A history of the decline of wool
The Birth of Synthetic Fiber
The decline of wool was, quite obviously, closely linked to the rise of synthetic fibers — and, as is so often the case, the main driving force behind this shift was money.
Producing high-quality wool is a demanding process. Shepherds must care for their flocks with far more attention to detail than when raising sheep primarily for milk or meat. Where and how the animals are kept, what they are fed, and when and how they are sheared all play crucial roles in producing clean, beautiful fleeces suitable for spinning.
After shearing, the wool must be carefully sorted, transported to a washing facility, thoroughly cleaned, and dried. It then travels to a spinning mill, where it is carded and spun into yarn — during which roughly half of its original weight is lost. And this is only a very broad outline of the process.
By contrast, producing synthetic fibers (again, speaking broadly) involves combining chemical substances in controlled conditions. While the reality is certainly more complex, the process generally requires less human labor and fewer natural variables. As a result, synthetic fibers can be produced far more cheaply than wool yarn.
Lower costs alone, however, do not fully explain wool’s decline. There were other, more subtle forces at play.
New Enemies Coming to Power
Beyond the rise of synthetic fibers, the widespread adoption of washing machines dramatically changed both the clothing industry and our daily habits.
Before this wonderful invention, clothes were washed mostly by hand. It was either physically demanding or expensive, and so people were more careful about keeping garments clean. Stains were treated locally, and clothing was not washed nearly as frequently as it is today.
Wool and linen — the principal materials used for clothing — did not require constant washing. Often, simply airing them out was enough to refresh them. These fibers possess natural properties that make them resistant to bacteria, fungi, and mold, which means they do not develop unpleasant odors easily.
The arrival of synthetic fibers and washing machines changed this balance.
Clothes made from synthetic materials tend to retain odors quickly. Their structure creates an ideal environment for bacteria, and after just a day of wear, they often require washing. At the same time, machine washing made the process effortless. Gradually, we became less attentive to stains and more accustomed to washing garments after a single use. What was once occasional became routine — a hygiene requirement.
Meanwhile, traditional methods of garment care — airing, brushing, even snow washing — quietly disappeared.
Inevitably, we began treating wool garments the same way. We wanted to wash our wool sweaters regularly and easily. But wool has a unique fiber structure: when wet and agitated, it felts. It was never designed for the mechanical stress of a washing machine.
At the same time, modern detergents became increasingly powerful, containing protein-degrading enzymes. Since wool is primarily composed of keratin — a protein — these detergents damage the fiber.
Although modern washing machines now offer gentle wool programs, and special wool detergents are widely available, the risk remains. One careless load — a 60°C cycle mixed with everyday laundry — and a favorite sweater can be permanently ruined.
Perhaps this is one of the core issues: we began expecting wool to behave like cotton or synthetic fabrics. A material that, by nature, does not require frequent washing was forced into a system built around constant laundering. When it failed to adapt to our habits, we concluded that wool was impractical — too complicated for the fast pace of modern life..
And so we invented superwash wool.
Briefly About Superwash
I plan to dedicate an entire post to superwash treatment (and explain why I personally dislike it), but a short summary is necessary here.
"Superwash" is a treatment that was invented to make wool machine-washable and less prone to felting. During the process, the outer scales of the wool fibre (responsible for felting and itchiness) are broken down, then the wool is typically coated with a plastic or resin finish.
While this treatment offers convenience, it comes with a significant downside. The superwash process involves the use of chemicals that strip wool of its natural properties, including its lanolin coating, which helps with water resistance and thermoregulation. The plastic or resin finish not only eliminates its biodegradability but also causes it to release microplastics — not to mention the disappearance of the incomparable elasticity and shape-holding properties of natural wool. Additionally, the chemicals used in superwash treatment can (and in most cases do) have a negative environmental impact, contributing to water pollution and harming aquatic ecosystems.
There are, of course, more environmentally conscious facilities today experimenting with safe processes and biodegradable coatings. Some modern superwash yarns even stretch far less than earlier versions. However, these improvements still represent only a small segment of the industry.
About habits
In my view, a more sustainable — and perhaps even simpler — solution would be to accept wool for what it is. Instead of reshaping it to fit the demands of our machines and habits, we might consider reshaping ourselves.
There is something deeply human in our instinct to modify our surroundings rather than our behavior. Faced with inconvenience, we invent treatments, coatings, technologies, and systems that allow us to continue exactly as before. We smooth the fiber, adjust the chemistry, redesign the process — anything but question the habit itself.
And yet, many of the environmental challenges we face today are rooted in this very reflex. We try to engineer solutions that preserve our comfort, speed, and routines, instead of asking whether those routines are the real issue.
Wool does not need to change in order to function beautifully. It already possesses remarkable properties — resilience, elasticity, self-cleaning ability, biodegradability. What if the more radical act were not to “improve” it, but to slow down and treat it differently?
Perhaps the sustainable choice is not always to invent something new, but to relearn something old: to air a sweater instead of washing it, to treat a stain locally rather than laundering the entire garment, to mend not discard, and — above all to slow down enough to truly care for what we wear.
Changing habits is demanding. It takes time, attention, and the willingness to teach the next generation differently. Yet in a world urgently seeking environmental solutions, this quiet shift in behavior may be more transformative than any technological innovation.