Anyway, I took them as my own and since then, they've become my favorite jeans. They just feel like quality. And I think their lifespan is proof of it. This pair of jeans got me thinking about my own wardrobe. I don't think I have anything older than three or four years. Do I have a consumption problem? Well, the easy answer would be a resounding yes and it sure seems like that's what a lot of marketing wants us to believe. But the more I've investigated this, the more I think the real issue isn't that we consume too much out of choice; it's that we have a waste system. Let me explain.
Products are designed for replacement
In many major product categories today—clothes, electronics, certain appliances—design, repairability limits, and market incentives push shorter replacement cycles.
Those jeans survived about a decade of wear from my dad—and they're still in good enough shape to be my favorites today. Every pair of jeans I buy, however, seem to stretch out of shape, fray, or simply fall apart within a year or two. But it's not just jeans that made me notice this pattern. About seven years ago, I found out that we dump over two billion disposable razors a year, so I bought a stainless steel safety razor as an alternative. It's still going strong, it shaves just as well as anything Gillette ever sold me, and it's saved me a small fortune in the long run. So why do companies still market environmentally harmful plastic razors and cartridges? Well, some experts would suggest the answer is simple: profit.
The Harvard Law Review has described planned obsolescence as "an extremely profitable strategy" from the perspective of manufacturers. The European Consumer Organisation, BEUC, puts it bluntly: it aims to "shorten the functional lifespan of products and force consumers to make premature replacements in order to continue selling in saturated markets."
Data on other products backs this up, too. For instance, researchers of a 2025 study on long-term product trends in Norway noted that washing machine lifespans dropped by 45% and ovens by 39% around the 1990s to 2000s period.
Could it be that it's not that we want to buy new things, it's that we have to because the things we buy simply aren't built to last? It certainly seems that way to me.
Fast fashion is, perhaps, the clearest example
Clothing is where this gets really visible.
According to the UN Environment Programme, clothing production doubled from 2000 to 2015, while the duration of garment use decreased by 36% and a mere 8% of textiles made in 2023 came from recyclable sources.
Many would advise spending a little more for better quality and keeping that item of clothing for the long haul. But here's the kicker; more expensive does not mean more durable. A study in 2024 found that a £15 pair of women's jeans actually outperformed a designer pair retailing at £150 in durability testing. Price is no longer a reliable signal of quality.
My dad's jeans were made to last. The clothes we buy today are made to be replaced.
Repair has been made impractical, if not impossible
**Even when people want to fix things, the system often won't let them, at least for a reasonable cost.** The European Parliament Think Tank has identified consumer concerns such as "design features that do not allow repair, upgradability or interoperability with other devices; the unavailability of spare parts and high repair costs."
A whopping 77% of EU citizens say they would prefer to repair goods rather than buy new ones.
In other words, people want to repair. The market just blocks it.
The consequences are staggering. The EU estimates that our "premature disposal" culture produces 261 million tons of CO2-equivalent emissions, consumes 30 million tonnes of resources, and generates 35 million tonnes of waste every single year.
When repair costs more than replacement, or when products are literally designed so you can't fix them, waste becomes the rational outcome. That's not a consumer problem. That's a system problem.
Recycling isn't the safety net we think it is
I think it's fair to say, most of us recycle and feel like we're doing our part. I know I do, at least. But are we even making a dent?
According to the OECD, only 9% of plastic waste is actually recycled globally. And even of the 15% that is collected for recycling, 40% of that ends up disposed of as residues anyway. So we're sorting our bins, washing out containers, doing what we've been told to do. And the vast majority of it still ends up in a landfill or an incinerator. I'm not saying we should stop recycling. Of course not. But we should stop pretending it's a solution when the infrastructure behind it is failing at this scale. The system gives us the illusion of responsibility while quietly dumping most of it anyway.
The "reduce your footprint" message protects the wrong people
Here's the part that really shifted my thinking on all of this.
British Petroleum helped popularize the idea of a personal "carbon footprint" through a major 2004–2006 marketing push where they spent over $100 million per year rebranding as "Beyond Petroleum." Yes, BP.
Benjamin Franta of Oxford Sustainable Law Programme called it a "micro truth in a macro lie." What a good way to put it, right? Data suggests that just 108 fossil fuel and cement companies are responsible for close to 70% of the world's total carbon emissions. Among US-linked fossil fuel polluters, BP ranked third in 2020, trailing only Chevron and ExxonMobil.
As Geoffrey Supran of the Climate Accountability Lab has pointed out, this playbook has been used with tobacco, junk food, lead, alcohol, and guns. Shift blame to the consumer, protect the producer.
It's a neat trick when you think about it.
The bottom line
That old pair of Levi's have outlasted just about everything in my wardrobe combined. And I don't think that's because my generation have a consumption problem. I think it's because the system around us has changed.
Products are designed to fail. Repair is blocked or priced out. Recycling catches a fraction of what we put in. And the messaging around personal responsibility is, in many cases, literally designed by the companies causing the most damage.
Guilt-driven minimalism isn't the answer. Systemic redesign is. Circular economies, producer accountability, and infrastructure that treats materials as resources rather than inevitable garbage.
The question isn't "why do we buy so much?" It's "why does everything we buy become waste?"