Copenhagen FW: How a Fashion Week’s Sustainability Claims Faced a Major Reckoning

Copenhagen Fashion Week’s transformation into a sustainability standard-bearer began in the late 2010s. In 2019, the event unveiled its first Sustainability Action Plan, promising to become an “agenda-setting platform” and accelerate change across the fashion system. By January 2020, this vision was codified into 19 mandatory requirements covering everything from ethical working conditions and smart material choices to bans on single-use plastics at show venues. CPHFW positioned these rules not as optional gestures, but as non-negotiable entry criteria for inclusion in its official schedule.

The requirements spanned six categories: strategic direction, design, material choices, working conditions, consumer engagement, and show production. Brands had to demonstrate formal sustainability strategies, use a minimum proportion of certified textiles, avoid exotic skins, and adopt codes of conduct on labour rights. They were also expected to engage customers in transparent conversations about sustainability. The ambition was to integrate ecological and social values into the DNA of the event, creating not just a catwalk spectacle but a model for the industry.

CPHFW’s experiment attracted international attention. Publications from Fast Company to Polimoda praised Copenhagen for setting a higher bar than Paris, Milan, or New York. Quite surprisingly, no one questioned anything or anyone. By 2023, enforcement has been tightened: the 19 standards became mandatory, with an external committee tasked to vet brand documentation. That year, the framework was formally adopted by the British Fashion Council as the basis for new rules at London Fashion Week, due to take full effect by 2026. CPHFW was on the verge of leading a herd.

Yet cracks soon appeared. The system relied heavily on self-reporting, with the external committee’s role limited to validating documents rather than auditing supply chains. Academics at Aalborg University argued that this created gaps between ambition and execution, allowing polished paperwork to substitute for material impact. Smaller labels struggled with the bureaucratic load, while larger brands with more resources could navigate the requirements more easily, reinforcing inequalities within the scene.

The aestheticization—to borrow a cliché—of sustainability became evident. Recycled materials, “green” themed sets, and digital storytelling created strong optics but, critics argued, did little to confront overproduction or fashion’s reliance on fossil-fuel-based fabrics.

By early 2024, CPHFW acknowledged the need for revisions. The minimum requirement for certified or “preferred” materials was raised from 50% to 60%, with changes set to take effect in January 2025. These adjustments, drafted in the backdrop of the EU’s Green Claims Directive, underscored the event’s effort to keep pace with a rapidly shifting regulatory landscape.

But the timing would prove awkward: just weeks after these revisions were announced, critics filed the complaint that plunged CPHFW into a greenwashing storm.

The controversy erupted in February 2025 when Tanja Gotthardsen, working with advisory firm Continual, and consumer organisation Forbrugerrådet Tænk filed a formal complaint with the Danish Consumer Ombudsman. Their case targeted both CPHFW and seven participating brands: Baum und Pferdgarten, Berner Kühl, Forza Collective, Herskind, OpéraSport, Stine Goya, and Won Hundred. At its core, the complaint alleged that CPHFW’s sustainability framework created a misleading impression, suggesting rigorous climate action where little could be verified.

Specific accusations drew attention to the gap between marketing slogans and material practices. Stine Goya was highlighted for proclaiming a “dream of a fossil-free world” while still producing plastic-heavy collections. Baum und Pferdgarten admitted it had fallen short on a pledge to eliminate virgin polyester, even as its store remained stocked with such garments. Berner Kühl conceded that its eco-messaging “could have been clearer.” The complaint argued that by promoting these brands on its platform, CPHFW effectively endorsed misleading narratives.

Critics claimed that CPHFW itself blurred lines in its communications. On its website, brands were described as “sustainable fashion brands,” language the Ombudsman later flagged as problematic under Danish consumer law. The complaint accused the event of functioning less as a neutral platform and more as a reputational amplifier, giving unsubstantiated claims a global stage.

The structural flaws in the framework also came under fire. The reliance on self-reporting and document validation, rather than independent audits, was framed as insufficiently rigorous. According to the complaint, this allowed brands making dubious claims—such as calling fossil-based synthetics “eco-friendly”—to gain entry and prestige. Key issues plaguing the fashion industry such as overproduction, collection frequency, and unpaid living wages were omitted from the requirements, raising concerns that legal compliance was being marketed as sustainability progress.

The filing struck a nerve precisely because of CPHFW’s global influence. Its model had been adopted by London, Berlin, Oslo and Amsterdam, positioning Copenhagen as a rule-setter far beyond Denmark. Critics warned that if its framework was flawed, those weaknesses were being exported internationally. What it meant: a failure in Copenhagen risked turning the “world’s most sustainable fashion week” into a case study in how greenwashing spreads through prestige and replication.

The complaint was more than a local dispute. It questioned the very credibility of voluntary sustainability initiatives in fashion, suggesting that without enforceable standards, glossy branding could mask structural inertia. The stage was set for Denmark’s consumer regulator to decide whether Copenhagen’s celebrated model represented pioneering change or little more than polished rhetoric.

The Danish Consumer Ombudsman opened a review in March 2025, examining both the mechanics of CPHFW’s framework and the specific claims made by the seven accused brands. For months, the case continued to crop up in headlines. The focus of attention laid considerable pressure on a fashion week, typically seen in media circles as a cultural rather than a regulatory space, transforming Copenhagen into a litmus test for sustainability governance in the industry.

During the investigation, CPHFW maintained a consistent line of defence. CEO Cecilie Thorsmark insisted the requirements were “entry criteria” and not a certification system, positioning them as tools to encourage better practice rather than guarantees of sustainability. Thorsmark rejected the accusation that CPHFW validated every brand’s claim, arguing the event could not control how participants or the media framed their environmental credentials. She said in a statement: I have not yet seen the complaint, but I can categorically reject that Copenhagen Fashion Week is engaging in greenwashing. We do not control how the media chooses to describe our sustainability efforts.”

In September, the Ombudsman reached its verdict: the complaint lacked sufficient legal grounds to proceed to court. On paper, this meant that neither CPHFW nor the accused brands would face legal penalties. Headlines described the decision as a reprieve, with organisers breathing a sigh of relief after months under the microscope. Yet the ruling was nuanced. The Ombudsman explicitly advised CPHFW to tighten oversight, particularly regarding its use of broad descriptors such as “sustainable fashion brands.” The regulator warned that such phrasing risked misleading the public under Denmark’s Marketing Practices Act.

For detractors, this fine distinction was critical. The case had been dismissed procedurally, not substantively. The Ombudsman had effectively confirmed that problematic language existed, even if the complaint did not clear the legal threshold for prosecution. Many echoed that message, accusing CPHFW of misrepresenting the verdict when it framed the outcome as a full acquittal.

The brands implicated reacted in varied ways. Baum und Pferdgarten and Berner Kühl acknowledged shortcomings and promised adjustments in their communications, with updated websites appearing by late 2025. Others, like Stine Goya and OpéraSport, stayed silent, fuelling perceptions of patchy compliance. Meanwhile, the controversy dented CPHFW’s image as an unimpeachable leader. Even without legal penalties, the very fact of regulatory scrutiny marked a watershed moment: the world’s “greenest fashion week” had faced official accusations of misleading the public, and emerged not unscathed but cautioned and watched. No smoke without fire, kind of scenario?

The Ombudsman’s verdict did little to quieten debate. If anything, the September decision intensified scrutiny from activists, media, and the industry itself. While CPHFW leadership celebrated the dismissal, critics emphasised the absence of exoneration. “Not acquitted” became the rallying phrase across Danish and European coverage, underscoring that the organisation had escaped court but not the stigma of misleading sustainability claim.

Among brands, responses reflected the uneven terrain of compliance. Baum und Pferdgarten admitted publicly that its polyester phase-out promise had fallen short, committing to amend its sustainability roadmap. Berner Kühl acknowledged its messaging was ambiguous and promised clearer communication going forward. Other accused labels, including Stine Goya and OpéraSport, offered no official comment, a silence that activists read as a tacit confirmation of systemic weaknesses. For critics, these mixed signals exposed the fragility of a framework that relied on brand self-reporting rather than independent verification.

Activists seized on the ruling to highlight gaps between perception and reality. Gotthardsen argued that by allowing brands to parade under the CPHFW banner, the event amplified narratives that were “not legally compliant” under Danish consumer law. NGOs and watchdogs warned that this reputational halo risked cascading through London, Berlin, Oslo, and Amsterdam, which had all adopted versions of Copenhagen’s requirements. The fear was that “trickle-down greenwashing” could take hold, embedding flawed standards across Europe.

The media response was equally divided. One publication framed the saga as evidence of systemic threats to Copenhagen’s influence, warning of talent potentially migrating to Paris or Milan. Others highlighted the contradictions between symbolic leadership and substantive enforcement. Social media amplified both sides: #CopenhagenFashionWeek2025 trended with over 200 million TikTok views, showcasing street style glamour, while activist hashtags denounced greenwashing in glossy influencer posts.

For designers and organisers, the fallout raised difficult questions. Some feared exclusion if standards tightened further, while others doubted the framework’s credibility after surviving such a public probe. Ditte Reffstrup of Ganni encapsulated the ambivalence: “We welcome the challenge, but the industry needs to support brands in making real change, not just set impossible standards.”

Thus, the aftermath of the ruling left Copenhagen Fashion Week suspended between relief and reputational damage. It had avoided immediate legal jeopardy but not the charge of misleading rhetoric. In the eyes of many, the event remained under probation, its credibility contingent on proving that sustainability could be more than a performance staged on the runway.