When Did Best Sustainable Materials Become Just More New Stuff?

The guy at the next table is talking too loud. One hand waving in the air, the other gripping his oat milk latte like a trophy. He’s on the phone, selling somebody on his brand’s commitment to sustainability.

"Yeah, we’re only using the best sustainable materials. Recycled plastics, bamboo fabrics—it’s the future, man."

The future.

I look down at my boots. Scarred-up full-grain leather. Eight years of scuffs and creases. The laces aren’t original, but the soles have been replaced twice. They’re still here. Still solid. Ready for another eight years if I take care of them.

And I wonder when the hell we started confusing new with sustainable.

Because here’s the thing: If you have to keep making it, recycling it, reinventing it—how sustainable is it, really? All these brands scrambling to sell you the latest eco-friendly miracle fiber, but none of them want to admit the truth: The most sustainable material is the one that doesn’t need replacing.

Bamboo fabric? Biodegradable, sure. Soft, absolutely. But it wears out fast. Give it a couple of years, and it’s thinning, pilling, stretching out. Recycled plastic? Cool idea until you realize it still sheds microplastics into the water every time you wash it. Nobody wants to talk about that.

But leather, real leather—the kind cut from the hide of an animal that actually lived—that stuff sticks around. Wool, properly spun and woven, can outlive you. Waxed canvas, thick and well-made, gets better with age. These materials don’t need annual reinvention. They don’t need you to buy a new version every two years. They just need you to take care of them.

But nobody’s making money off you keeping your old boots. Nobody’s getting rich off you refusing to replace what still works. So they sell you the idea that sustainability means buying something else. Something that’s been engineered to make you feel better while quietly keeping you on the hamster wheel.

I sip my coffee and resist the urge to lean over, to ask this guy how often he replaces his "sustainable" wardrobe. How many pairs of bamboo socks he’s thrown out because the heels wore through. How many plastic-blend tees he’s retired because the fabric turned scratchy and sour-smelling.

He won’t get it. Most people don’t.

Because recognizing real sustainability means letting go of the thrill of the new. It means admitting that the best sustainable materials aren’t the ones with the latest green certification—they're the ones time has already tested. The ones that last, that can be repaired, that get passed down instead of thrown away.

But that’s not an easy sell.

So instead, we get another ad. Another trend. Another pitch for another new way to be sustainable.

And another guy in a coffee shop, way too proud of himself.