What happens to the clothes that no one wears or buys anymore: where do they go?

Since photos of mountains of clothing dumped in Chile's Atacama Desert went viral in 2021, textile waste has become a central issue on the fashion agenda . This has raised questions about the system that insists on producing clothing in bulk, encouraging consumers to buy items more frequently, even daily, only to have them immediately discarded in search of new ones.

The spotlight was on Zara and Primark , among other companies leading the so-called fast fashion movement , with the Asian giant Shein leading the way. This was further exacerbated by the proliferation of influencers on social media who flaunt the things they buy, use rarely, and quickly throw away. TikTok reigns supreme in this regard.

Questions also arose about the materials the outfits are made from : whether they are polluting, and how long they will last on the planet.

Added to this is the fact that people have begun to talk about the working conditions under which clothes are made, the response to which in most cases is summed up in very low wages , which then translate into cheap prices, something that also fuels the more hectic turnover of the items consumed.

At the same time, more and more conscious users and non-governmental organizations began to look for solutions to prevent unused clothing from ending up in landfills , as well as demanding government measures to prevent waste.

One of the most common solutions is "circular fashion," which involves both the repair and sale of secondhand clothing and industrial recycling to generate new fibers—and therefore, new textiles. Upcycling is also used to create a new garment from an existing one.

"Where do the pants we throw in a used clothing bin go?" That was the question that prompted a group of journalists from the Spanish newspaper El País to spend eleven months investigating the fate of their discarded clothing. How did they do it? In association with the NGO Planeta Futuro, they collected 15 items of clothing belonging to colleagues in the editorial team and added a geolocation tag sewn into the hem of each one to track its journey.

They then deposited the clothing at collection centers across Spain. The result? They found that most of it was still floating around in industrial warehouses or vacant lots, and at least half ended up in the global south, causing further pollution or fueling shady commercial networks.

But that's not all. They also concluded that the clothing that traveled thousands of kilometers increased its carbon footprint, which is harmful to the environment. Ghana was one of the places where the clothing ended up being resold at the Kantamanto market (Accra, Ghana), or else ended up dumped on the beach or burned in a landfill.

The truth is that this isn't an issue exclusive to Spaniards, or even to Europeans. Rather, the scourge of piles of accumulated clothing is a problem for the planet. In fact, the majority of waste from developed nations ends up in the global south.

This was confirmed by the United Nations (UN) in a document released on March 30th, coinciding with International Zero Waste Day. It also states that improper waste management leads to incineration and serious environmental and social consequences. This means that poor communities are the most affected: they suffer from pollution and a deterioration in their quality of life.

The UN also reported that the world generates 92 million tons of textile waste each year and that, between 2000 and 2015, clothing production doubled, while the useful life of these items decreased by 36 percent.

"A brutal example of what is now called 'waste colonialism,'" says Marcela Godoy, a Chilean sustainability expert, referring to the Atacama Desert landfill.

He also insists that it is wrong to think that industries regulate themselves, since the textile sector operates within a model that prioritizes profitability over socio-environmental well-being .

And, according to the circular fashion specialist, as long as there are no public policies to oversee these companies, the sustainable discourse will remain anchored in marketing, without questioning the impacts on the value chain.

Even worse, for Godoy, material culture has been lost, meaning we don't know what clothing is made of. This is essential to understanding what kind of cycle it requires when reincorporated into the system and playing an active role in the circular economy.

"Without that knowledge, we won't know if a garment can go to the technical or biological system ," he reflects, "whether it can be recycled, composted, or if it will simply end up in a landfill," he concludes.

In Argentina, public policies to mitigate the generation of textile waste are scarce, if not almost non-existent , with some minimal proposals, such as, for example, the acceptance of socks or only scraps of denim (popularly known as "jean") at the mobile green points managed by the Buenos Aires City government.

And beyond the fact that some brands are working with recycling and there are entrepreneurs who produce using the upcycling methodology, the question is: what do citizens do with the clothes they discard?

Typically, clothing that is no longer used is donated to civil society organizations, including religious movements such as Emmaus or The Salvation Army, among others.

Likewise, it's increasingly common for garments to be sold in so-called "vintage shops," which are often visited by costume designers, fashionistas in search of retro finds, and the general public. There are also the legendary American fairs, where used clothing is sold, updated for the era of the technological revolution with online offerings.

"We're noticing more listings now," explains Cecilia Membrado, owner of Renová tu armario —the pioneering online clothing sales platform—when asked about the current economic crisis. "We're at four items listed per minute, while last year it was slightly less, around three," she points out.

Although he clarifies that the growth of the business, which currently has two and a half million users, is also due to the fact that younger generations are more aware of climate change.

In fact, when some pieces are excluded from the system because they don't fit the proposed curation, the company provides contacts to marketers who can connect them with foundations that might receive them. "We encourage donations to people in need," he emphasizes.

Brenda Andersen, co-founder of Cocoliche stores with Constanza Darderes, says that items that don't make it into the retail market are donated to organizations working in vulnerable neighborhoods . She explains that there are two types of donations: on the one hand, there are items that were initially accepted but later withdrawn from sale for not meeting standards.

"And then there are those that weren't selected at all, but their owners decided to donate them," she acknowledges. Since the start-up in La Plata in 2013, Cocoliche has donated nearly 35,000 items of clothing until last December. And in the last year, more than 14,000 items were donated through NGOs with which the brand works.

Cecilia Malm Green of Alma Zen Vintage also thought of alternatives for clothing that isn't selected on the racks in her store in Almagro (CABA).

She disassembles the cotton T-shirts and uses the fabric she obtains to make bags that she gives to customers, while she donates the rest of the clothing to urban recyclers . In emergencies, such as a flood, she donates them to a house in the province that's experiencing the disaster. The key is not to throw them away if someone else needs them.