Nicole McLaughlin believes anything can become a shoe.

Upcycled Patagonia fleeces work well if you’re making a slipper鈥攂ut so do tennis balls, badminton birdies, crossword puzzle booklets, balloons, golf visors, and packing peanuts. An egg carton makes an excellent sandal, and the baffles of a beach ball can quickly become a striking rainbow clog.

But why limit yourself to shoes when you can also make pants from napkins or backpacks, and bras from lemon squeezers or croissants? McLaughlin, a fashion designer, artist, and gorpcore icon based in Boulder, Colorado, has made a jacket from oven mitts鈥攁nd an oven mitt from a loaf of bread. She’s turned cereal bags (still filled with Froot Loops and corn flakes) into a vest and sewn a puffy jacket from bubble wrap. Each of her garments is quirky and evocative鈥攁nd has the power to chip away at the very foundations of the outdoor gear world.

Like any arm of the fashion universe, outdoor gear is a high-production, high-expense, high-waste kind of industry. Some brands are trying to change that, but the process has been slow and cumbersome. McLaughlin’s designs, however, cut through all the marketing chatter and straight to the core of the issue: they point out, loudly, that there’s no excuse for waste. Old or even damaged gear doesn’t have to be discarded. Instead, it can live on indefinitely through upcycling.

Upcycling is part craft, part raw imagination. It’s the practice of refurbishing an old item until it’s once again chic and useful. Over the last few years, the upcycling movement has gone mainstream鈥攁nd some of the world’s biggest companies are catching on.

Today, the 32-year-old McLaughlin has worked with brands ranging from Coach and Herm猫s to Merrell and Hoka. She’s been featured in Forbes’s Thirty Under Thirty, and is a sought-after speaker and workshop instructor. But her biggest achievement is the cultural change she’s helped affect: through her witty, tongue-in-cheek designs, she’s helped turn upcycling from a stodgy homeschoolers’ craft into an edgy and provocative response to consumerism at large.

Given McLaughlin’s r茅sum茅, I expected her to be sophisticated and reserved, in an out-of-touch, artsy sort of way. But what I found when I visited her in Boulder was an unassuming woman in plain clothing, bright-eyed and warm and ready with a smile. When she opened the door to her studio鈥攁 small warehouse space off a dirt road鈥攕he was dressed in baggy jeans and gingham sneakers, and her gray hoodie sported a fuzzy zipper charm in the shape of a cartoon character. She played with it while she talked, her fingers turning the little character this way and that.

“Come on in,” she said. “Did you have trouble finding it?” The studio is in Niwot, a one-street rural outpost well northeast of Boulder proper. So yes, I did. In fact, I’d been lost for ten full minutes before knocking on the weathered door. But I lied. And then, between spurts of showing me around the studio, McLaughlin told me about her life.

Sometimes, when you’re a young person trying to choose a career, an adult will give you this guidance: “Do the thing that would make your eight-year-old self proud.” It’s good advice鈥攖hough often impractical for those of us who dreamed of becoming race-car drivers or astronauts. Few people are able to truly self-actualize in this way. But McLaughlin, somehow, has.

Growing up, McLaughlin was an artsy kid, the daughter of a New Jersey carpenter and an interior designer. She was also a dedicated member of the early 2000s skate scene. A fan of hardcore punk music, she had an anti-authoritarian attitude toward homework, and an obsession with chunky skate shoes that would later become a hallmark of her upcycling style. Eventually, McLaughlin wandered into a four-year graphic design program at East Stroudsburg University of Pennsylvania. Then, after graduation, things started to get interesting.

For three years, McLaughlin lived a double life. She was just out of college and trying to prove herself at Reebok’s Massachusetts corporate office, where she’d gotten a gig as a graphic designer. During the day, she’d work long hours, shadowing other employees, placing logos, and sometimes sleeping on the office floor. During nights and weekends, she was mostly alone. Making friends in a new city takes time; McLaughlin was too focused on her career for that. But after a while, she began to realize that placing logos wasn’t exactly keeping her creative mind occupied. She felt stuck. She was approaching creative stagnation.

Then, one night, she snuck into Reebok’s recently vacated offices. There, she discovered mounds of discarded samples and fabric swatches鈥攂oxes upon boxes of really expensive trash. She filled a bag, thinking the pieces could be good inspiration for her side projects.

Soon, she was taking her pilfered samples apart, tearing out stitching and prying apart shoes on her bedroom floor. She’d mix and match soles and glue on new pull tabs, straps, and toggles. Held together by adhesive and pins, none of it was wearable; the only goal was to make something that looked cool. Eventually, she started posting photos of her designs on Instagram, a nerve-wracking experience. One鈥攁 blue sandal made from the straps of an Ikea tote鈥攔acked up several thousand views. For a burgeoning artist with zero product-design experience, it was a major confidence boost.

After some experimentation, McLaughlin gravitated toward vintage sports equipment. There was something playful about the nostalgia of it, and the absurdity of crafting a shoe from a lacrosse stick or basketball. In 2016 she picked up rock climbing, and two years later began tinkering with chalk bags and harnesses. She saw limitless design potential in outdoor gear.

McLaughlin churned out dozens of innovative upcycled designs, one after another, on Instagram. It was a private thing鈥攂edroom projects furtively shared on a faceless page. Her bosses at Reebok had no idea she was doing it. Until one meeting in 2019.

McLaughlin was sitting in a conference room, surrounded by colleagues, kicked back in a chair, twirling a pen in her hands. It was supposed to be a routine meeting with a marketing agency, which gave Reebok ideas for upcoming campaigns and collabs. But this time, photos of McLaughlin’s Instagram creations popped up on the projector screen. McLaughlin blinked. What?

Her colleagues started glancing across the room. “Is that you?” They mouthed as the agency rambled.

“You should collaborate with this girl,” the presenter ultimately suggested. “She’s coming up with some cool ideas.” McLaughlin kept her mouth shut during the meeting but later admitted to her bosses that she was the one behind the designs.

McLaughlin was still a junior employee, so she wasn’t surprised when Reebok didn’t jump at the opportunity to fund her weird, experimental art. But the company did send her to a three-month-long program at Adidas’s Brooklyn maker space, a wonderland of sewing machines and free materials called the Creator Farm. There, McLaughlin learned how to sew and make shoes from scratch. Meanwhile, her Instagram following continued to grow, and other brands emailed her project inquiries鈥攁 video series with Depop about her work, for example, and an opportunity to teach an upcycling workshop with footwear retail giant Foot Locker. That was all the nudge she needed. In 2019, McLaughlin quit her cushy corporate Reebok job鈥攖o the chagrin of her parents鈥攁nd went full-time freelance.

“I still worry that it’s all going to stop,” she says. “Like this is a phase I’m just riding out, and one day the work is all going to disappear. But it’s funny, because I’ve been doing this full-time for six years, and it hasn’t stopped yet.”

It’s easy to see why McLaughlin and other upcycling designers have gained prominence. Designing and manufacturing apparel and footwear creates a ton of waste. That goes for fast fashion, of course. But it also goes for the outdoor industry.

Outdoor gear may appear rugged and practical, but the industry that produces and markets it is yoked to traditional fashion cycles. Yes, people want equipment that performs, but they also want to look on-trend. Most brands cash in on the appeal of new fashions by constantly changing designs and churning out new colors and cuts each season.

What’s the point of saving humanity if we can’t have a little fun in the meantime?

Creating those new styles generates lots of waste. For example: before a sneaker or hiking shoe goes to market, the factory will send a brand three or four prototypes鈥攗nwearable single shoes that get examined by the product designers, and are then thrown into the trash. Fabric swatches are much the same. It all piles up.

The constant change of seasonal colors and styles speeds up the turnover of product styles. According to a 2018 report from the EPA, American retail stores and consumers throw out about 13 million tons of clothing and footwear every year. The expense is ghastly. The waste is obscene.

Few of us are immune to this materialistic ethos. Have you ever tossed out a rain shell instead of re-waterproofing it? Gotten a new chalk bag solely because it had a cute pattern? Shelled out for a name-brand fleece with cool colorblocking, even though you’ve already got a serviceable midlayer? I know I have.

Through her work, McLaughlin forces consumers to question the outdoor industry’s process. And people are catching on. Upcycling is having a moment, and its ethos appears to have struck a chord with Gen Z consumers.

Gen Z faces more pressure from climate change鈥攁nd climate anxiety鈥攖han any generation ever. Add to that post-inflation prices and a tough job market, and DIY starts to look mighty appealing, both as a cost-saving hobby and as a revolutionary movement.

Upcycling has also amplified new voices. For decades, brands have been the arbiters and gatekeepers of style. Now, a far more grassroots group of tastemakers is rewriting the rules and deciding for themselves what gets to be considered high fashion鈥攁nd what gets dismissed as trash.

McLaughlin is one of the most prominent, but there are others. Anna Molinari, a 27-year-old designer based in New York City, makes skirts from plastic bags and decorative chain mail from soda can tabs. Rivers McCall, 23, crafts handbags and even cocktail dresses from old climbing rope. Both artists have dressed Wyn Wiley, the drag queen and environmental activist better known as Pattie Gonia. The partnerships have put cutting-edge upcycled designs in front of millions of viewers.

Upcycling鈥攁nd its close siblings, thrifting and DIY鈥攚eren’t always cool. When my parents were young, new products were synonymous with wealth and importance. Old clothes meant you were a charity case. But over the last few decades, that’s begun to change. In fact, buying new will now earn you serious backlash in some corners of the internet.

“Social media has normalized second-hand shopping to the extent that there’s this sentiment of judgment if you buy a new designer bag,” says Molinari. She doesn’t necessarily disagree. “No one needs to buy new clothes. Buying new is so unnecessary, and watching the environment decline so quickly is terrifying,” she says. “I think everybody needs to take this seriously.”

Social media isn’t just a way to spread the zero-waste gospel. It has also allowed new generations to learn the timeless arts of sewing and repair.

I, for example, learned to sew from my mother, who hand-made my dresses in grade school. She learned from her mother, who learned from her grandma鈥攖he fearsome Ma Stalvey, who lived on a farm in southern Georgia, wringing the necks of chickens, cooking cornbread, and churning out shirts and nighties for her ten children out of the fabric flour sacks the grocery truck brought once a week. If it weren’t for those women, I’d never have picked up a needle. I don’t know that I ever would have wanted to; sewing always felt like a thing grown-ups did on school nights with the middle-aged mending circle at the local JoAnn’s. The act of sewing wasn’t aesthetic. It wasn’t edgy. And it certainly wasn’t cool.

But now, somehow, it is. According to Claudia E. Henninger, a fashion researcher and professor at the University of Manchester, the pandemic accelerated an interest in crafting. Gen Z ran with it.

“Social media has been massive,” Henninger says. “People can suddenly see other people knitting or crocheting or being creative. If that person can do it, then I can do it, as well.”

TikTok quickly emerged as a massive repository of sewing and crafting inspiration, and DIY tutorials and process videos exploded on Instagram. Entire crafting communities emerged. These days, if you upcycle, you’re not just a quirky teenager tinkering in your bedroom. You’re a part of something big.

That extends to the community of outdoor enthusiasts. Secondhand gear shops are popping up across the country. And outdoor brands are increasingly offering take-back programs, upcycling workshops, and repair services. Those that already have them are seeing major gains. Take Patagonia, which has offered repairs since the seventies. Its current pre-owned gear program, called Worn Wear, launched in 2012. The brand has seen more Gen-Z customers flocking to Worn Wear鈥攏ot to mention massive viewership of its DIY repair videos on YouTube. Since 2018, The North Face, Arc’teryx, and REI (which has re-sold used gear for more than 60 years) have all launched or expanded existing used gear resale programs, as have more mainstream brands like Carhartt, Lululemon, and even Juicy Couture.

“I think it’s starting to become more culturally accepted,” Henninger says. Molinari sees long lines of customers outside of curated thrift stores in New York City on most weekends. “There’s the virality of videos about vintage clothing hauls,” she says. In the UK, Henninger often walks by protest sewing pop-ups: people set up in front of high street retailers and sew their own clothes, informing curious passersby that they don’t have to shop at big-name fashion houses to look good.

“That’s very powerful,” Henninger says. Nicole Bassett, a textile recycling expert and the co-founder of The Renewal Workshop, believes the upcycling movement could someday have a huge impact on the fashion industry. Over time, it could slow style turnover, undermine brands’ bottom lines, and finally force big companies to rewire their supply chains.

“We’re not on the precipice yet鈥攚e’re in the beginning of a very big change in our economics in general,” says Bassett.

Pockets are a common theme鈥擬cLaughlin’s way of giving the finger to the lack of functionality that’s historically plagued women’s clothing.

As with any revolution, this movement faces hurdles. Young people don’t always have the purchasing power to pass over items with lower price tags鈥攅ven if those products are less sustainable. But customer behavior indicates that Gen Z and Millennial shoppers are moving toward products that are environmentally conscious.

“Sustainability can be a very boring topic. And climate is honestly a boring, dry thing,” says Wyn Wiley, the person behind the Pattie Gonia persona. “But now there’s all this creativity and interest from Gen Z. They’re under more pressure than ever鈥攂ut they’re also getting more creative than ever.”

As for McLaughlin? Sustainability wasn’t top of mind when she first started upcycling; she was initially attracted to samples and off-cuts only because they were free fodder for low-stakes experiments.

“When I started doing this work, I didn’t even know what upcycling was. Then, during COVID, brands started cleaning out their offices and realizing just how much stuff they had. That’s when they started reaching out to me for help,” McLaughlin says. At first that gave her pause. She was at a turning point in her career, and wanted to make sure the brands she worked with weren’t just doing sustainability as a shtick.

“But then I realized, I don’t work for the brands,” she says. “I work for the people who buy from those brands. Brands make all this stuff, and the responsibility falls on the consumer to figure out how to discard an item or recycle it.” Most of the time, there’s nowhere for that stuff to go. Most gear isn’t recyclable. Thrift stores are overwhelmed. We all have too much stuff in our houses. Waste is a serious issue.

Since 2021, McLaughlin has done consulting work with big brands about how they can limit waste and creatively reuse the scraps they already have. But she admits that her work sometimes feels like it’s just making a dent in the enormous problem created by fashion’s waste.

“I think there are days that are easy and exciting, and I feel really good about everything and like I can figure it all out,” she says. “But there are a lot of other days where it’s more like, ‘Oh my god, how did we get here? What are we doing? How am I helping to contribute to this?'”

McLaughlin escapes her worries by rock climbing鈥攕he finds the creative problem-solving on the wall helps complement her problem-solving in the studio. She also finds that the full-body movement helps her think. Her other tool is humor.

“There are so many hard conversations surrounding sustainability,” she says. “I want my work to be a moment of levity.” Often, that means leaning into the absurd.

“Making a bra out of lemon squeezers is funny. Putting pockets on a shoe is funny,” she says. “Most of the time, when I talk with brands about their process or what they could do to reduce waste, they’ve so overwhelmed. So when I’m designing, I want to make a statement, but I also want it to be fun.”

It’s a unique take on climate optimism. McLaughlin’s opinion is that, the more we lead with hope and humor, the more empowered we’ll be to take on the catastrophes facing our planet. What’s the point of saving humanity if we can’t have a little fun in the meantime?

“For me, upcycling is about being creative and using what you have. But it’s also about having fun,” she says. “I mean, that’s the root of upcycling: imagination and lightheartedness. That’s what keeps me going. And I think that’s what will get brands鈥攁nd the fashion industry鈥攅xcited about making change.”

5 Questions with Nicole McLaughlin

1. Your favorite material to work with is: Bread. Any time I work with food it’s always a really insane challenge of trying to figure out how to sew it, or construct it such that I can still take it apart and eat it after.

2. If the studio was burning down and you could grab one thing it would be: My grandfather’s squash trophy. He played until he was 80 years old and was a huge inspiration to me. When he passed away, all the kids in the family each took a trophy to remember him by.

3. The sports you played as a kid were: Tennis and basketball. And skateboarding.

4. You like to listen to: Podcasts and audiobooks while I’m working. I just flew through the whole Twilight series鈥擨’d never read them, and my sister told me I needed to. If I’m listening to music, usually it’s lo-fi beats and shoegaze.

5. Right now you’re reading: Start With Why by Simon Sinek. It’s been a good reminder to define my goals and purpose. Otherwise, it can be easy to lose sight of those things.

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There are a lot of ways to be a responsible outdoor enthusiast: practicing Leave No Trace principles, telling someone where you鈥檙e going, carrying enough water. But how does a responsible trail user choose the right footwear? Many of the standard manufacturing processes used to create products like hiking and running shoes produce excessive amounts of waste. So, to get outdoors responsibly, you should build out your wardrobe with responsibly made shoes.

No matter the season, Rossignol has been making great strides to innovate with an eco-conscious mindset via its program, embracing its role as a steward of the environment. By partnering with (ACBC), a leader in applied sustainability, Rossignol created the 鈥攁 light hiking and trail running shoe that raises the bar on eco-friendly footwear. And there鈥檚 no compromise on everyday comfort. Here鈥檚 how it works.

Sustainability

As a change-maker partnering with brands in the outdoor industry and beyond, ACBC uses scientific data on the sustainability process to help create products with smaller environmental footprints. The SKPR 2.0 is the output of one of its many successful collaborations. This shoe integrates responsible materials with the comfort and cushion necessary for light day hikes and trail runs, or just everyday use around town. The upper is made of a breathable mesh, providing a light, airy fit that doesn鈥檛 hold sweat or moisture. But most importantly, it鈥檚 made with a recycled material: 100 percent recycled polyester that is, in part, created from recycled water bottles. Plus, the midsole is 45 percent bio-EVA based on food industry waste. Even the outsole does its part in creating Rossignol鈥檚 most eco-conscious active shoe yet. Made with 25 percent recycled rubber, the outsole integrates pre-consumer factory waste material like that from automotive tires. All of these strategic choices result in a shoe that鈥檚 made from 50 percent bio-based and recycled material.

Performance

A sustainably made shoe wouldn鈥檛 be worth anything if it didn鈥檛 fit and perform well. As an expert in alpine and Nordic ski boot engineering, Rossignol has spent decades studying foot mechanics, providing a nice head start when moving into active footwear. And the brand鈥檚 expertise shines in the SKPR 2.0 Active Shoe. The outsole features a lugged, multi-angle tread to give you solid grip on steep terrain and loose gravel. Rossignol also employs Sensor 3 technology, which bolsters comfort and shock absorption. It works by using three different densities of sole material that are overlaid against the three pressure points of the foot. The result is a supremely cushioned ground feel that will keep your feet comfortable on short-and-fast hikes or runs. And an 8-millimeter drop between the heel and forefoot encourages an ergonomic posture that propels you forward with every step.

Responsibility for protecting the environment falls to both the consumer and the gear maker. Outdoor recreation shouldn鈥檛 be a paradox鈥攖he gear you choose can help protect where you use it. With ACBC methodology and Rossignol鈥檚 industry expertise, the SKPR 2.0 promises the no-compromise, environmentally conscious gear that all brands should aspire to.

Born in the French Alps, is an iconic mountain sport and lifestyle brand with more than 115 years of technical innovation and competitive success. Intrinsically linked with the history of skiing, Rossignol today offers year-round access to the mountains through a comprehensive range of winter sports equipment, mountain bikes, technical soft goods and footwear.

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Runners are known for putting their gear through the wringer, pushing items like shoes, socks, and clothing to their limits. Thus, durability can often be a main factor driving runners鈥� consumer behavior. A current trend across the outdoor industry is investing in gear that uses sustainable manufacturing alternatives and eco-friendly recycled materials to create a greener industry. But it鈥檚 here, at this intersection of durability and eco-conscious production, where tests have shown that recycled products are , often turning out to be less 鈥渟ustainable鈥� than manufacturers intend because of how quickly they have to be thrown away. How do we, as runners, navigate this?

Longevity Versus Recyclability

In order to support truly green trail running gear, some manufacturers have begun to focus on longevity in conjunction with recyclability. Because, while recycling is used as a strategy to reduce the industry鈥檚 carbon footprint and keep materials out of the landfill, recycled materials aren鈥檛 always necessarily made to last and, therefore, aren鈥檛 sustainable. As with most everything, it鈥檚 complicated.

鈥淚t is proven that longevity is a crucial factor within circularity. Keeping durable products in use for longer helps reduce the environmental footprint caused by new production,鈥� says Martina Lux-Arenz, global footwear strategic marketer for GORE-TEX.

While 100 percent recycled products often in durability compared to their virgin counterparts, one way to change this reality is by using material blends. 鈥淥rthoLite insoles contain a range of recycled content, from 5 percent up to 98 percent,鈥� says CB Tuite, chief sales officer for OrthoLite, a company that produces high-performance running insoles. 鈥淩eusing post-production waste is part of our 鈥榮ecret sauce鈥� With our recycled formulations, our head chemist has found a way to effectively blend both virgin and recycled chemistry to deliver the highest-performing sock liner technologies.鈥�

The main drawback with this strategy is that some blended materials are much harder to recycle, which therefore causes disruptions to true sustainability downstream.

The Costs of Eco-Friendly Production

If you go to your favorite running brand鈥檚 website and compare the cost of a recycled pair of socks or shoes with virgin ones, you鈥檒l notice that there isn鈥檛 much of a price difference.

Often it costs manufacturers more to create recycled products than virgin products, so many of them are taking a hit on profits to create greener alternatives. Recycling is extremely labor and energy intensive. Recycled materials have to be cleaned, shredded and melted. Virgin materials, on the other hand, skip a few of these steps, making them more affordable to make.

鈥淰ariability of raw [recycled] materials vary to a greater degree when compared to virgin material. This requires more testing and also requires us to build in some additional buffers to compensate for possible variability of such raw materials. This additional effort in quality control increases the cost of making the products, but we strongly believe there is value to include this in our product strategy,鈥� says Lux-Arenz.

鈥淭he demand is increasing for recycled raw materials, so the supply is still lagging which can cause modest pricing differences,鈥� says Alex Lauver, senior director of Materials Innovation and Sustainability for Outdoor Research. 鈥淲hen creating a new product, this small difference is easier to mitigate but established, legacy collections sometimes see a bit of a cost increase that needs to be offset. We either take a bit less margin or we have to slightly increase the retail [cost].鈥�

What鈥檚 more is that many brands assume the risk of adopting recycled products. Brands like GORE-TEX apply their 鈥済uaranteed to keep you dry鈥� promise, even their recycled running jackets, meaning that the consumer doesn鈥檛 assume the financial risk of supporting recycled products.

To better understand the relationship between eco-friendly and durability, we put three product categories鈥攕hoes, socks, and insoles鈥攈ead to head to see how they differ.

Shoes, Socks, and Insoles

SHOES: AllBirds Trail Runner SWT Versus Brooks Divide 3 Trail Runner

Running shoes are one of the biggest contributors to carbon emissions in the outdoor space. The typical pair of running shoes produces of carbon emissions from its inception to the end of its life. The manufacturing process is the largest contributor to this figure. (Comparatively, the standard pair of socks produces of CO2.)

While brands like Brooks have been able to reduce that figure by nearly , by turning to bio-based solutions, there鈥檚 still a significant problem; most recycled running shoes still end up in the landfill because they are manufactured in a way that makes it impractical to recycle them.

Brands like AllBirds take things a step further by manufacturing carbon-neutral products that offer a consistently high performance. And since AllBird shoes are made with merino wool, eucalyptus, and sugar cane, it鈥檚 easier to break the shoe down after it鈥檚 reached the end of its life. They also intend to double the lifespan of their shoes by 2025, reducing the need for further production. While attempting to reduce overall production isn鈥檛 exactly the most intuitive business model, it does seem to support sustainable running solutions.

The Trail Runner SWT is one of AllBirds鈥� most durable shoes, and it manages to achieve a lifespan of 8-10 months of moderate use depending on the number of miles athletes put on them. The Brooks Divide 3, while not specifically known for its sustainable properties, takes a classic shoe and allows runners to get about 500 miles out of it, leaving us with a potentially longer-lasting shoe. The price point of the AllBirds Trail Runner is slightly higher than the Divide, too, costing $140 instead of $100. But it doesn鈥檛 lack in quality or integrity that would contribute to premature deterioration. Due to their carbon-neutral practices and simple material construction, the AllBirds Trail Runner SWT has a slight edge over the Brooks Divide 3 when it comes to sustainability.

SOCKS: Darn Tough Quarter Ultra-Lightweight Running Sock Versus Girlfriend Quarter Crew

Darn Tough socks are famous for their lifetime guarantee; they鈥檙e arguably the most durable sock option on the market. With sustainably sourced wool, these socks can last for thousands of miles. But since they utilize a blend of wool, nylon, and lyrica, they can be somewhat difficult to recycle.

Comparatively, the Girlfriend Quarter Crew Sock is made out of plastic bottles and a small amount of spandex. Pricewise, the virgin fiber Darn Tough socks are slightly more expensive than the Girlfriend socks, costing $19 per pair as opposed to $14. They can also be swapped out for a new pair at no cost to the consumer. And they will likely outlast the Girlfriend socks in a high-performance environment.

While materials like wool are highly recyclable on their own, it becomes more impractical to recycle those materials when they鈥檙e blended with something like polyester, unless they are repurposed or upcycled for things like cushion filling. Both Darn Tough and Girlfriend socks use blends, so the difference boils down to longevity and cost, even if the marketing campaigns claim that their socks use 鈥渉ighly recyclable materials,鈥� which makes Darn Toughs a top contender.

INSOLES: Tread & Butter Versus Superfeet Run Support High Arch听

Tread & Butter is a climate-neutral certified brand that鈥檚 best known for its cork running insoles. The brand鈥檚 insoles are made in Portugal at a plant that uses cork dust to partially run the plant. These insoles, though lesser known among runners, are both built for performance and marketed to the sustainably-conscious, eco-friendly consumer. Compared to petroleum-based plastics and EVA, cork is far less energy intensive. But as a lightweight material, these insoles could wear faster than plastic alternatives.

Comparatively, Superfeet Run Support High Arch insoles come with durable components like a carbon fiber cap. They also have a lifespan of about a year, depending on the level of activity. Since the average insoles last anywhere from , Superfeet鈥檚 Run Comfort insoles do a good job of pushing the limits of durability.

Tread & Butter insoles cost $39.95 to $49.95 while the Superfeet Run Support High Arch insoles cost $54.99. Tread & Butter insoles are likely easier to recycle, but Superfeet鈥檚 Run Comfort insoles may take the take when it comes to longevity.

The Bottom Line:

Most consumers are willing to shell out a bit of extra cash for a plant-friendly, eco-friendly product, but even we have limits. Studies show that when a product cost becomes 20 percent higher than the industry standard鈥檚 cost, only about of consumers will opt for the recycled option.

In the end, labeling gear as 鈥渟ustainable鈥� suggests that manufacturer鈥檚 have made it to the end of the road, and greenwashing is too often used to motivate buyers to invest in a specific product. Without having access to a brand鈥檚 transparent manufacturing and recycling processes, it can be difficult to determine whether or not recycled gear is truly sustainable.

鈥淐onsider second听use or donating your shoes rather than throwing them away,鈥� says Lux-Arenz. 鈥淭ry to maximize the longevity and durability of your shoes through regular wash and care in order to minimize the carbon and environmental footprint.鈥�

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