, real-world understanding of what carbon offsets actually are, why fashion brands love them, and why they’re more of a side tool than a real solution.

Let’s go.

So What Is a Carbon Offset Anyway?

Think of a carbon offset like outsourcing your guilt.

You release emissions over here — and then you pay someone over there to either prevent or remove the same amount of carbon from the atmosphere. On paper, you’re now “net zero.” In real life? It’s a bit more complicated than that.

It’s basically saying,

“Yeah, I took a long-haul flight — but it’s fine because I paid someone to plant trees.”

Here’s where it gets tricky. There are actually different types of offsets, and they don’t all work the same way:

Avoidance: Preventing future emissions from happening. (e.g., paying to protect a forest that was at risk of being logged.)
Reduction: Lowering emissions in existing systems. (e.g., investing in cleaner cookstoves in rural communities.)
Removal: Physically pulling carbon out of the air. (e.g., reforestation or new tech like direct air capture.)

Some of these have long-term benefits. Some are borderline PR stunts. Most of them get slapped with the same label — “carbon offset” — and that’s part of the problem.

Because not all offsets are equal. Not in science, not in permanence, and definitely not in impact.

And once you understand that, it becomes a lot easier to start spotting what’s legit… and what’s just marketing dressed up in green.

Why Fashion Loves Offsets

Here’s the thing: fashion has a massive emissions problem. Most of the industry’s carbon footprint comes from the stuff no one sees — the factories, raw materials, dyeing, finishing, shipping, packaging, logistics, the whole web of supply chains scattered across the globe. And most of those emissions aren’t even under the brand’s direct control.

So what do you do when you don’t actually own the emissions, but you do own the marketing?

You reach for the fastest, cleanest-looking solution: offsets.

From a brand’s perspective, offsets are kind of a dream. You don’t have to completely rewire your supply chain. You don’t have to break contracts with suppliers or invest millions upfront in decarbonization. You can just pay to fund a project — often somewhere far away — and claim the environmental credit as your own.

It’s neat. It’s scalable. It looks great on a website.

But that’s the catch. Offsets were meant to be a last resort. Something you use after you’ve done everything else — reduced your own emissions, made operations more efficient, and cleaned up your value chain as much as possible. Not a shortcut. Not the first step.

And the more I dug into it, the more I realized that the system is kind of backward. It rewards brands for not making structural changes. As long as they’ve got receipts for purchased offsets, they can say they’re “carbon neutral” — even if nothing else has changed.

And because most consumers don’t really understand how offsets work — let’s be honest, I didn’t either at first — the brand gets all the credit for sustainability… without doing the actual hard part of sustainability.

Offsetting has become the perfect loophole. Not because it’s inherently wrong — but because it’s being used in a way that replaces responsibility with storytelling/

The Offset Hierarchy No One Talks About

There’s a basic order of operations when it comes to addressing emissions. A kind of ethical ladder. And it goes like this:

Avoid the emissions in the first place
Reduce what you can’t avoid
Offset what’s left over

It’s simple. Almost too simple — which is why most brands just skip steps one and two.

Avoiding emissions? That means rethinking your business model. Maybe making fewer products. Maybe slowing down production. That doesn’t scale well for growth.
Reducing emissions? That takes time, money, and real changes to infrastructure — especially when your factories are halfway across the world.

Offsetting, though? That’s fast. It’s easy. It looks responsible without making things messy.

But skipping straight to offsets flips the entire hierarchy on its head. And that’s when the whole system starts to lose credibility. Offsets were never supposed to be the star of the show. They were supposed to be the backup plan. The final 5%. Not the opening act.

When a brand leads with offsets as its core strategy, it’s not solving a problem. It’s accounting for it. And those are two very different things.

Why This Gets Risky, Fast

On paper, offsets feel like a logical solution. In reality, they’re a slippery slope — because once you have the ability to “neutralize” your emissions with a payment, it becomes a license to carry on as usual.

That’s the real danger: offsets can become a moral hall pass. They give brands permission to pollute, but still claim progress.

And when consumers hear “carbon neutral,” they often assume it means the brand has already cleaned up its act. That factories are running on wind power. That shipping is minimal. That materials are sustainable.
But all it really means is that the brand wrote a check.

It’s not always a lie — but it is misleading. And that’s the part I keep coming back to: not whether the offset itself is fake, but whether the story wrapped around it is.

Because let’s be real — most consumers don’t know the difference between an avoided emission, a carbon removal project, or a renewable energy credit (hell, I didn’t until like five minutes ago). And brands count on that. They know they can use the right language, the right visuals, the right certification logos, and get away with it.

It’s not just fashion either. Airlines. Tech companies. Oil and gas giants. Everyone’s in on it.

And the more I study this, the more I realize: greenwashing today isn’t about bold-faced lies — it’s about framing. It’s about leaving just enough truth in the message to make it sound responsible, while quietly sidestepping what’s actually happening behind the scenes.

That’s why offsets are such a double-edged sword. Because even the real ones — the ones that actually work — can still be used to justify business as usual.

And that’s when sustainability turns into strategy theatre.

How You Should Actually Think About Offsets

If there’s one thing I’ve learned while digging into all this, it’s that carbon offsets aren’t inherently bad. But they’re also not a solution.

They’re a tool. A bandage. A bet on the future. And they should be treated like that — with caution, not celebration.

The moment a brand leads with offsets instead of reductions, that’s a red flag. When a brand starts throwing around phrases like “carbon neutral” without explaining what that actually means — that’s where you pause. Because a tree planted in Peru isn’t going to erase the emissions from a supply chain in China.

Does that mean we should abandon offsets entirely? No. But we need to reframe their role.

They shouldn’t be the headline. They should be the footnote.

The real progress comes from hard, unglamorous work:
Rewiring supply chains.
Switching energy sources.
Changing how materials are made.
Producing less.

None of that fits neatly in an Instagram caption. But that’s the work that matters.

So the next time you see a brand bragging about being carbon neutral, ask:

What are they actually doing?
What are they avoiding?
And who’s verifying any of this?

That’s not cynicism. That’s just clarity.

And to be honest, it’s the kind of clarity that will define the next era of sustainability — the one where transparency, not storytelling, becomes the real currency.

Aman Gill