Carbon Offsets Pt 4: Offsets Aren’t the Villain — The System Is
A Loophole Built into the System
If carbon offsetting feels like a scam sometimes, that’s not just because a few brands are doing it wrong — it’s because the whole system was designed to make room for this kind of behavior.
Let’s start from the top:
The very idea of “net zero” is a loophole.
The word “net” invites a tradeoff.
It says: we can emit, as long as we do something to cancel it out later.
That logic opened the door to offsets — not as a back-up, not as a stop-gap, but as the plan.
And this isn’t just a fashion issue — it’s baked into how the global climate system works.
The Kyoto Protocol (1997) and the Paris Agreement (2015) both leaned heavily on market-based mechanisms like carbon trading.
Why? Because policymakers wanted flexibility. They figured: hey, emissions reductions will happen faster if companies can do it however they want — whether that’s cutting emissions or paying someone else to do it for them.
But what happened?
That flexibility got monetized.
Suddenly, we weren’t just reducing carbon — we were creating a whole industry around the idea of reducing carbon.
Carbon credits became a product.
Carbon neutrality became a service.
And every middleman — from certifiers to consultants to credit marketplaces — found a way to profit off that.
So when you hear a brand say “we’ve offset our emissions,” you’re not just hearing a climate claim — you’re hearing the echoes of a global framework that allowed this kind of math to become acceptable in the first place.
And here’s the deeper issue:
When carbon accounting is based on net impact, it encourages brands to focus on balance sheets, not behavior.
Because the goal isn’t to stop emitting.
The goal is to look clean on paper.
Who Regulates This? (Spoiler: No One, Really)
Let’s talk about who’s actually in charge of making sure carbon offsets are real, measurable, and worth anything at all.
Answer: technically, no one.
There’s no global carbon offset police.
No government regulator with enforcement teeth.
Instead, we have a patchwork of private certifiers — like Verra, Gold Standard, Climate Action Reserve — that set their own criteria, approve projects, and issue the carbon credits companies buy.
Sounds official, right?
But these certifiers aren’t neutral. They operate in a market-based system, where their business model depends on approving credits.
If you’re too strict, you lose clients.
If you’re lenient, you make more money.
That tension has led to a massive credibility problem.
The most infamous case?
Verra’s rainforest credits — used by big brands like Gucci, Disney, and Shell — were found to be largely worthless. Independent investigations showed that most of the forest preservation they claimed credit for… was going to happen anyway.
In other words, they were selling “protection” for forests that weren’t at risk.
This is what happens when the verifier has a financial stake in approving the thing it’s supposed to verify.
It’s also what happens in voluntary carbon markets, which is where fashion operates.
Unlike compliance markets — where carbon reduction is mandated by governments or cap-and-trade laws — voluntary markets are self-governed.
Companies choose whether to participate.
They choose their verifier.
They choose how to talk about it.
That’s a lot of freedom — and not a lot of accountability.
Now, add this: there’s no universal pricing system.
You can buy a low-quality carbon credit for $5.
Or a high-quality removal credit for $300+.
Guess which one most brands choose?
Offsetting, for most of fashion, is a cost center.
So when the goal is to buy a good story — not make a real impact — the cheaper the better.
Why Brands Prefer Offsets to Decarbonization
It’s easy to look at all this and say, “Well, why don’t they just reduce emissions instead of buying offsets?”
But when you zoom in on how the fashion industry is built — the answer gets clearer.
Decarbonization isn’t just expensive. It’s messy.
It means touching parts of the business that brands usually keep at arm’s length — like Tier 2 and Tier 3 suppliers who make the fabric, spin the yarn, process the dyes, operate the machines.
It’s in those upstream layers where most emissions actually happen.
We’re talking Scope 3 — the indirect emissions that don’t show up on a brand’s own utility bill, but account for 90%+ of their footprint.
And here’s the trick: brands don’t own those factories.
So even if they want to decarbonize, they can’t just flip a switch. They have to negotiate. Invest. Convince suppliers to switch energy sources. Maybe even help fund those upgrades. It’s complicated, slow, and often out of their control.
Offsets?
They’re simple.
You calculate emissions, you buy credits, and boom — your website says you’re “carbon neutral.”
From a PR angle, it’s a dream.
It allows brands to sell sustainability now, without waiting for infrastructure to catch up.
From a cost angle, it’s even better.
Let’s say your emissions are 10,000 tonnes of CO₂. At $10/tonne, that’s $100,000 to offset your entire footprint.
That’s nothing compared to what it would cost to retrofit a dyehouse in Bangladesh or pay for 100% renewable energy across your supply chain.
And when you pair that with ESG ratings that reward having a climate strategy, not necessarily executing it well — it becomes obvious why offsets remain the path of least resistance.
Even within luxury, you can see the split.
Zara, for instance, has dabbled in carbon neutrality claims — mostly through offsets.
Meanwhile, Kering (which owns Gucci, Balenciaga, and others) has invested millions into regenerative agriculture, supplier training, and low-impact materials — actual decarbonization steps.
But even they’ve admitted to using offsets to fill in the gaps.
So yeah, some brands are trying. But most are just playing defense.
The Bigger Business Incentive
It’s easy to frame offsets as a sustainability tactic.
But under the surface, they’re often a business tool — one that props up a company’s reputation, signals ESG alignment, and creates the illusion of progress without much pressure to actually change anything.
Because here’s the truth:
In a lot of cases, carbon offsetting isn’t about the planet.
It’s about appeasing investors, boards, and ESG ratings systems.
Let’s take ESG scores.
Third-party raters like MSCI, Sustainalytics, or ISS score companies on how well they manage environmental risk. But these ratings often reward what’s easy to count — not what actually makes an impact.
So if a brand has a polished sustainability report, a decent paper trail of offsets, and a roadmap to net zero, they can score relatively well — even if they’re still producing millions of fast fashion units per year.
That score gets used everywhere:
In pitch decks. Investor calls. LinkedIn posts.
It becomes a tool for brand image management, not climate management.
And it goes even deeper.
Some firms now treat carbon credits like financial assets. There’s a whole sub-industry of funds, brokers, and marketplaces trading carbon credits — even speculating on future prices.
Offsetting is no longer just about compensation. It’s become a commodity.
Think about that:
You have fashion brands buying low-cost credits to hit targets.
You have brokers bundling those credits and selling them at a markup.
You have investors rewarding brands for “carbon management,” even if it’s just a line item in a marketing budget.
It’s a whole ecosystem — one that thrives on appearances.
So when a brand says they’re carbon neutral, the real question is:
Who benefits from that claim?
Is it the planet?
Or is it the people who needed a good story this quarter?
So What Now?
After all this, it’s tempting to just throw your hands up and say, “Okay, so offsets are bullshit, it’s all greenwashing, what’s the point?”
But I don’t think that’s the takeaway.
Because carbon offsetting — when it’s used right — can still be part of a broader climate strategy.
The problem isn’t that offsets exist.
It’s that we’ve let them become the main strategy instead of the last resort.
So what should we be asking for?
First, transparency.
If a brand claims carbon neutrality, they need to show how — in detail.
Break down emissions by scope. Name the offset provider. Disclose the project type, the verification process, the year, the location. If it’s not on the sustainability page, don’t trust the claim.
Second, emissions first, offsets later.
Don’t tell me about your reforestation project in Brazil if you haven’t even decarbonized your fabric mills in Turkey or your warehouse fleet in the U.S.
Clean up your supply chain first. Then we can talk about the cherry on top.
Third, watch the language.
Brands are getting better at making the wrong thing sound right.
Look for vague claims like “climate positive,” “conscious,” “net zero” — especially when they come with no data, no context, no receipts.
But also — and this matters — not everything is greenwashing.
Some brands are doing the work.
Kering is pushing regenerative practices. Allbirds, despite their setbacks, are still one of the few pushing LCA transparency. Even luxury houses like Chloé are testing better systems.
It’s not perfect. It’s not enough. But it’s something.
The real flex isn’t being cynical.
The real flex is being able to tell the difference.
Because the more we understand the system — how it works, who profits, what’s real and what’s fluff — the harder it becomes for brands to coast on claims alone.
And that’s kind of the point, right?