In the summer of 2014, I launched a silk scarf depicting Gaza in total darkness, lit only by explosions visible from the International Space Station. The image had been tweeted by a German astronaut who called it “the saddest picture I’ve taken from space.” That sentiment—rare for astronauts who typically speak of the awe-inspiring overview effect—was profound. I responded immediately, printing the photo on high-quality silk reminiscent of Hermès, launching a collection that funded dignity kits for displaced Palestinian women.
Later that year, I volunteered in Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon, providing skill training in fashion and beauty. I documented this experience in The Cut, following a widely circulated essay I had written linking colonialism and the unspoken hierarchies embedded in sustainable fashion.
By fall 2018, I was organizing one of the largest sustainable fashion events at the United Nations. For the first time in fashion history, Palestinian and Lebanese craftsmanship shared the stage with Indigenous experts from the Global South.
This was just after my inaugural Study Hall conference, powered by the MIT Media Lab—an event Vanity Fair would later ask, “Is this what the future of fashion week looks like?” At the time, I was unaware of my growing influence. My boundaries were porous; I allowed many into my orbit—some eager to capitalize on my platform for their own careers as “eco-influencers.”
In the summer of 2020, I launched Sustainable Literacy through Slow Factory, which evolved into Open Edu. My course on sustainable fashion best practices crashed the Zoom app on day one with over 10,000 attendees. Among them were nearly every eco-influencer now making careers out of work I pioneered—many of whom later published books or delivered talks that repackaged my ideas without credit. Executives from major fashion conglomerates—H&M, Kering, LVMH, adidas, Nike, Gap, Gucci, Chanel—attended my classes and engaged in direct conversations about systemic change.
By winter 2023, one such global brand, with whom Slow Factory had a five-year waste-reduction agreement, threatened to pull funding unless I stopped speaking publicly about Palestine. I refused. Legal negotiations followed. I cannot name the company, but I can say this: the sustainable fashion industry, supported by Zionist PR firms, was quick to ostracize me from the very field I had helped shape.
My former students, now celebrated authors and keynote speakers, collected awards in designer gowns while I was blacklisted. Hundreds of PhD students reached out to include my work in their theses—while the industry attempted to erase my presence entirely.
In fall 2024, my book A Woman is a School sold 5,000 copies within weeks. Not a single fashion outlet covered it, despite the fact that their editors regularly consume my content—from Instagram Stories to newsletters to private industry seminars. The colonial dynamics of erasure, exclusion, and appropriation remain deeply entrenched in fashion. DEI initiatives continue to leave out Palestine and Lebanon. Ask yourself: who gets platformed? Who gets invited to speak? Where are the Arab women—intellectuals like myself—who have shaped this industry, only to watch our work be diluted and regurgitated by “cute girls” with nothing to say but plenty to wear?
Meanwhile, women in the Global South suffer and die under systems of oppression—including genocide—while the industry claps for parrots in designer outfits. Those of us who dare to name these truths are erased.
But something changed in me. I stopped seeing myself as a victim of these systems. I realized I am a media platform. I have always been. I have shaped culture, media, and fashion. I no longer comply with colonial structures of censorship and erasure.
That’s why I started my column A Woman is a School, where I’ll regularly share what traditional institutions won’t teach you—starting with this story. Below, you’ll find a list of articles I’ve written that have shaped the way sustainable fashion is discussed today. But this is not just about credit. This is a call to action. It’s time to name the elephant in the room: colonialism—and the women of color who enable it by participating in the erasure of those of us who refuse to be silent about Palestine.