Ողջո՜ւյն, այսօրվա նյութը բաղկացած է 2 մասից և պատասխանում է 2 հարցի՝

1․ The Chemistry in Your Closet

Կարդալու ժամանակը՝ 15 րոպե

2․ Human cost of fashion

Կարդալու ժամանակը՝ 10 րոպե

Yusup Kamalov, a Uzbek environmentalist, grew up hearing his grandfather's stories about fishing in the Aral Sea - once the world's fourth-largest lake. But by 2004, standing on what used to be the seabed, all he could see was a desert dotted with rusting ships. "Where my grandfather once caught fish, I was catching dust," Yusup remembers.
The transformation happened within a single generation. In the 1960s, Soviet planners had diverted the sea's water sources to grow cotton, dubbing it "white gold." They turned Central Asia into one of the world's largest cotton exporters, but at a devastating cost. The Aral Sea began shrinking at an alarming rate - by 2014, the eastern basin had completely dried up.
Determined to document this disaster, Yusup started collecting satellite images and testimonies from local communities. The findings were shocking: over 60,000 people had lost their fishing-based livelihoods. Toxic dust from the exposed seabed, contaminated with agricultural chemicals, was causing health problems across the region. And it was all linked to the fashion industry's demand for cheap cotton.

But Yusup's work caught the attention of the Better Cotton Initiative (BCI), a global organization working to make cotton production more sustainable. Together with local farmers, they launched a pilot project in the region to grow cotton with less water. Using drip irrigation and better soil management, they showed that cotton yields could increase while using 50% less water.
"We couldn't bring back the old sea," says Yusup, "but we could prevent history from repeating itself." The project expanded across Central Asia, reaching over 2.3 million farmers. By 2022, BCI cotton accounted for 20% of global cotton production, using methods that could have prevented the Aral Sea disaster.
Today, the Aral Sea's story is taught in fashion schools worldwide as a warning about the true cost of unsustainable production. "My grandfather's sea became a desert because of how we grew cotton," Yusup reflects. "But my daughter's generation is learning to grow cotton without destroying their world."

Every year, the fashion industry produces more than 22 billion tons of polyester - enough to circle Earth over 800 times if made into thread. But how did plastic bottles end up in our closets?
The answer lies in oil. Both plastic bottles and polyester clothing start their life as petroleum. In factories, this oil goes through a process that scientists describe as creating "polymer-trains" from "monomer-wagons" - imagine tiny molecules linking together like train cars to form long chains. These chains are then stretched into threads, cooled, broken into small pieces, and melted again until they become thin, plastic-like fibers that can be woven into fabric (see in the picture below).

This might sound efficient - after all, it takes just five plastic bottles to create one polyester t-shirt. However, this connection to oil means every new piece of synthetic clothing contributes to climate change twice: first through oil extraction and then through energy-intensive production. When we consider that the fashion industry is responsible for 10% of global carbon emissions, the true cost of that "cheap" polyester shirt becomes clear.
The most concerning part? Unlike natural fibers that can biodegrade, these synthetic fabrics will stay on Earth for hundreds of years, breaking down into smaller pieces but never fully disappearing.

Sahan Ranasinha, a textile worker turned activist from Sri Lanka, first noticed something was wrong when his coworkers at a major dye factory started developing unusual skin conditions. The vibrant colors that made fast fashion pop were having a hidden effect on the people who made them.
"We were working with Azo dyes every day," Sahan explains. "These chemicals created the bright, fade-resistant colors that customers loved. But no one talked about what they were doing to us and our community's water supply." The factory's wastewater, bright with dye residue, was flowing directly into local rivers where people washed and fished.
Sahan began documenting health issues and collecting water samples. Working with local environmental groups, he discovered that many of the dyes contained chemicals banned in Europe and North America but still used in Asian factories. The findings were stark: tests showed that some Azo dyes broke down into carcinogenic chemicals, affecting both workers and people living downstream.

His documentation caught the attention of Greenpeace's Detox campaign, which used his evidence to pressure major brands. The campaign revealed that the fashion industry used about 43 million tons of chemicals each year, with many ending up in local water systems. The pressure worked - major brands including H&M, Zara, and Nike committed to eliminating hazardous chemicals from their supply chains by 2020.
This led to the rise of natural dye initiatives and new industry standards. Companies like Botanical Colors and Living Color, founded by former fast fashion designers, started proving that natural dyes could be scaled for commercial use. Today, these alternatives are growing in popularity, especially among younger consumers who care about both style and sustainability.
"The colors we wear shouldn't come at the cost of someone else's health," says Sahan. "Change is possible when we make the invisible visible."

Doug Hale, research director at Courtaulds Fibers, stood in his lab in the late 1980s, examining reports of health issues from viscose production facilities. The numbers were disturbing: workers were suffering from severe health problems due to carbon disulfide exposure, while nearby rivers showed signs of contamination. As a scientist leading fiber development at one of the world's largest rayon producers, he felt personally responsible for finding a solution.
"The industry knew viscose production was problematic," Hale noted in a later interview with Textile World. "We were facing increasing pressure from environmental regulations, but more importantly, we couldn't justify continuing with a process we knew was harmful."
Working with his team at Courtaulds, Hale focused on developing a completely new fiber-making process. Instead of using toxic carbon disulfide, they experimented with a different solvent - N-Methylmorpholine N-oxide (NMMO). The breakthrough came when they discovered they could create a closed-loop system where this non-toxic solvent could be recycled and reused, recovering over 99% of it.

By 1992, the team had successfully launched commercial production of what they named Lyocell. The process was revolutionary: it started with wood pulp from sustainably managed forests, primarily eucalyptus, dissolved it directly in the harmless solvent, and spun it into fibers that were stronger than cotton and fully biodegradable. More importantly, the process used less water and energy than both cotton and traditional viscose production.
The innovation proved that sustainable textile production was possible at scale. When Lenzing AG acquired the technology in 2004, they further developed it under the brand name TENCEL™, making it widely available to the fashion industry. The fiber's success influenced how the entire textile industry approached sustainability, showing that environmental responsibility could be commercially viable.
Today, Lyocell represents more than just a new fiber - it stands as proof that the textile industry can reinvent itself. From high fashion runways to everyday clothing, it has shown that we don't have to choose between performance and sustainability. As Doug Hale reflected in his final industry presentation: "Sometimes solving one problem leads you to a solution that's better than what you were doing in the first place."

"Everyone thought I was crazy when I said I was going to grow leather," laughs Sophia Wang, recalling the early days of MycoWorks in 2013. Standing in her friend Phil Ross's art studio in San Francisco, surrounded by mushrooms growing in strange patterns, she saw something others missed: a sustainable future for fashion.
Phil had been working with mushroom mycelium (the root structure of mushrooms) as an art medium for years. But Sophia, coming from a fashion background, recognized its potential as a leather alternative. "We were literally growing a solution to one of fashion's biggest environmental problems," she says.
Starting in Phil's studio, they began experimenting. The breakthrough came when they discovered how to control the mycelium's growth to create different textures and strengths. Their material, which they named Reishi™, wasn't just leather-like - it was engineered at a cellular level to be as strong as traditional leather while being completely biodegradable.

In 2020, luxury brand Hermès announced its collaboration with MycoWorks to create the first mushroom leather handbag. "When Hermès - a company known for the highest quality leather goods - chose our material, it proved that sustainability doesn't mean compromising on quality," Sophia notes.
The impact has been significant: MycoWorks' process uses 85% less water than traditional leather processing and produces virtually no waste. Their success has inspired dozens of other biomaterial companies, leading to what Forbes called "the biomaterials revolution in fashion."
"We started with mushrooms in an art studio," Sophia reflects, "and ended up changing how the world thinks about leather."

Yael Aflalo felt sick looking at her photos from a work trip to China in 2010. As a fashion executive, she'd visited many clothing factories, but this one was different. Through the smog-filled air, she saw mountains of fabric waste and rivers tinted with dye chemicals. "I was part of an industry that was destroying the environment, and I was doing it behind closed doors where no one could see," she recalls.
This moment haunted her. Traditional fashion brands kept their production hidden, making it impossible for customers to know the real impact of their clothes. In 2013, Yael decided to do something radical - she launched Reformation, a clothing brand built entirely around transparency. The centerpiece? A factory in Los Angeles with glass walls.
"If we're proud of how we make clothes, why hide it?" became her mantra. Reformation built their factory with a viewing corridor where anyone could watch the entire production process. Every step was visible - from fabric cutting to sewing to packaging. They installed touchscreens showing real-time environmental impact data: water usage, carbon emissions, and waste reduction.

The numbers were displayed right next to the clothes: each garment's tag showed its environmental footprint compared to industry averages. A single Reformation dress saved 15 pounds of carbon dioxide, 2,579 gallons of water, and 11 pounds of waste compared to a typical dress.
The transparent factory became an unexpected hit, especially among young consumers. "Teens would come on factory tours and leave as sustainability advocates," says Yael. "They saw that fashion doesn't have to be destructive - it can be both beautiful and responsible."
Today, Reformation's model has influenced major brands to become more transparent about their production. Their RefScale (environmental impact tracking system) has been adopted by other companies, and their open-door policy has become a case study in sustainable business practices.
"Fashion's dirty secrets stayed secret because we kept them behind closed doors," Yael reflects. "Sometimes, the simplest solution is to just let people see the truth."

In 2021, Nazma Akter, a former garment worker turned labor activist, stood in a Bangladesh factory, stopwatch in hand. As head of the Sommilito Garments Sramik Federation, she was documenting how long it took workers to sew a premium hoodie - the same type that would sell for 98 euros in Western stores. The contrast was stark: workers earned mere cents for each garment that would generate huge profits abroad.
"When I saw the real cost breakdown," Nazma reported to Clean Clothes Campaign, "it was clear something was fundamentally wrong." The numbers told a shocking story: from a 98-euro hoodie, only 13.44 euros went to the factory, including all production costs and worker wages. After shipping (0.90 euros), customs (2.24 euros), store costs (2.70 euros), and taxes (1.80 euros), the brand would keep over 75 euros in revenue.

The investigation expanded beyond a single garment. Working with global labor organizations, Nazma's team documented widespread issues: 14-16 hour workdays, seven-day work weeks, and wages so low that workers couldn't escape poverty despite constant overtime. In peak seasons, workers stayed until 2-3 AM to meet deadlines. The Global Slavery Index's findings confirmed her observations: modern slavery in fashion was increasing, not decreasing.
This documentation led to action. Organizations like Oeko-Tex and Bluesign emerged as powerful forces for change. Bluesign, founded in 2000, began conducting rigorous factory assessments - measuring chemical use, evaluating working conditions, and requiring improvements before certification. The ZDHC (Zero Discharge of Hazardous Chemicals) group formed, creating industry-wide standards for safer manufacturing.
Today, these certification systems have become crucial tools for change. "The real power," Nazma explains, "lies in consumers knowing these standards exist and demanding them from brands."