I was at a bar the other night when my buddy hit me with one of those statements that makes your brain arrest mid-sip.
“I stopped buying leather because, you know, cows. I only get vegan leather now.”
And for a second, I thought, Alright, makes sense. Factory farming is a nightmare. The meat industry cuts every ethical corner possible. I get it.
But then I actually thought about what he just said.
“Vegan leather.”
I set my glass down. “Wait—so instead of using a natural material that lasts decades, you’ve decided the better option is plastic?”
Because that’s what “vegan leather” almost always is—plastic. Polyurethane or PVC, melted down fossil fuels rolled out into sheets to mimic the texture of real hide. It doesn’t get softer with years of wear. It doesn’t build character. It just breaks down—cracking, peeling, turning to flakes and dust until you have to toss it and buy another. Best case? It falls apart in a couple of years. Worst case? It somehow holds together a little longer, but eventually separates into microplastics that settle into the oceans, the soil, our lungs.
Meanwhile, I’ve got a belt my father wore when he was my age, leather darkened and polished by time, sturdy as hell. A real leather jacket gets scuffed up, road-worn, and better each year, carrying stories like a second skin. My boots? I’ve had the soles replaced twice, but the uppers? Still kicking—literally.
So tell me: What’s worse? Killing a cow for something that lasts or drilling oil to make a plastic imitation that’ll end up in the landfill before your next birthday?
There’s this idea we’ve been sold that “sustainable” means whatever isn’t directly connected to an animal or tree. That somehow, cutting out leather is more ethical than making plastic look like it—but that ignores the reality of where plastic comes from, where it goes, and what it does in between.
And yeah, I know—some leather tanning processes are brutal on the environment. I’ve read up. But good leather? Tanned the right way, made to last? That’s practical, repairable, and ages with you. A well-loved leather wallet won’t leak chemicals into the water supply long after you’re dead. A plastic wallet will crack, warp, wear through at the edges, and quietly poison the earth for centuries when you toss it.
At some point, you have to ask: Are we actually making better choices, or just buying into whatever feels less guilty in the moment? Because if the answer to overconsumption is buying more cheap, disposable substitutes, we’ve already lost the plot.
It’s not just about leather vs pleather. It’s about whether we want to live in a world that values things made to last—or one buried in an avalanche of plastic pretending to be something real.
Glad we’re on the same page. Stay real.
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