When I first saw those slick Clo3D mockups on TikTok, I was obsessed. Ghost mannequins, hyperreal folds, full collections rendered without cutting a single pattern. It felt like the future of sustainable fashion. No waste, no fabric ordering roulette, no shipping back and forth for fit samples that end up in the bin anyway. And when you’re a small brand that’s been cutting from reclaimed bedsheets and making to order just to survive, the idea of no waste at all sounds like a dream.
But then I looked into the actual process. And the costs. And the hardware. And let’s just say… that dream has a subscription fee. Clo3D, one of the most popular 3D design tools, costs upwards of £450 a year. That’s before you buy a high-spec laptop that can handle it (think £1,000 minimum), before you even touch a render. Want help learning it? Most of the good tutorials are behind paywalls, unless you want to spend 14 hours on YouTube figuring out how to rotate a collar. I've tried and not to put anyone off, but you need to be putting serious hours to learn. And if that's not a problem for you then you're really onto something amazing.
Because if not suddenly, that “democratised” tool doesn’t feel so democratic.
It’s ironic, right? 3D sampling is pushed as the sustainability solution, no physical waste, no carbon-heavy sampling rounds, no fabric surplus. Brands like Tommy Hilfiger, Adidas and Balenciaga are using it to build virtual collections. According to McKinsey, over 75% of fashion executives believe digital product development will be key to sustainability progress. The promise is bold: cut your emissions, speed up design, and make better business decisions. But who is that promise really built for?
Because when you’re a small brand trying to upcycle studio scraps, £450 isn’t sustainable, it’s rent money. When your whole collection is made on waste materials, grants and maybe one industrial machine, 3D software feels less like a solution and more like a wall.
And that’s the thing: sustainability doesn’t mean anything without access. You can’t say digital fashion is “revolutionising” sustainability while the same grassroots brands doing the actual slow work get left behind. The equity gap is real. Big fashion houses can invest in teams of digital specialists, while working-class or global majority creatives are told to “just upskill.” As if tech literacy isn’t already shaped by race, income, and education access (but we'll dive into this rabbit hole another time).
The average entry-level designer in the UK earns £20,000–£23,000 a year. That's before tax, rent, food, and literally any software costs. And most funding schemes aimed at “fashion innovation” still require match funding, a tech partner, or “scalable IP”, all things you’re unlikely to have if your brand is rooted in upcycling or physical community work. So what happens? The same brands who can afford it get slicker, faster, shinier. And everyone else falls further behind.
This isn’t me saying 3D sampling is bad. It’s smart. It’s necessary. And I wish I could do it. But it’s being sold as a solution without acknowledging the very real gatekeeping happening underneath. We’ve seen this with other tech too. Sustainability tools that promise circular tracking, but cost £500 a month. AI platforms that can calculate impact, but only if you can afford the subscription. It’s techwashing, the idea that innovation automatically equals equity. I may have made up that term but i'm running with it.
We can’t keep celebrating fashion tech as if it exists in a vacuum. It’s built inside the same system that rewards volume, capital, and aesthetics over slow process and material honesty. Until the software is accessible, open-source, or subsidised for small and emerging brands, it’s not a solution. It’s a flex.
And for the record, a digital garment isn’t inherently sustainable if the brand behind it still overproduces, greenwashes, or exploits labour. A carbon-free sample means nothing if the actual collection gets made in unethical factories. The tool is neutral, it’s how you use it that matters.
So what’s the alternative? Maybe we start asking for tools to be made with small brands in mind. Maybe industry bodies offer 3D software bursaries, just like sewing machines used to be grantable under arts councils. Maybe tech companies start working with upcyclers to create lighter, simpler versions. Or maybe, radical idea, we stop acting like digital equals better, and start investing in the people who’ve been doing sustainability without software for years. Again, not to say those innovating or adapting are bad but there's always two sides and it's important not to belittle the actual little guys.
Until then, I’ll still be teaching myself how to create Clo3D renders. And in the meantime also be sketching in biro, tracking offcuts in Google Sheets, and reminding myself that access is the first step to real innovation. Not the tech itself.