Katya Moorman + Karen L Dunn
Every June, we’re reminded of how visible queerness can become—and how quickly it can be erased.
For years, Pride month has followed a familiar rhythm: rainbow logos splashed across storefronts, playlists curated for “love is love” campaigns, fast-fashion tees screen-printed with borrowed slogans and sold to the masses. It was never liberation, but at least it was loud.This year, the silence is noticeable.
Major sponsors such as Mastercard, Citi, Pepsi, PwC, Booz Allen Hamilton, Deloitte, Anheuser-Busch, Comcast, Diageo, Target, Visa, Walmart, and others have either pulled out or reduced their support for Pride events and festivals. Brands that once lined up to prove their allyship now seem to be quietly excusing themselves from the conversation. And queerness, once commodified for its aesthetic and its edge, is treated like a liability.
The same thing is happening in the climate space. It wasn’t long ago that every brand scrambled to tell you how green they were.
Pride and climate were packaged, polished, and sold as lifestyle. Queerness became rainbow socks. Climate action became capsule collections. Content, not commitment. And when the temperature rose—social or literal—they left.
Business of Fashion wonders aloud if people are “tired of sustainability.” ESG departments are quietly being dismantled. In today’s political climate, even mentioning the environment is suddenly seen as a risk.
The irony, of course, is that queerness and sustainability have always belonged together. They challenge systems built on dominance—whether it’s gender norms, extractive capitalism, or aesthetic conformity. They both ask: What could this look like if it weren’t built to serve profit first? which disrupts the fantasy that the industry can continue as it is, with slightly better packaging.
And they both offer something deeper: a chance to remake the world in a way that honors life, creativity, and community.
This is personal for us. We are queer. We care about fashion. We care about the planet.
We started No Kill because we believe fashion can be a site of resistance and renewal.
We believe in beauty that doesn’t come at the cost of exploitation. In expression that doesn’t rely on conformity. In style that doesn’t leave a trail of waste behind it.
Queerness has always been a creative engine. From ballroom to protest fashion, from zines to gender-defying silhouettes, it’s a space where style pushes boundaries and survival becomes beauty. Queerness is where some of the best fashion has always come from—not because it’s neat, but because it’s radical.
And when sustainability is done right—when it’s more than marketing copy—it carries that same energy. The best work isn’t coming from the top—it’s coming from the margins. In the hands of those who mend, remake, and teach. In the designers saying no to plastic even when it costs them. In people who know that climate justice is textile justice is labor justice.
You can see it in the work of Fibershed, reconnecting textiles to soil, to farmers, to seasons. In The OR Foundation’s tireless organizing in Ghana, where they’re naming the violence of global waste and reimagining systems of value and repair. From those calling out greenwashing and pushing legislation forward.
So if the brands are done—fine. Let them go beige. Let them step aside. Because we’ve got work to do. Clothes to repair. Legislation to pass. Futures to stitch from scraps.
To those making the radical choice to keep going: We see you. You are the real face of Pride. You are the climate movement. You are the antidote to a world built on disposability.
This month—and every month—we’ll keep spotlighting the people, designers, movements, and materials that matter. We’ll call bullshit when we see it but focus on the ones doing the real work: the drag artist in the banned books gown, the activist models, the designers pushing material innovation, the youth finding empowerment on the runway, the brands that are really doing things not just differently but better.
Because the future isn’t made by algorithms or ad campaigns. It’s stitched together in back rooms and kitchens, under streetlights and over dye pots, through chosen family and collective action.
Queer culture and sustainable/slow fashion practices aren’t trends. They’re blueprints for survival—and for building something more beautiful in their place.
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