Welcome to September on Fabric First—where I’m trying something new: a myth-busting series. Each week this month I’ll tackle a common textile misconception, the kind of thing you’ve probably heard repeated so often it feels like fact. And what better place to start than with the fiber that gets the most eye-rolls in fashion: polyester.
Say the word out loud and you can almost feel the collective groan. Polyester is shorthand for “cheap,” “sweaty,” “bad for the planet.” At conferences, in sustainability reports, or even just in casual shopping conversations, I hear it all the time: Polyester is bad.
And honestly? Every time I hear it, my first instinct is to roll my eyes. Not because I think polyester is flawless, but far from it. But because my background in chemistry has taught me just how complicated this fiber actually is. Polyester is fascinating. The science of it, the way it can be engineered even before the extrusion process, offers nearly endless possibilities. It’s not a monolith—it’s a spectrum. And that nuance is what’s often missing from the conversation.
Polyester’s Reputation Problem
Polyester’s bad reputation isn’t new. Many people still associate it with scratchy 1970s double knits or clingy blouses hanging at the back of a thrift store. Fast fashion has only made the stereotype worse: thin tees that pill after one wash, cheap dresses that feel plasticky to the touch. Polyester became the easy villain.
But here’s the paradox: polyester is also the backbone of modern fashion. It makes up more than half of global fiber production. It’s in your leggings, your fleece jacket, your kid’s school uniform, and maybe even your bedsheets. It’s both hated and relied upon, often by the very same consumers.
This contradiction reveals the real problem: when we lump all polyester into one bucket, we miss the fact that it exists on a spectrum of quality and purpose.
Polyester on a Spectrum
One of the biggest myths is that polyester is automatically low-quality. In reality, polyester can be engineered to behave in dramatically different ways depending on how the yarn is spun, textured, or finished.
A bargain-bin T-shirt and a high-end performance jacket might both be 100% polyester. Yet, one will fall apart after a season, while the other is designed to last for years.
Polyester can be spun into fine filaments that mimic silk, or crimped into bulky yarns that trap warmth like wool.
Depending on the finishing, it can feel crisp and structured, or soft and drapey.
Durability is polyester’s hidden strength. Unlike natural fibers that shrink, stretch, or weaken with repeated washing, polyester holds its structure. It resists fading, resists wrinkles, and can endure abrasion that would break down cotton or viscose.
And here’s where my perspective as a fabric developer comes in: good polyester is the kind that lets me enhance quality and durability in categories where I also need to keep costs low. At the end of the day, clothing is a necessity, but our society often treats it as a luxury. My job is to constantly ask: how can I make high-quality items accessible to more people? Polyester has allowed me to do that.
That’s a very different story than the one you hear in blanket statements like “polyester is bad.”
The Sustainability Paradox
Here’s where polyester’s story gets even messier. On the surface, the sustainability critique seems obvious: polyester is a synthetic fiber made from petroleum. It’s derived from a fossil fuel–based resource, and its production is energy-intensive. Add in microplastic shedding during laundry, and you have plenty of reasons why polyester is cast as a villain.
But that’s only one side of the equation.
Durability matters. If a polyester garment lasts twice as long as a cotton or viscose alternative, that longevity changes the sustainability math. A uniform that withstands hundreds of washes without degrading is better than one that needs replacing every six months.
Comparisons matter. Polyester uses less water and farmland than cotton. It doesn’t require the heavy chemical inputs of viscose production. Every fiber type has trade-offs, and when you put them side by side, polyester is not automatically the worst offender.
And here’s the most promising piece: polyester is one of the only fibers with a realistic chemical recycling pathway today.
Chemical Recycling: From Fiber Back to Fiber
Mechanical recycling—the kind most people are familiar with—shreds polyester down into flakes that can be melted and respun into yarn. But the quality usually downgrades in the process. That’s why recycled polyester from bottles (rPET) has limits; the input stream isn’t designed to keep circling back into textiles.
Chemical recycling, on the other hand, breaks polyester down to its original building blocks (monomers). Those monomers can be repolymerized into “new” polyester that is indistinguishable from virgin fiber. In theory, this means polyester can be recycled infinitely without losing quality.
In practice, the challenges are real:
Infrastructure for collection and sorting is underdeveloped.
Blends (like cotton/poly tees) are difficult to separate.
The process is still expensive compared to virgin production.
But the potential is enormous. If we can crack fiber-to-fiber recycling at scale, polyester could shift from a linear, petroleum-dependent story to a circular one. And that’s not something we can say for most natural fibers.
The Consumer Contradiction
This is where the myth really falls apart. Because while people love to hate polyester, they also love what it gives them.
Think about it:
Leggings. The fabric’s stretch, recovery, and moisture management are almost impossible to replicate with pure cotton or wool.
Fleece jackets. Warm, lightweight, durable. A staple in closets everywhere.
Everyday basics. Polyester is often blended in small percentages (5–20%) to give cotton tees or denim better stretch, recovery, or wrinkle resistance.
Consumers complain about polyester in a dress shirt, then happily buy it in their favorite athleisure set. They’ll dismiss it as “cheap” while expecting the durability it quietly provides. This contradiction matters because it reveals something important: the problem isn’t polyester itself, it’s how we use it.
When polyester is engineered for performance, longevity, or recyclability, it shines. When it’s used to churn out disposable, low-quality garments, it’s wasteful. And that distinction gets lost when we flatten the conversation into “polyester is bad.”
When Polyester Makes Sense
Polyester’s value lies in being strategic. It’s not a fiber you want everywhere, but it’s also not one we can (or should) eliminate.
Best-in-class uses:
Performance wear: Running shorts, yoga leggings, swimwear—categories where moisture management and stretch are non-negotiable.
Durability-first categories: School uniforms, workwear, or outerwear that need to last years, not months.
Mono-material design: Garments designed from 100% polyester are easier to recycle compared to poly/cotton blends.
Worst-case uses:
Disposable fast fashion: Thin polyester tees or dresses meant to be worn a handful of times.
Unrecyclable blends: A 60/40 cotton/poly shirt is nearly impossible to separate at end-of-life.
Overproduction: Even durable polyester isn’t sustainable if it’s produced and consumed in excess.
The question isn’t should we use polyester? but rather when does it make sense to use polyester?
Looking Ahead
Here’s the paradox in one sentence: polyester is both the problem and a big part of the solution.
It’s cheap, abundant, and versatile—traits that made it the most popular fiber in the world. Those same traits also make it essential to rethink, not reject. If the industry invests in circular systems, if brands prioritize durability and recyclability, polyester could transition from being the “bad guy” to being a workhorse of sustainable design.
There’s also a wave of innovation on the horizon:
Bio-based polyester made from renewable resources instead of petroleum.
Advanced recycling infrastructure that can separate blended fabrics.
Design-for-recycling principles that make garments easier to disassemble and repurpose.
Consumers will play a role, too, by moving beyond the simplistic polyester = bad equation and instead asking: Is this polyester being used strategically?
Conclusion
The polyester paradox is this: the most hated fiber is also one of the most necessary. Demonizing it won’t solve fashion’s sustainability problem. The solution lies in nuance: embrace polyester when it enhances performance, durability, or recyclability—and reject it when it fuels wasteful, disposable fashion.
This is why I’m kicking off my Myth-Busting series with polyester. Because myths thrive in black-and-white thinking, but fabric is all about shades of gray.
💬 Join the ConversationWhen you see polyester on a label, does it make you avoid the garment—or does it depend on the context? I’d love to hear how you weigh durability, cost, and sustainability trade-offs in your own closet. Drop a comment below and let’s unpack the nuance together.
🔜 Coming Next Week: Is Natural Always Better?We’ll look at cotton, wool, linen, and silk through a myth-busting lens and explore why “natural = good” isn’t the whole story. From water use and methane emissions to recyclability and accessibility, we’ll dig into the trade-offs behind the fibers we think of as “pure.”
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I've evolved from terrified of seeing "poly" on the care label to "hey this supposed poly material feels really... nice?" (and the incredible durability that I hadn't thought of previously). Can't beat moisture-wicking in Summer. I've also been living in a 65% poly 35% acrylic (don't judge hahah) sweater... so yes the "spectrum" makes so much sense.