When Everlane burst onto the apparel scene in 2010, its “radical transparency” on matters of pricing and sourcing, coupled with its emphasis on a clean, modern aesthetic and storytelling about the people and places behind its product, made it a hit with millennials seeking chic wardrobe basics, along with the warm and fuzzy feeling of being a responsible consumer.
Those millennials professing to “vote” with their dollars placed greater weight on sustainability, authenticity, and companies being good corporate citizens than their elders did and saw such virtues as perhaps just as important as the functionality or beauty of the products themselves. Tapping into that zeitgeist helped Everlane sell a lot of product at higher prices than its fast-fashion counterparts—and win the attention of major investors, including VC firms such as Kleiner Perkins and Khosla, as well as LVMH-backed L Catterton.
All three companies tapped into a zeitgeist, but appear to have forgotten that products have to offer consumers more than a feeling of virtuousness to build an enduring business.
In the case of Everlane, there was nothing particularly special about its generic but well-made clothing in tastefully bland colors. The original proposition was that consumers would be willing to pay more for products made ethically and sustainably. But in an uncertain “K-shaped” economy, it turns out that many shoppers are not going to shell out for vague promises about an item’s origins. Meanwhile, other brands with similar aesthetics—including Uniqlo, Quince or even some lines at Walmart—have become formidable competitors without the virtue-signaling.
Over time, shoppers have also grown more skeptical of the idea that they can buy their way to a better world. The promise of conscious consumerism never really grappled with the fact that the core problem is overconsumption itself—and global demand for clothes, shoes, and cheap products has continued to climb. Many consumers now seem to grasp that choosing the “right” sneaker or burger might offer a personal sense of virtue, but it does little to deliver the kind of systemic change needed to tackle climate risk, exploitative labor practices, or the depletion of natural resources.
It’s not that consumers don’t care about environmental stewardship and fair wages for the people that make their clothing and food—but the Everlane saga suggests that they don’t see ethical and sustainable practices, in themselves, as a reason to pay a premium.
