Every season, trends shift and colors rotate in and out of vogue. For many, the allure of new outfits is hard to resist. But lurking behind overflowing closets is a steeper price—fashion is among the world’s most wasteful industries, with the Ellen MacArthur Foundation reporting in 2017 that a truckload of textiles is landfilled or incinerated every second. The rise of clothing rental platforms, from Rent the Runway to HURR, promises a more sustainable alternative. But does it actually deliver—or are we buying into yet another fashionable mirage?
Clothing rental platforms position themselves as a panacea for fashion’s sustainability crisis. They invite customers to 'wear more, own less,' touting a circular economy where garments are shared, used, and then recirculated. The pitch seems perfect, especially for trend-driven, occasion-heavy wardrobes: rent a designer dress for a wedding, a stylish blazer for a work event, and never worry about a one-time buy adding to landfill.
Companies like Rent the Runway (US), By Rotation (UK), and YCloset (China) have demonstrated meteoric growth. By 2022, Rent the Runway had over 126,000 active subscribers and listed a growing array of options from both high-street and designer brands. Meanwhile, peer-to-peer rental (like By Rotation) brings the shared economy directly to consumers, letting them monetize their wardrobes while giving others more choices.
For consumers, the appeal is clear:
But does renting truly live up to its green credentials, or does the promise unravel under scrutiny?
Let’s trace the life cycle of a rented piece of clothing:
Every transport, wash, and repack has its own environmental footprint. For example, a 2021 Finnish study in the journal Environmental Research Letters compared renting, resale, recycling, and ownership. Surprisingly, it found that, given the impact of shipping and cleaning, rental’s carbon footprint can sometimes be as high or higher than fast fashion—especially if delivery distances are long or returns frequent.
The perception of rentals as inherently sustainable glosses over those messy, resource-intensive steps, particularly:
One notable example: Australian platform GlamCorner has transitioned to reusable garment covers and eco-friendly packaging, but the logistical chain still demands significant inputs of fuel and energy for cleaning.
When stacked up, these factors can erode the sustainability gains promised by shared clothing models.
To understand whether renting is truly more sustainable, it must be measured against fashion’s status quo: fast, cheap, disposable clothing. A few key contrasts emerge:
Brands like Zara and H&M pump out more than 50 micro-seasons a year, producing billions of garments that are largely destined for landfill within three years. WRAP estimates that about $140 million worth of clothes goes to landfill each year in the UK alone. Critics point to over-production, rampant consumerism, and shockingly brief product lifecycles as proof of fashion’s environmental recklessness.
Rental presents an alternative: instead of owning 10 party dresses each worn once, consumers can share a smaller set, increasing each item’s wear-per-use and—potentially—subsidiary emission savings. Companies claim their average item is used dozens more times compared to typical one-owner garments. Rent the Runway, for instance, reports designer dresses clocking over 30 rentals each, stretching out the resources embedded in their production.
But, if the logistics and laundering wipe out those efficiency gains, the environmental edge is lost. Moreover, convenience-driven habits—like constantly swapping outfits for each occasion—may fuel just as unsustainable levels of consumption, with the renting model merely substituting, rather than reducing, overall apparel churn.
A key question: does fashion rental actually replace new purchases or simply supplement them? Studies and surveys yield conflicting answers.
Research published by the journal Nature Reviews Earth & Environment suggests that for sustainability benefits to actually materialize, rentals must replace at least 40–60% of what a consumer would otherwise buy. But multiple market analyses—including a 2019 survey by Business of Fashion—find that many users treat rentals as additions to their shopping, not substitutes.
Anecdotes abound: a customer who rents a dress for a party but, convinced by compliments, decides to buy it outright later; or other shoppers who engage in single-use rentals for events they would have previously managed by re-wearing or borrowing from friends.
The bottom line? Renting is only green if it substantially offsets new manufacturing and mindless consumption—a behavioral threshold that, right now, the majority of the market does not consistently reach.
Recognizing their Achilles’ heel, leading rental platforms are experimenting with greener practices:
These incremental changes gradually boost sustainability credentials, though critics argue the industry is still chasing profitability, often at the expense of deep system change.
Rental occupies only a slice of the sustainable fashion landscape. Often, the best environmental choice lies in more radical consumption shifts:
In contrast with rental, these models typically involve less resource-intensive transportation and cleaning, though challenges of scale and fashionability persist.
If you’re determined to dress stylishly while keeping your carbon footprint trim, consider these actionable steps:
Every swap, extension, or repair lessens demand on extraction, production, and, ultimately, waste.
Clothing rental genuinely offers a seductive counter-narrative to single-use, throwaway fashion. Yet, behind sleek interfaces and marketing campaigns, the realities are complex. Rentals do have the potential to reduce collective waste—but only when leveraged thoughtfully, replacing new production and supported by innovations in logistics and garment care.
The broader solution lies not only in how we access clothing, but in shifting the cultural expectations around fashion and need. In a world seduced by constant novelty, true sustainability demands both systemic industry changes and a consumer culture ready to embrace slower, more meaningful relationships with what we wear.
By questioning the hype, supporting innovations, and nudging our purchase habits, we all contribute to making fashion a little less fleeting—and far less wasteful.