The Real Definition of Circularity
The Buzzword That’s Everywhere, But Rarely Understood
You’ve seen it. Brands calling themselves circular like it’s a personality trait. Everyone’s launching “circular collections,” “circular platforms,” “circular innovation labs.”
And if you’re like most people, you might assume it means the product is made from recycled stuff — or that it’ll break down someday into dirt and dreams. Which… not exactly.
The word circularity gets thrown around so much in fashion right now that it’s basically lost its meaning. But at its core, it’s actually a pretty radical concept — one that flips the entire take-make-waste system fashion was built on. Not a tweak, but a full rewire.
And if we’re going to talk about circular fashion — or critique it, celebrate it, build something better — we need to actually understand what the word means before we start using it. Because once you really get it, you’ll start seeing why a lot of the things being labeled “circular” aren’t even close.
What Circularity Actually Means
At the simplest level, circularity is about keeping materials in play. Like — instead of making something, using it, and tossing it — we build systems where stuff loops. Over and over. No landfill. No “end of life.” Just… next life. And yeah, it sounds ideal. But circularity isn’t just “recycling.” And it definitely isn’t slapping a “sustainable” tag on a polyester dress made from ocean bottles and calling it a day. True circularity means designing products so they never become waste in the first place. That could mean they’re made to be reused, repaired, taken apart, or recycled into something just as good — not downgraded into insulation and forgotten about. It’s about keeping the value of the material intact. That’s the part most brands skip. And it’s not just about what something is made from — it’s about what’s supposed to happen to it later.
There are two main paths in circular systems:
The biological cycle — where natural materials like cotton or wool are composted, regenerated, or safely returned to the earth
And the technical cycle — where synthetic materials like polyester or nylon are reused, remade, or recycled without losing quality
The catch? Fashion rarely respects either of those cycles. Most clothes are made with a mix of both — like a poly-cotton blend with glitter trim and 2% elastane — which means they don’t biodegrade or recycle. They’re basically designed to die. Circularity is the opposite of that. It’s not a vibe. It’s not a nice idea. It’s a systems-level approach to designing outwaste before it even exists. And once you understand that, you’ll start seeing why calling a single t-shirt “circular” — without a system around it — isn’t just lazy. It’s nonsense.
What Circularity Looks Like in the Wild (And What It Doesn’t)
Let’s look at what this actually looks like in practice — not in theory, not in slide decks, not in vague marketing speak. Because some brands are doing real work here. Others… are definitely just borrowing the word “circular” because it sounds responsible and looks great in a press release. Here’s a quick hit of real-world examples — the good, the questionable, and the “ehhh, not quite.”
Levi’s SecondHand
Levi’s runs its own resale program where you can bring back worn jeans and jackets, and they’ll clean them up and resell them through a dedicated platform. It’s not outsourced. It’s brand-run. This is a solid example of circularity in action — because it keeps garments in use longer, avoids producing a new pair, and actually extends the life of the material. Is it perfect? No. But it’s honest, and it’s doing something structural.
COS Resell
COS (part of the H&M Group) launched its own resale site too. It’s cleaner than most, and the brand is also dabbling in recycled materials and more durable design. But — and it’s a big but — COS still follows a seasonal fashion calendar. So while the resale is cool, it’s still sitting on top of a system designed for constant newness. Circular on one level, linear everywhere else.
PANGAIA
PANGAIA is kind of a lab disguised as a fashion brand. They invest in material science — stuff like Infinna™ and Circulose® — which are next-gen, fiber-to-fiber recyclable materials. They also use digital product IDs to track and trace garments. That kind of infrastructure is what circularity actually requires. Their volumes are small, but their model is real. It's circularity at the material and systems level, not just marketing.
H&M Take-Back Bins
These are everywhere. You’ve probably seen one — bring in your old clothes, get a discount code. Sounds great, right? But here’s what we know: most of those clothes are shipped to textile sorters, and a huge chunk ends up in the Global South, in secondhand markets that are already overwhelmed. The rest? Downcycled. Or, in some cases, incinerated. And H&M? Still dropping thousands of new SKUs every month. That bin at the front of the store doesn’t undo the overproduction behind it.
So yeah — circularity can be real. But only when it’s more than a side hustle. If it’s not baked into how a brand designs, sells, collects, and remakes? Then it’s just a vibe. A mood board. A distraction.
Circularity Isn’t Perfect — But It Does Matter
Let’s be clear: circularity is not the fix-all solution. It won’t magically erase the fashion industry’s footprint. It won’t cancel out overproduction. It doesn’t guarantee equity, or low emissions, or zero waste. But here’s why it still matters — and why it’s worth understanding properly.
1. It pushes brands to think beyond the point of sale.
In a traditional system, the brand’s job ends when the item is sold. Whatever happens after — landfill, resale, donation bin, whatever — that’s someone else’s problem.
Circularity forces brands to think about what happens next:
→ Can this be taken back?
→ Can it be repaired?
→ Can it become something new?
→ Who’s responsible for that?
Just asking those questions is already a shift.
2. It changes how products are designed.
Circularity makes you think differently from the start. Instead of "How do we make this cheap and fast?" it's "How do we make this last? How do we make this easy to repair? To recycle?" That change at the design level affects everything downstream.
3. It helps build real infrastructure.
Textile sorting, fiber recovery, digital IDs, repair networks — none of these existed at scale 10 years ago. Circularity demands that these things get built. And once they’re in place, they can serve all kinds of better systems, not just fashion.
4. It gives us a better question.
Too often, the conversation is "Is this product sustainable?" as if that’s a yes/no answer.
Circularity reframes the question:
Can this product stay in play — and if so, how?
That one question unpacks a lot: materials, design, use, disposal, and responsibility.
So no — circularity isn’t the end goal. But it’s a better direction. A more honest question. And a way to start moving from a waste economy to something that actually holds value. And that’s worth building on — even if it’s messy.
Why This Post Exists (and What Comes Next)
This post isn’t trying to cover everything. It’s not a masterclass in material flow or a teardown of every brand’s strategy. It’s here to set a foundation. Because if we’re going to talk about circularity in fashion — really talk about it — we need to be clear on what it is, and what it isn’t. Circularity gets thrown around a lot, and most of the time it’s surface-level. This isn’t about gatekeeping the word, but it’s important to know when it’s being used honestly — and when it’s just noise. Everything I’ll be posting from here on — the case studies, the critiques, the analysis — is going to come from this baseline. So if you ever find yourself wondering what I mean when I talk about circular fashion, this is where it starts.
Not a buzzword.
Not a bin at checkout.
A system. A shift. A challenge.