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Sustainable Fashion Is Colonial—And Silent About Palestine
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.
Links to my articles.
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"article":
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"title" : "Sustainable Fashion Is Colonial—And Silent About Palestine",
"author" : "Céline Semaan",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/sustainable-fashion-is-colonial-and-silent-about-palestine",
"date" : "2025-05-22 10:19:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Celine_Portrait_2025.jpg",
"excerpt" : "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.",
"content" : "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.Links to my articles."
}
,
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{
"title" : "Black Liberation Views on Palestine",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/black-liberation-on-palestine",
"date" : "2025-10-17 09:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/mandela-keffiyeh.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "In understanding global politics, it is important to look at Black liberation struggles as one important source of moral perspective. So, when looking at Palestine, we look to Black leaders to see how they perceived the Palestinian struggle in relation to theirs, from the 1960’s to today.Why must we understand where the injustice lies? Because, as Desmond Tutu famously said, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”{% for person in site.data.quotes-black-liberation-palestine %}{{ person.name }}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
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,
{
"title" : "First Anniversary Celebration of EIP",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "events",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/1st-anniversary-of-eip",
"date" : "2025-10-14 18:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/WSA_EIP_Launch_Cover.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Celebrating One Year of Independent Publishing",
"content" : "Celebrating One Year of Independent PublishingJoin Everything is Political on November 21st for the launch of our End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine.This members-only evening will feature a benefit dinner, cocktails, and live performances in celebration of a year of independent media, critical voices, and collective resistance.The EventNovember 21, 2025, 7-11pmLower Manhattan, New YorkLaunching our End-of-Year Special Edition MagazineSpecial appearances and performancesFood & Drink includedTickets are extremely limited, reserve yours now!Become an annual print member: get x back issues of EIP, receive the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine, and come to the Anniversary Celebration.$470Already a member? Sign in to get your special offer. Buy Ticket $150 Just $50 ! and get the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine Buy ticket $150 and get the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine "
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,
{
"title" : "Miu Miu Transforms the Apron From Trad Wife to Boss Lady: The sexiest thing in Paris was a work garment",
"author" : "Khaoula Ghanem",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/miu-miu-transforms-the-apron-from-trad-wife-to-boss-lady",
"date" : "2025-10-14 13:05:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Cover_EIP_MiuMiu_Apron.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.",
"content" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.From the opening look—German actress Sandra Hüller in a utilitarian deep-blue apron layered over a barn jacket and neat blue shirting—the thesis was loud: the “cover” becomes the thing itself. As silhouettes marched on, aprons multiplied and mutated—industrial drill cotton with front pockets, raw canvas, taffeta and cloqué silk, lace-edged versions that flirted with lingerie, even black leather and crystal-studded incarnations that reframed function as ornament. What the apron traditionally shields (clothes, bodies, “the good dress”) was inverted; the protection became the prized surface. Prada herself spelled it out: “The apron is my favorite piece of clothing… it symbolizes women, from factories through to serving to the home.”Miu Miu Spring 2026 Ready-to-Wear. SuppliedThis inversion matters historically. The apron’s earliest fashion-adjacent life was industrial. It served as a barrier against grease, heat, stain. It was a token of paid and unpaid care. Miu Miu tapped that lineage directly (canvas, work belts, D-ring hardware), then sliced it against domestic codes (florals, ruffles, crochet), and finally pushed into nightlife with bejeweled and leather bibs. The garment’s migration across materials made its social migrations visible. It is a kitchen apron, yes, but also one for labs, hospitals, and factories; the set and styling insisted on that plurality.What makes the apron such a loaded emblem is not just what it covers, but what it reveals about who has always been working. Before industrialization formalized labor into factory shifts and wages, women were already performing invisible labour, the kind that doesn’t exist on payrolls but sits at the foundation of every functioning society. They were cooking, cleaning, raising children, nursing the ill. These tasks were foundational to every economy and yet absent from every ledger. Even when women entered the industrial workforce, from textile plants to wartime assembly lines, their domestic responsibilities did not disappear, they doubled. In that context, the apron here is a quiet manifesto for the strength that goes unrecorded, unthanked, and yet keeps civilization running.The algorithmic rise of the “tradwife,” the influencer economy that packages domesticity as soft power, is the contemporary cultural shadow here. Miu Miu’s apron refuses that rehearsal. In fact, it’s intentionally awkward—oversized, undone, worn over bikinis or with sturdy shoes—so the viewer can’t flatten it into Pinterest-ready nostalgia. Critics noted the collection as a reclamation, a rebuttal to the flattening forces of the feed: the apron as a uniform for endurance rather than submission. The show notes framed it simply as “a consideration of the work of women,” a reminder that the invisible economies of effort—paid, unpaid, emotional—still structure daily life.If that sounds unusually explicit for a luxury runway, consider the designer. Prada trained as a mime at Milan’s Piccolo Teatro, earned a PhD in political science, joined the Italian Communist Party, and was active in the women’s rights movement in 1970s Milan. Those facts are not trivia; they are the grammar of her clothes. Decades of “ugly chic” were, essentially, a slow campaign against easy consumption and default beauty. In 2026, the apron becomes the newest dialect. An emblem drawn from leftist feminist history, recoded into a product that still has to sell. That tension—belief versus business—is the Miuccia paradox, and it’s precisely why these aprons read as statements, not trends.The runway narrative traced a journey from function to fetish. Early looks were squarely utilitarian—thick cottons, pocketed bibs—before migrating toward fragility and sparkle. Lace aprons laid transparently over swimmers; crystal-studded aprons slipped across cocktail territory; leather apron-dresses stiffened posture into armor. The sequencing proposed the same silhouette can encode labor, intimacy, and spectacle depending on fabrication. If most brands smuggle “workwear” in as set dressing, Miu Miu forced it onto the body as the central garment and an unmissable reminder that the feminine is often asked to be both shield and display at once.It’s instructive to read this collection against the house’s last mega-viral object: the micro-mini of Spring 2022, a pleated, raw-hem wafer that colonized timelines and magazine covers. That skirt’s thesis was exposure—hip bones and hemlines as post-lockdown spectacle, Y2K nostalgia framed as liberation-lite. The apron, ironically, covers. Where the micro-mini trafficked in the optics of freedom (and the speed of virality), the apron asks about the conditions that make freedom possible: who launders, who cooks, who cares? To move from “look at me” to “who is working here?” is a pivot from optics to ethics, without abandoning desire. (The aprons are, after all, deeply covetable.) In a platform economy that still rewards the shortest hemline with the biggest click-through, this is a sophisticated counter-program.Yet the designer is not romanticizing toil. There’s wit in the ruffles and perversity in the crystals; neither negate labor, they metabolize it. The most striking image is the apron treated as couture-adjacent. Traditionally, an apron protects the precious thing beneath; here, the apron is the precious thing. You could call that hypocrisy—luxurizing the uniform of workers. Or, strategy, insisting that the symbols of care and effort deserve visibility and investment.Of course, none of this exists in a vacuum. The “tradwife” script thrives because it is aesthetically legible and commercially scalable. It packages gender ideology as moodboard. Miu Miu counters with garments whose legibility flickers. The collection’s best looks ask viewers to reconcile tenderness with toughness, convenience with care, which is exactly the mental choreography demanded of women in every context from office to home to online.If you wanted a season-defining “It” item, you’ll still find it. The apron is poised to proliferate across fast-fashion and luxury alike. But the deeper success is structural: Miu Miu re-centered labor as an aesthetic category. That’s rarer than a viral skirt. It’s a reminder that clothes don’t merely decorate life, they describe and negotiate it. In making the apron the subject rather than the prop, Prada turned a garment of service into a platform for agency. It’s precisely the kind of cultural recursion you’d expect from a designer shaped by feminist politics, who never stopped treating fashion as an instrument of thought as much as style.The last image to hold onto is deceptively simple: a woman in an apron, neither fetishized nor infantilized, striding, hands free. Not a costume for nostalgia, not a meme for the feed, but a working uniform reframed, respected, and suddenly, undeniably beautiful. That is Miu Miu’s provocation for Spring 2026: the work behind the work, made visible at last."
}
]
}
