In an age when clothes are cheap enough to discard without a second thought, a quiet counter-movement is turning the old habit of darning into a public statement. Visible mending, once a practical way to stretch a budget, is now being chosen for its looks, with patches and bright stitches displayed rather than hidden. Hobbyists, workshop teachers and young shoppers are carrying it from kitchen tables into high street shops and onto designer catwalks, and large retailers are beginning to offer repair as part of the bargain. Whether this becomes a lasting change in how people treat their wardrob
From Workshops to the Catwalk: Why Visible Mending Is Going Mainstream
Same act, opposite meaning: the mend is no longer hidden.
Mark
Why does it matter that mending is becoming a style rather than just a habit?
Mimi
Because it changes what a repair says. Lisa's mother's generation hid mends. Lisa points hers out. Same act, opposite meaning.
Luke
Though that's a handful of workshop students. Do we know how widespread it is?
Mimi
Not from this piece. Jayne Eagle says it boomed over six years, but that's her view, not a measured figure.
Mark
What about the brands? Ralph Lauren and Shein sell mended-look clothes.
Mimi
Brand new, off the peg. That's the odd part: the look gets sold without any actual repair.
Luke
And the retailer numbers, a fifth at Finisterre, a third at Toast, are the companies' own figures, about their own customers.
Mark
So do young shoppers want this?
Mimi
Mixed. Bianca worries about being seen as poor, and Theo wants repairs invisible. Levi's workshops teach buttons and hems, not showy mends.
Luke
And Levi's design chief predicting they'll come round is a prediction, not evidence.
Mark
Whether it cuts overproduction is unanswered, then?
Luke
Entirely. Nothing here shows fewer clothes being made or bought.
The Pulse
- A mend that once hid in shame is now demanding to be seen, as stitched patches and bold darns step from the back of the wardrobe into the spotlight.
- Gen Z shoppers are split: some want repairs that flaunt craft, while others fear that a visible hole will mark them as poor or careless.
- Retailers from Levi's to Primark are racing to add repair workshops and services, though some offer glossy new patched pieces that critics say miss the point.
- Teachers and crafters are working to rebuild a lost skill set after decades of throwaway fashion, teaching sashiko, darning and felted decoration to beginners.
- The outcome is still open: the trend could reshape buying habits away from overproduction, or it could settle into a stylish niche.
In an age when clothes are cheap enough to discard without a second thought, a quiet counter-movement is turning the old habit of darning into a public statement. Visible mending, once a practical way to stretch a budget, is now being chosen for its looks, with patches and bright stitches displayed rather than hidden. Hobbyists, workshop teachers and young shoppers are carrying it from kitchen tables into high street shops and onto designer catwalks, and large retailers are beginning to offer repair as part of the bargain. Whether this becomes a lasting change in how people treat their wardrobes, or remains a fashionable detour, is still for the wardrobes to decide.
Alice Brown, a 27-year-old forest ranger from Lincolnshire, sees a hole in a second-hand jumper as the start of a design problem rather than a reason to walk away. Over the past year she has built an online following for her needle-felted animals and insects stitched over moth holes and stains, placing each one with care so the decoration sits where the eye naturally goes.
Her approach belongs to a wider movement called visible mending, which has moved from community workshops into high street shops and, this year, onto designer catwalks. In Brighton, teacher Jayne Eagle shows students how to patch a tear so a cat face peeps through, and teaches Japanese-inspired stitching in bold white geometry and bright darns that celebrate the repair. Her students describe a shift in attitude. Nicola is pleased that people now notice the decoration rather than the sunscreen stain beneath it, and Lisa, who snipped a new jacket's fabric as she opened the parcel, found herself proudly pointing out her patch.
Mending was once about thrift. Visible mending makes that same care something to show off. Eagle traces the decline of repair to the fast fashion era from the 1980s, and sees the revival as a reaction against the costs of overproduction: pollution, emissions, water use and poor labour.
Retailers have taken notice. Some brands sell new garments that already look patched, while others, such as Uniqlo, Primark and the repair-focused Toast, offer genuine mending. At Toast, about a third of customers choose eye-catching repairs, and the company's free repairs leave customers free to choose what a garment becomes. Levi's is launching workshops that currently teach basics like sewing on a button, which matched what its young attendees wanted.
Not every young shopper is convinced. Bianca, 16, worries that a visible hole invites mockery, and Theo and Nicholas, both 19, want their clothes to look as they did in the shop. Levi's design chief Paul Dillinger believes more creative repairs will win them over as skills grow, and sees a mend as a memory rather than a stain. Whether that view spreads beyond the workshops is the question still hanging over the trend.
Alice Brown, a 27-year-old forest ranger from Lincolnshire, doesn't pass over a second-hand jumper just because it has a hole in it. She sees the hole as a challenge. Over the past year she has built a following online with a style of her own: needle-felted animals and insects, sewn over moth holes, stains and other flaws. Placement is part of the puzzle, she says. Decoration naturally belongs in the centre at the front, so a hole under the arm or on the shoulder forces her to think harder about the design.
Her approach belongs to a wider movement often called visible mending, which has moved from hobby crafters and community workshops into high street shops and, this year, onto designer catwalks. At a Saturday morning workshop in Brighton, teacher Jayne Eagle shows students how to attach a fabric patch behind a tear so that a cat-face design peeps through. She then teaches stitching inspired by the Japanese techniques Boro and Sashiko. Rather than matching thread to the garment, students work large white stitches in geometric patterns. She also runs darning classes in bright, contrasting colours that celebrate the repair instead of hiding it.
The students describe a change in attitude. Nicola has stitched over sunscreen marks on a T-shirt and is pleased that people now stop seeing the stains and see the decoration. Lisa says her mother's generation would never have wanted a mend to show; for her, pride in the work is part of the appeal. She bought a second-hand jacket online and snipped the fabric with scissors while opening the parcel. Her patch looks intentional, she says, and she found herself pointing it out to people.
Mending used to be mostly about thrift, making clothes last instead of buying new. Visible mending turns that same choice into something to celebrate. Eagle says the trend took off about six years ago and has boomed since. She argues that the throwaway fast fashion era, from the 1980s onwards, eroded the habit of looking after clothes and the skills that went with it. The revival feels to her like a backlash against overproduction and its costs: pollution, carbon emissions, water use and poor labour conditions.
Retailers have noticed. Ralph Lauren and the ultra-fast-fashion firm Shein both sell stitched and patched garments, though brand new off the peg. Other chains take a more authentic route with in-house repairs and workshops. Uniqlo's head of sustainability, Maria Ledous, says the aim is to give customers practical ways to extend the life of clothes they already love. Primark's longevity lead, Vicki Swain, says affordability and durability shouldn't be opposites. Finisterre says about a fifth of the mends it does are designed to be eye-catching; at Toast, about a third of customers choose that option. Toast chief executive Suzie de Rohan Willner says part of the magic is that customers can choose what a garment becomes next. Its repairs are free, while off-the-peg renewed pieces sell for more than the originals.
Levi's, with perhaps the longest tradition of fans customising their own pieces with anything from rhinestones to fringed cuffs, is launching a workshop programme this year. Its research suggests younger customers want to repair more but don't know how. The workshops currently teach basics such as sewing on a button and hemming, not visible mends, and at a London launch event that matched what its Gen Z attendees wanted.
Those attendees were not all sold on showy repairs. Bianca, 16, from East London, says a hole in your clothes invites people to laugh and call you poor. Theo, 19, wants jeans to look as he bought them, and thinks traditional repair skills would make his car boot sale side business more lucrative. His friend Nicholas, also 19, says most people want to look fresh and nobody wants to look as if they came out of a dumpster.
Paul Dillinger, Levi's head of global design innovation, expects more creative repairs to win them over as skills grow. Nobody has time for the perfect straight-from-the-shop look, he says, and people crave agency. To him a mend is a demonstration of humanity: not a mustard stain, but a memory of a great day at the ballpark. Whether that view spreads beyond the workshops, or the trend stays a niche, is the open question.
Notable Quotes
Mending is a demonstration of humanity: it's not a mustard stain, it's a memory of a great day in the ballpark.— Paul Dillinger, Levi's head of global design innovation
No-one wants to look like they came out of a dumpster.— Nicholas, 19, Levi's workshop attendee
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