Commentary
A headline in the San Antonio Express-News recently caught my attention: “Texas cotton farmer raising awareness about microplastic pollution and health risks from petroleum-based fabrics.”
I’m not a cotton farmer—but I couldn’t agree more that synthetic clothing should be avoided at all costs.
There’s growing evidence that synthetic fibers harm not only the environment but also our bodies. One study found that female dogs continuously wearing polyester underpants for a year experienced a 75 percent drop in fertility, which reversed when the polyester was removed. Another study showed that male dogs in polyester had drastically lower sperm counts and testicular damage, also reversible. While there aren’t equivalent human studies yet, the implications are hard to ignore.
And beyond our bodies, synthetic clothing pollutes our water every time it’s washed. Microplastics shed from fabrics like polyester bypass wastewater treatment and end up in rivers, oceans, and our drinking water. Scientists estimate that 35 percent of ocean microplastics come from synthetic textiles—and they never break down.
So yes, I’m a strong advocate for natural fibers. But cotton isn’t perfect either. Conventional cotton is one of the most pesticide- and synthetic fertilizer-intensive crops in the world. In the United States, cotton typically receives 95 pounds of synthetic nitrogen per acre, plus phosphate, potash, and sulfur. It’s also among the highest users of herbicides and insecticides. So when the cotton industry calls out petroleum-based clothing for pollution, it’s not wrong—but it’s also not clean hands doing the pointing.
The only Texas cotton farmer I know personally is Mike Johnson, who runs a regenerative farm rotating cotton, corn, and soy. He uses cover crops, integrates animals, and keeps chemical inputs low. Mike transitioned all of his cotton to regenerative practices, but only half is sold at a premium—to Citizens of Humanity, the high-end denim company. The other half still sells on the conventional market. The premium price helps him afford regenerative practices across all his acreage. It’s progress—but not a complete solution.
Mike told me something that stuck: cotton prices haven’t changed since the 1970s, while the cost of fuel, fertilizer, labor, and equipment has skyrocketed. How do we expect farmers to survive, let alone innovate?
Before leaving California, I bought a small farm next to the one I was already working. The original owner, George Campbell, had kept excellent records. In 1974, he sold 15 acres of Valencia oranges for $17,900, earning more than $100 per 1,000 pounds. In 2023, I harvested that same acreage—during a bumper year—and received $60 per 1,000 pounds. The trees had matured, the yield had increased, and inflation had soared—yet the price paid to the farmer had been cut nearly in half.
This isn’t just about citrus or cotton—it’s a broader reality in agriculture. Farmers are being squeezed from all sides. We can’t expect them to take better care of the land, grow healthier food or fiber, or steward their soil if they’re being paid like it’s still 1974. We can’t keep pushing them to be more efficient while asking them to extract every last drop from their land. That model only depletes. Instead, we need to support farmers who care for the land not just for today, but for the future of farming itself.
The good news is, there’s a movement building. My brother has been working with a coalition of Texas farmers shifting toward regenerative cotton. I’ve listened to them speak about how cover crops, rotational grazing, and reduced chemical use are changing their land—and their outlook. Many described feeling hopeful and inspired for the first time in years. But as one of them said, “Hope doesn’t pay the diesel bill.”
Cotton farming has a long way to go—and if I had it my way, we’d shift entirely to regenerative practices. But that’s not going to happen without market support. Right now, we’re asking farmers to change everything without changing the price. At this rate, many may simply stop growing cotton altogether.
And then what? If cotton disappears, what’s left? More polyester. More microplastics. More toxins in our water, our clothes, and possibly our bodies.
We need to see the full picture. When you buy natural fibers, you’re not just spending money—you’re making a choice for your health, for clean water, for soil restoration, and for the viability of farmers who want to do better. You’re supporting those trying to shift away from systems that destroy the land to systems that can heal it.
Microplastic pollution is a silent crisis. But so is the slow disappearance of farmers—those who grow our food and fiber but can’t make a living doing so. If we want to heal our land and our bodies, we need to value the people growing the alternatives. Because without them, there is no alternative.
