Sustainability claims are among the most visible things a fashion brand puts into the world — on product pages, in campaigns, in investor communications, in the retail partnerships that carry the brand narrative furthest from its source. They are read by people with very different reasons for doing so: consumers, journalists, regulators, competitors. Of all the functions that carry exposure from poor product data, Marketing carries the most public version of it.

There is a moment in every product's life when the data that will ever exist about it is largely determined. It is not the moment of manufacture, or the point of sale, or the date a compliance deadline falls due. It is the brief.

The materials specified at the brief stage define what composition data is collectable. The construction methods chosen determine whether disassembly and end-of-life data is meaningful or theoretical. The supplier relationships established for a new material set the ceiling on how far back in the supply chain traceability will ever reach. By the time a product enters production, many of the data questions the DPP will ask have already been answered — not by a data governance decision, but by a design one.

A pattern has become familiar in fashion and textiles organisations. A claim is going to market — on a product page, in a procurement tender, in an investor disclosure. Someone sends it to Legal for review. Legal checks the language, notes the risks, may soften a phrase or add a qualification. The claim goes out.

What Legal rarely gets to ask is the prior question: what is the evidence behind this claim, where does it live, who is responsible for keeping it current, and what happens when it lapses?

Finance is usually the last function to be engaged on DPP readiness. And it is usually engaged in a specific way: someone needs budget approval.

That is a limited role. It is also, given what is actually at stake, the wrong one.

Every organisation preparing for the Digital Product Passport eventually arrives at the same discovery. The data needed to populate a credible passport exists — in fragments, across functions, supplier relationships, and systems that were never designed to work together. Sustainability has some of it. Procurement has some of it. Operations has some of it. IT is maintaining the systems that hold pieces of it. Nobody has all of it. Nobody is accountable for it end to end.

There is a version of DPP compliance that is technically achievable without being meaningfully useful. It involves populating a digital passport with data — material composition figures, environmental indicators, supply chain references — that is structured correctly, formatted to specification, and present in the required fields. The passport exists. The QR code resolves. The auditor can see the record.

The data behind it is estimated, aggregated, unverified, or last updated three seasons ago.

Ask most fashion brands how well they know their Tier 1 suppliers — the manufacturers assembling the finished product — and they will point to audit programmes, compliance certifications, and supplier codes of conduct. The picture there is generally tractable. Not always complete, not always current, but navigable. The relationship exists. The commercial leverage exists. The conversation, however imperfect, can be had.

Ask the same brands about Tier 2, the information is thinner, the verification harder, the accountability less direct.

Most fashion organisations collect a great deal of data. They collect it for audits, for certifications, for sustainability reports — for whatever the immediate requirement happens to be. The data gets assembled, the purpose gets served, and then — in the vast majority of cases — the data sits. It is not connected to anything else. It is not maintained. It is not treated as having any value beyond the task that prompted its collection.

This is not negligence. It is a rational response to how data collection has been structured.

A conversation happens, with reliable regularity, when a fashion or textiles organisation begins to take its DPP readiness seriously. Someone — usually in Sustainability, occasionally in IT — is asked to lead the work. They pull together what they can find. They discover gaps. They go looking for the data that should fill those gaps and find that nobody is quite sure who owns it, or whether it exists in a usable form, or why it was collected the way it was. They escalate.

Two questions arrived this past week, from two different organisations, both actively engaged with their Digital Product Passport readiness. The first: "Do you think there is a reasonable chance the implementation date gets pushed back?" The second, from a different conversation entirely: "It's two years before I need to worry about this."

Both questions are understandable. Neither reflects the situation accurately.

It is worth being generous about how the Digital Product Passport has been understood — or misunderstood — by many of the organisations now trying to prepare for it. The early conversation around the DPP was dominated by its most visible feature: a data carrier, typically a QR code, attached to a product and scannable by anyone in the value chain.

That reading was not unreasonable given what was publicly visible at the time — but it was the wrong one.

There is a particular kind of organisational conversation happening right now in boardrooms and leadership teams across the fashion and textiles industry. It tends to go something like this: we need to get ready for the DPP. What do we need to do, and by when?

It is a reasonable question. It is also, in a subtle but important way, the wrong one.

The transparency problem in fashion and textiles is not primarily a tooling problem. It is a data problem — which is a different thing entirely. Tools can only surface what exists. They cannot create structure where there is none, verify claims that were never substantiated, or connect information that was never linked in the first place.

Every garment that leaves a factory carries more information than the label sewn into its collar. It carries the origin of its fibres, the names of the mills that processed them, the chemicals used in dyeing, the countries through which it passed, the workers whose hands assembled it, the carbon generated in its making. That information exists. It was created at every stage of production. The question is not whether the story is there. The question is whether anyone in the organisation that sells the product can tell it.

Offensive digital capabilities share a common characteristic: they compress the time between insight and action. In stable markets, deliberate analysis and careful planning serve organizations well. In uncertain ones, that sequence is often too slow. The ability to detect patterns early, decide rapidly, and execute with confidence is what separates organizations that capitalize on disruption from those that merely endure it.

Four capabilities: cybersecurity, operational efficiency, business continuity, and risk management, in each case, the more interesting question is not what the capability does when it's working, but what happens to organizations that haven't built it when conditions turn.

Something has shifted in boardrooms over the past year, and it's not just the geopolitics. It's a subtler discomfort. Growth plans are on hold. Capital is being preserved. Risk appetites have contracted. And beneath the careful language of quarterly reviews, there is a question that's harder to ask out loud: are we actually ready for what's coming?

Mark Carney, Prime Minister of Canada, delivered a speech at Davos recently that included a line worth examining: "The rules-based international order is being replaced by a deals-based one." For those working in digital infrastructure and data governance, this wasn't political commentary—it was a description of a planning environment that has fundamentally changed.

There's a particular moment in a long career when the pattern becomes visible. Not the career plan—I'm skeptical anyone's plan survives thirty years intact—but the underlying thread that connects choices you didn't fully understand when you made them.

‘What’s your exit strategy?’  I was recently asked this question by an attorney while talking about the formation of a new business.  While this may be ‘de rigeur’ for tech entrepreneurs, for many in the non-tech world, this question is puzzling.