You’ve done the right thing—or so you believe.
The clothes that no longer fit, no longer spark joy, or no longer suit your style are neatly folded into a bag. You carry them to the charity bin, drop them in, and feel that quiet sense of satisfaction. Someone else will wear them, you tell yourself. Someone who needs them. Someone who will be grateful.
For many Australians, this ritual feels like a small but meaningful way to do good. A way to keep clothing out of landfill, to help others, and to tidy our homes all at once. But beneath this well-intentioned act lies a reality few of us see—and it’s one that might change how you view your wardrobe forever.
The Hidden Journey of Your Donated Clothes
In Australia, we donate an estimated 310,000 tonnes of clothing to charities each year. Of that, only about 15% is sold in local op-shops. The rest? It’s a story that takes us far beyond our neighbourhood streets.
Many donations are sent to sorting warehouses, where staff and volunteers sift through endless piles of clothing. The aim is to separate garments into three categories:
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Sellable stock – good quality, in-demand items that can go straight to charity shops.
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Overseas resale – bulk shipments sold to clothing traders in other countries.
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Unsellable waste – items too damaged, poor in quality, or unsuitable for local or overseas resale.
While the first category fulfils the vision we have in our minds when we donate, the second and third categories tell a far more complicated—and troubling—story.
The Story We Don’t See
Imagine this.
Your bag of donated clothes leaves your local charity bin on a Tuesday morning. It’s filled with pieces you no longer wear—a dress from a last-minute fast-fashion purchase, a T-shirt that never fit quite right, a skirt worn only twice. You feel good as you close the bin lid, picturing a grateful new owner giving these garments a second life.
But here’s what really happens.
At the sorting facility, volunteers open the bag. They quickly realise half the clothing is too worn, poorly made, or outdated to sell. These items are set aside—bundled into enormous bales of fabric, each weighing hundreds of kilograms.
Within weeks, those bales are loaded into a shipping container. They travel thousands of kilometres, perhaps to Ghana, Malaysia, or Papua New Guinea.
Now picture this: a bustling open-air market in Accra, Ghana. Trucks reverse into a dusty square and unload mountains of used clothing. Local traders—many of whom have borrowed money to buy their bale—cut the twine and hope for quality pieces they can resell.
Instead, 4 out of every 10 garments are unsellable. Torn seams, cheap synthetic fabrics, pilled jumpers, poorly stitched fast-fashion trends that no one in the community wants or can use. The trader must pay to dispose of them.
Where do they go?
Some are dumped on the edges of the city, in sprawling landfills where fabric dyes seep into waterways and smoke from burning textiles fills the air. Others wash down drains in the rainy season, drifting out to sea to form tangled, suffocating masses along the shoreline.
And this is not a one-off scene—it’s repeated every day, in communities across the Global South.
The Ripple Effect
This flood of low-quality clothing has another consequence. It pushes out local textile makers, tailors, and artisans—people whose skills and traditions have been passed down for generations. When cheap, unwanted imports dominate the market, the demand for locally made garments disappears, taking with it a vital part of cultural identity and economic stability.
What began as an act of generosity becomes a cycle of dependency, economic harm, and environmental destruction in places far from where the clothes were made—and far from where they were bought.
What Happens Here at Home
In Australia, we are not taking full responsibility for the waste we create. A significant portion of what is placed in donation bins is, quite simply, landfill in disguise.
When charities are unable to sell or export items, they must pay to dispose of them—often at great financial cost. The Australian Fashion Council estimates that over 200,000 tonnes of clothing still end up in landfill each year. This includes donations that were never suitable for resale in the first place.
The sad truth is that donating doesn’t erase the environmental footprint of a garment. If it was cheaply made, worn only a few times, and produced from synthetic fibres, its life cycle was already destined to be short. The only way to truly reduce our impact is to stop the problem at the source.
The Fast Fashion Illusion
You might think: “At least if I buy fast fashion and donate it quickly, it can help someone else.”
But the reality is different. Fast fashion is not designed to last. Poor-quality fabrics, low-cost stitching, and trend-driven designs mean most garments won’t survive long enough to be truly useful for someone else.
Instead, they become part of the tidal wave of waste overwhelming the second-hand clothing system. In effect, we are outsourcing our waste problem to other countries—countries that often lack the infrastructure to manage it sustainably.
A Slower, Kinder Alternative
This is where slow fashion changes the story.
Slow fashion begins with buying less, but better. Choosing garments made from high-quality, natural fabrics that can be repaired, restyled, and worn for years. Pieces that transcend trends and connect with your personal style, so they remain relevant season after season.
When a garment is chosen with intention, it becomes part of your life—not a disposable item. It’s worn often, cared for well, and let go of rarely. And when it does leave your wardrobe, it still holds enough value to be truly useful to its next wearer.
Clothing as a Daily Act of Intention
Every morning, the simple act of getting dressed is an opportunity to choose well—not only for yourself, but for the planet.
When you stand in front of your wardrobe, ask:
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Does this garment align with my values?
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Was it made to last?
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Will I wear it often, and does it make me feel like myself?
These questions shift clothing from a mindless purchase to a mindful choice. They reconnect you to the origin of each piece, the hands that made it, and the journey it will take when you are done with it.
Why This Matters for All of Us
As Australians, we can no longer pretend that donating unwanted clothing is enough. The problem is bigger—and more far-reaching—than a charity bin can solve.
By choosing fewer, better garments, we reduce the flow of textile waste leaving our shores. We protect the livelihoods of makers both here and overseas. And we honour the resources—human and environmental—that go into creating each garment.
Slow fashion isn’t just about style. It’s about care. Care for yourself, care for the people who make your clothes, and care for the planet that sustains us all.
Your Next Step
If you’ve ever donated clothing in the hope of doing good, know that your intention matters. But now that you know the fuller story, you have the power to make your impact even greater.
Start by choosing differently. Buy pieces you’ll wear again and again. Support brands that make locally, that value natural fabrics, and that produce in small, responsible batches.
Because the best way to keep clothes out of landfill—both here and overseas—is to love them for longer.