As with many issues, there’s a variety of perspectives on what works best to advance sustainability. In a segmentation analysis, Trellis data partner GlobeScan, in collaboration with ERM and Volans, identifies four distinct mindsets that shape how stakeholders engage with the sustainability agenda.

Based on expert ratings of different actions to drive positive impact, the analysis identifies groups with shared perspectives on what works best to keep sustainability moving forward:

  • Traditionalists (42 percent) favor incremental progress through regulatory and compliance-focused approaches
  • Radicals (26 percent) advocate for deep, justice-driven change led by activism and social mobilization
  • Pathfinders (23 percent) support ambitious sustainability progress grounded in innovation, technology and market-based solutions
  • Institutionalists (9 percent) prefer technocratic solutions and maintaining the existing system. 

What this means

The coexistence of these divergent perspectives — split between system-preserving and transformation-driven mindsets — presents a complex challenge for business leaders. While traditionalists value continuity and compliance, radicals push for bold, justice-centered transformation. Pathfinders and institutionalists occupy the middle ground, balancing ambition with pragmatism. 

To succeed in this fragmented landscape, companies must embrace a “yes, and” mindset — one that reconciles system stability with transformation, compliance with innovation and equity with efficiency. As stakeholder expectations rise and scrutiny intensifies, integrated strategies that bridge these divides are essential to maintaining legitimacy, managing reputational risk and demonstrating credible leadership.

Based on a survey of 844 sustainability practitioners across 72 countries who were asked to use a 5-point scale to rate how likely certain actions would lead to positive sustainability outcomes over the next five years. Conducted April-May 2025.

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The demand is straightforward, if not simple: To slow climate change, stop funding fossil fuels now, not decades from now.

That’s what the International Energy Agency said in May 2021, only a month after 43 banks launched the Net Zero Banking Alliance (NZBA). To some, the group’s formation, amid a flurry of related new alliances, offered hope that big banks were throwing their weight behind decarbonization in line with the Paris Agreement.

After all, the financial sector is arguably the root of all climate change. Businesses, which pollute at scale, can’t operate without institutional shareholders and financiers.

Yet four years and five months after its inception, the NZBA has frozen its activities and banks are keeping more fossil fuels in their portfolios than they did in each of the previous two years. Nevertheless, financial institutions continue to share their net zero-aligned intentions.

Where does this leave the movement to shift to a low-carbon global economy?

“What worries me is that I think there is a higher probability of zombie targets,” said Todd Cort, a senior lecturer in sustainability at the Yale School of Management. “They’re not living, because banks are not actively trying to push progress in the absence of outside pressure. But they’re not dead, because they still sit on the books. The downside is that we cannot afford to slow progress on climate. If there’s any upside, it’s that re-engaging with net zero will be easier if the target was never officially dismissed.”

The timeline

On August 27, the United Nations-backed NZBA announced that it was pausing its operations, with members voting by the end of September on whether to become a guidance-only initiative. Whatever the result, critics argue that the NZBA had already slipped into irrelevance.

Twenty banks have fled the NZBA since December, kicked off by the U.S. “big six:” Goldman Sachs, Wells Fargo, Citigroup, Bank of America, Morgan Stanley and JPMorgan Chase.

This past April, most remaining NZBA members voted to remove its Paris Agreement alignment. Only Triodos Bank left in protest over the thinned-out goals. 

At the same time, however, all NZBA banks have kept their net zero targets. Just this week, Deutsche Bank issued its latest net zero transition plan. Even all of the exiting member banks, except Wells Fargo, appear to be maintaining net zero pledges, albeit with little in common. (That was partly the result of a March 2024 guideline favoring independent targets.)

Political pressures

Environmentalists have blasted banks for bowing to right-wing political pressure as they fled the NZBA.

In June 2024, for example, U.S. House Republicans railed against a “decarbonization collusion in ESG investing.” By the end of the year, Goldman Sachs, Wells Fargo, Citibank and Bank of America announced their NZBA exits. 

This past January, as President Donald Trump brought an anti-ESG rampage with his return to the White House, Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton cited U.S. banks’ NZBA departures when he threatened them over their ESG commitments

Credit: Banking on Climate Chaos report

More recently, on July 22 the Science-Based Targets initiative (SBTi) said that it would no longer validate the emissions targets of financial companies that fund new oil, gas or coal projects. On Aug. 8, an unusual letter followed by the attorneys general of 23 states, who charged the SBTi with violating antitrust laws.

However, there’s no consensus that political threats caused banks to change their minds about advancing climate plans, at least on paper.

Fossil fuel financing by the 65 largest banks ticked upward to $868.8 billion after declining for two years following the NZBA’s formation, according to the Banking on Climate Chaos Report. The total was $922 billion in 2021, with a low of $706.9 billion in 2023.

Political cover for low ambitions?

“In our view, the political context in the U.S. was only a pretense that banks used to leave the NZBA,” said Quentin Aubineau, policy analyst on the banks and climate campaign at BankTrack, a Netherlands nonprofit that contributed to the “climate chaos” report. After all, the first banks to check out of the NZBA were also among the biggest fossil fuel financiers since 2021, he added.

“Banks want the best of both worlds,” said Abineau. “On one side, they want to be seen as climate leaders that are aligned with international climate goals. On the other side, they do not want to give up on short-term benefits and cut ties with their carbon-intensive clients, even if these clients are developing new fossil fuel projects that are incompatible with long-term climate goals.”

Barclays, the latest NZBA exile on Aug. 1, boasted that it generated roughly $675 million “in revenues from sustainable and transition-related activity” in 2024. Yet it also invested $35 billion in fossil fuels, a four-year high.

For Saskia Straub, climate policy analyst at the New Climate Institute of Cologne, Germany, political headwinds catalyzed NZBA departures but also exposed the low integrity of many bank targets. They have been “plagued by loopholes,” she said.

“This raises questions about whether the initial commitments were driven more by a desire to follow trends and manage public relations than by a genuine intent to decarbonize” Straub added.

What should banks do?

“Our research suggests that instead of focusing on long-term targets, financial institutions can have an impact by dedicating their resources to engaging their investees and directing finance to achieve real-world decarbonization in the short term,” Straub said, citing her organization’s Aug. 26 report, “Fixing the Broken Governance Chain.”

It encourages banks to set consequences for their funding recipients’ high-emissions actions. Banks can also channel capital into activities that support a low-carbon economy, Straub added.

NGOs including BankTrack, ShareAction and the Sierra Club call for regulators to step in to cement climate progress where optional collaborations are failing. 

“Voluntary commitment frameworks like NZBA can be effective, but they only work if backed by enforceable rules,” said the Sierra Club’s Sustainable Finance Campaign Advisor Jessye Waxman.

Most of all, banks need to own their culpability for fueling emissions, whether by directly financing fossil fuel projects or by including oil, gas and coal in their investment portfolios, according to Aubineau.

Investor pressures

Beyond threats by politicians, activists have mounted hundreds of protests against banks propping up fossil fuels over the past year. Wells Fargo, the only NZBA bank to ditch its net zero pretenses entirely, has taken much of the ire in multiple U.S. cities this summer.

From London, Louise Marfany, director of financial sector standards at NGO ShareAction, warned that many investors will not tolerate backsliding from banks on their commitments to reduce their financing of high-emitting activities.

Case in point: PFZW, one of Europe’s largest pension funds said on Sept. 3 that it was yanking nearly $7 billion in holdings from BlackRock due to its lack of support for climate action.

“Banks that attempt to roll back on the vital commitments they have made to safeguard people and planet should expect significant pushback,” Marfany said.

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Setting a robust internal price on carbon is among the most meaningful climate strategies available to companies. It’s also no small task. To be truly impactful, internal carbon prices (ICPs) require buy-in, from the C-suite on down, to embed the strategy into operations and retain the practice in the years ahead.

If that sounds daunting, the practice is backed up by case studies and peer-reviewed research. Some of the latest thinking was brought together in a report co-authored by BCG, Oxford Net Zero and Patch, a carbon markets platform. Here’s what the report had to say on some key areas of focus, along with additional resources to help start your company on its journey to an ICP.

Choosing the right pricing system

The headline numbers on carbon pricing sound encouraging: More than 1,700 companies from more than 50 countries told CDP that they used an ICP in 2024 — an almost 90 percent increase from 2021. But that figure lumps together many different kinds of ICP, some of which are more impactful than others.

For example, almost two-thirds of those companies used a “shadow ICP.” In this version, a notional cost is assigned to emissions but business units do not pay for the carbon they generate. This can help companies forecast the longer-term costs of emissions but will have a limited impact on short-term spending decisions. 

A “real ICP” involves levying a fee on every ton of carbon dioxide emitted and committing to use the funds on internal or external climate projects. If every part of the company has to factor the fee into its plans, change is likely to follow. Human resources, for example, may shift its thinking on remote working. All parts of the business will reevaluate air travel. And the big emission centers, such as operations and procurement, will have additional motivation to seek out low-carbon energy, goods and services.

Setting the price

It can be frustrating to hear that there’s no single right answer to this. Instead there are different methods for assigning a price, each valid in their own right. The flip side is that this gives companies the flexibility to tailor prices to the stage of their sustainability journey and the degree of control they have over different types of emissions.

Introducing a high price in Year 1 might derail the program, for example. In that case, the program could kick off by aligning prices with the cost of high-quality credits on the voluntary carbon market, which trade in the low tens of dollars. As the program becomes established, companies can graduate to more rigorous pricing mechanisms. These include pegging the price to the cost of credits on the European Union’s Emissions Trading Scheme (currently just under $80 per ton) or what governments judge to be the total economic cost of a ton of carbon (typically $100 to $300).

Prices can also vary by emissions scope. Because companies have less control over the value-chain emissions covered by Scope 3, a lower price might be justified. For Scopes 1 and 2 — direct energy use and electricity-related emissions — a higher price makes sense. The payment platform Klarna, for example, levies a $200 per ton fee on Scopes 1 and 2, alongside $100 for business travel and $10 for other Scope 3 categories.

Spending the funds

Here’s where it gets interesting. With funds amassed, companies can go shopping for projects. An obvious place to start is internal efforts that both reduce emissions and save money, such as energy efficiency upgrades, or tie in with sustainability goals. Autodesk, which levies $33 per ton on Scope 1, 2 and 3 emissions, has used the money to pay for rooftop solar and renewable energy certificates. At BCG, where fees start at $35 per ton, the company has used the funds to help it become one of the world’s largest buyers of durable carbon removal credits.

Involving employees in the spending decision can also boost buy-in. Microsoft, which set its ICP in 2012, has used the fees to pay for more than 60 employee-driven sustainability projects, from electric bike programs in Finland to energy management systems in Chile.

What to do next 

First movers such as Microsoft learned a lot from their early ICP programs, information that those newer to the idea can build upon. Here’s a reading list for aspiring ICPers:

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The opinions expressed here by Trellis expert contributors are their own, not those of Trellis.​

At the federal level, if environmental regulations are going anywhere right now, they’re going away. At the same time, seven states are completely overhauling the $107 billion industry that determines how the world’s largest economy packages its goods. And they’re doing it via a policy most consumers have never heard of: Extended Producer Responsibility. 

Extended Producer Responsibility (EPR) is a type of policy that applies the “polluter pays” principle to packaging. In other words, those who pollute are held responsible for their actions — such as companies paying fines for emissions under the Clean Air Act.

With EPR laws, the polluter pays principle applies to product packaging materials we use every day, from cereal boxes to subscription box containers. In passing these laws, states are tackling waste upstream and downstream: EPR should shift the financial responsibility of recycling and waste management from taxpayers onto producers, and it should incentivize companies to develop more recyclable, refillable or compostable packaging by levying higher fees on packaging that’s less environmentally friendly.

For the optimists in sustainability and packaging, EPR might feel like the only path forward. It promises a more circular system where product and packaging producers fund everything from consumer education to curbside recycling collection — and no doubt, the potential is there. But to achieve this potential, EPR stakeholders need to overcome the pitfalls behind three promises:

1. EPR will improve recycling infrastructure — if it’s done correctly 

EPR laws promise to generate funds that modernize and expand recycling systems to help ensure the materials you’re putting in your recycling bin actually get recycled.

But here’s the reality check: Building better infrastructure isn’t just about funding — it’s about making calculated and appropriate investments. The industry can do that by using existing infrastructure first, because building something such as a new Material Recovery Facility can cost upwards of $65 million. Plus, disrupted supply chains, lengthy permitting processes, community planning and stakeholder engagement all require time and trust that cannot be rushed. 

Moving forward, smart EPR implementation will build on what’s working — such as Oregon’s EPR plan that has begun funding new facility upgrades at material recovery facilities and purchasing new trucks — and fill in gaps across recycling systems rather than start from scratch.

2. EPR will incentivize better packaging design — but it’ll take time

Because EPR will make companies pay fees based on how difficult it is to manage their packaging once it’s been used, the policy’s greatest promise is creating financial incentives to design packaging that’s easier to recycle, uses fewer materials or eliminates problematic components altogether. 

Under EPR, market forces should drive more environmentally friendly design choices. In reality though, design innovations take time — especially for complex product and package combinations. 

Reworking a packaging’s design is highly technical. It requires a significant investment to develop a package from R&D to product distribution that can take up to 10 years. And for complex food or pharmaceutical products, a company can’t simply swap paper in for plastic overnight. The intersection of safety, compliance and recyclability creates time-intensive, complex design puzzles. 

Swaps for more sustainable options — such as Graza Olive Oil using recyclable aluminum cans instead of single-use plastic pouches — can be exciting beacons of change. The key moving forward will be managing expectations: EPR fees will drive packaging innovation, but the timeline will vary drastically depending on the product category and its complexity.

3. EPR will include more stakeholders — which means more cooks in the kitchen

Across the U.S., state municipalities are tasked with waste and recycling management, which means local governments are at the center of these systems. EPR laws, however, force a big tent. They require the cooperation of a broad coalition of stakeholders composed of local recyclers, lawmakers, producers and other actors. 

Ideally, as the proverbial table grows, so does our collective ability to improve the system. This is why legislators have passed EPR — to involve producers and make them “responsible” for their packaging. But for a state such as California, with an economy larger than most countries, this requires a disparate group of stakeholders to reach a consensus on EPR implementation. 

To advance impactful implementation, states can standardize their EPR laws. Harmonizing key elements such as how a state defines a “producer” or how it determines which materials will be regulated can ease cross-state compliance. And we’re already seeing how this potential can play out: In Maine, the first state to pass EPR, lawmakers recently standardized their law with other states’ EPR laws to bring consistency across definitions. 

The rubber is meeting the road now

EPR laws have tremendous potential. They could completely overhaul our nation’s relationship to waste and recycling — but right now, we should moderate those hopes. The policy’s full impact hinges on its stakeholders’ ability to strategically invest in waste and recycling systems, quickly implement better packaging design and ensure that stakeholders from consumer groups to Fortune 500 companies are on board for the changes in store. 

Right now, the world is watching as the first states roll out their EPR laws. The results will offer a critical window into whether the nation is ready to embrace a truly circular future. It’s time to stay tuned. 

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There’s a gap between organizations’ net-zero promises and the reality of their building stock. With the construction industry responsible for 39% of global energy-related carbon emissions, many companies and government agencies have set targets to reduce their buildings’ climate impact.

Until recently, the focus was on reducing operational carbon — by upgrading HVAC and lighting with more energy-efficient technologies, for example. But to achieve net-zero goals, many organizations are shifting their attention to embodied carbon — the combined emissions released during raw material extraction, product manufacturing, transportation to construction sites and demolition. 

Chicago-based architecture firm Perkins&Will, which has earned seven Top Ten Awards for sustainable design excellence from the American Institute of Architects (AIA) Committee on the Environment, is helping pioneer such efforts. Since signing the AIA 2030 Commitment to achieving net-zero emissions in the built environment in 2011, the firm has increased the energy efficiency of its built projects by 27 percent on average and reduced overall energy use by 58 percent.

Two of Perkins&Will’s studios are now focusing on interior renovations, a major but often overlooked contributor to a building’s lifecycle carbon emissions.

Targeting embodied carbon

Even before a building opens, embodied carbon can make up as much as 50 percent of its lifetime emissions.

Then, over its lifespan, renovations every 5 to 10 years can add as much embodied carbon as the original build. That leaves it to sustainability directors to work with design firms to waste less, reuse more and make considered decisions on products and materials.

“Commercial building renovations that achieve net-zero performance aren’t just good for the planet — they’re smart business,” said Carrie Szarzynski, senior managing director and head of management services at commercial real estate firm Hiffman National. “Lower energy use reduces long-term operating costs, while reusing materials and selecting low–embodied carbon products further cut environmental impact and can lower construction expenses.”

“There are lots of different paths toward net zero and they can survive on their own in parallel or be combined,” said Jon Penndorf, associate principal and studio director for regenerative design at Perkins&Will’s Washington, D.C., studio. “On some projects, adaptive reuse makes a lot more sense than building everything from scratch and looking at the global warming potential of each product.”

Net-zero interiors

Different context, constraints and opportunities mean developing flexible strategies and staying focused on long-term goals — even when the market isn’t fully ready.

In 2020, Perkins&Will’s London studio made the Net Zero Carbon Pledge for Interiors to drive down embodied and operational carbon on projects for clients throughout Europe. The goal was for half of the studio’s projects to be 100-percent circular by the end of 2021 and the rest by the end of 2025 — with all achieving net-zero embodied carbon by 2030. The Washington, D.C., studio followed with its own pledge soon after.

“I think it was a bit of a moonshot,” said Adam Strudwick, Perkins&Will’s principal for workplace. “I don’t think we ever expected that we’d meet all the targets. We wanted to measure ourselves on making the industry change.”

Three steps to success

Perkins&Will’s process for working with clients to make progress on net zero interiors follows three steps: 

1. Educate and collaborate

All internal and supply chain teams at Perkins&Will must understand that “fundamentally we need to be designing an architecture that has multiple uses and reduces the need for the extraction of virgin materials,” said Strudwick.

The firm’s goal is to help clients align sustainability with their values, budgets and long-term goals. That includes evaluating whether to move or renovate, how to reuse furniture, where to invest for maximum health for people and the planet, and so on.

In the case of Greenpeace, for example, the nonprofit wanted its new Washington, D.C. headquarters to reflect its mission to reverse negative impacts of climate change. “We had to continue the history of being pioneers and innovators,” said Haiba Bakar, national facilities director for Greenpeace.

Greenpeace collaborated with Perkins&Will to make the headquarters a prototype for climate-responsible interior design. That was helped by choosing the space recently vacated by the American Public Transportation Association (APTA) in the Franklin Square office building in northwest D.C. Reduced use during and after the pandemic left the millwork, ceilings and interior glass of APTA’s conference center in almost perfect condition. 

2. View spaces as a material bank

Companies may think only of emptying the space they want to refresh, but Strudwick encourages them to view it as a source of materials waiting for another life.

“Waste is just a material without an identity,” said Strudwick. That calls for reimagining materiality — reusing furniture, reupholstering pieces, refurbishing instead of buying new. “Recycling is not the answer,” he added.

Many components have value in terms of reducing embodied carbon, extending the lifespan of existing materials and cutting costs. For the Greenpeace project, onboarding the general contractor and subcontractors early in the design process enabled the team to maximize material reuse on-site, salvage off-site materials and design for disassembly.

“We used components that you would not expect to be reused,” Penndorf said — including metal studs, gypsum board, ceiling tile and grid, and wood doors, blocking and feature walls.  

3. Celebrate achievements

The final step is telling a meaningful story to end users, clients and visitors. That’s a two-pronged tale, emphasizing “the environmental benefit of not throwing everything in the trash as well as the cost benefit of not having to build everything again,” Penndorf said.

Greenpeace achieved a 54-percent reduction in embodied carbon from its baseline lifecycle analysis. The project’s ripple effects continue. Talking to other clients and prospective clients, Bakar said, “What I hear constantly is, we want the same space as Greenpeace.”  

Building the market

Two major challenges arise when reducing embodied carbon during renovation. First, when selecting new products, organizations should choose those with low embodied carbon and global warming potential.

Second, when sourcing reused products, be aware that the market is still evolving. “It’s still easier for us to go to Canada, chop down a tree, have it made into a table and bring it to London than it is for us to find materials that are two miles away,” Strudwick said.

He envisions a matchmaking site for requirements and materials — considering factors like building codes, warranty, cost, transport and, of course, carbon. For now, finding a “donor” building with material that would be valuable in a new project depends on serendipity.

To help design professionals, Perkins&Will has created the free, open-source “Circular Design Primer for Interiors” — which is also intended to help clients buy into the philosophy. 

All of this aims at helping to build a design culture that strives to do better, not just to do less harm. 

To move from sustainable to regenerative design, “We’re going to have to surpass code minimums and even low levels of current certification programs,” Penndorf said. “We probably need a mindset shift as an industry if we’re going to really drive that forward.”

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Leather seats epitomize luxury and comfort for many high-end auto enthusiasts. However revered, though, leather is a co-product of the meat industry, which is among the most carbon-polluting on the planet.

That’s one reason high-end automakers with decarbonization ambitions — including Mercedes-Benz, General Motors and BMW — have backed the development of animal-free alternatives for vehicle interiors.

Mercedes is the latest brand to collaborate on a substitute to traditional leather. In June, it announced its co-development, with startup Modern Meadow, on a plant and recycled-tire-based biomaterial for the seats of its Concept AMG GT XX sports car.

The Labfiber materials, including seats mimicking full-grain Nappa leather, is based on Modern Meadow’s Innovera product, “setting new standards in vehicle interiors,” according to Eileen Böhme, Mercedes-Benz’s director of innovations and future technologies. “By combining recycled rubber, plant proteins and biopolymers, it not only offers the same design freedom as conventional leather but also reflects the company’s sustainable strategy. We are driving innovation across the value chain, from materials to mobility.”

Modern Meadow’s early lifecycle analysis calculated Innovera’s equivalent carbon dioxide footprint at about 7 kilograms per square meter, roughly one third of the nonprofit Leather Working Group’s estimate for cow leather.

Innovera offers the durability, flexibility and tear-resistance of leather, according to Modern Meadow. “Auto seating is a bit of a holy grail application,” said the company’s CEO David Williamson. “If you’ve got a material that can work in that space, you’ve got a remarkably high-performing material.”

Market for leather and alt leather

The $37 billion market for bovine automotive leather shows no signs of slowing down, with projections of growth to $68.4 billion by 2033, according to Grand View Research.

Yet in addition to tooting out methane, livestock occupy vast swaths of land, which have wiped out valuable rainforests and grasslands. Farming and slaughtering make up 68 percent of the hides’ global warming potential, according to Leather Working Group. Tanning and finishing pile on additional impacts, leading to livestock’s contribution of 6 percent of overall greenhouse gas pollution in 2023, according to the United Nations.

A $12.5 billion synthetic leather market will reach $20.8 billion by 2033, according to research by DataDynamics.

How Innovera is made

Modern Meadow’s material originates with chemicals giant BASF, which turns old rubber tires into nylon fiber. Modern Meadow then uses the nonwoven material as a “scaffold” on which to add its Bio-Alloy. The Nutley, New Jersey, company’s biobased polyurethane uses waste from corn and rapeseed oil and soy farming. 

The startup produces thousands of square meters per day of “dry white” material, which it sends to tanneries around the world for processing. 

“When people walk into this room they say, ‘It smells like leather,’” Williamson said of Innovera. “That’s because it goes through the same process. It has all the same biological functionality that we attribute to leather, because of the plant protein functionality that we introduce into it. It’s why it dyes like leather, breathes like leather, processes like leather and ages like leather.”

Innovera can be used in aerospace, mass transportation, footwear, furniture, apparel and even electronics accessories, according to Williamson. He believes the company, which has raised $183.6 million, can churn out 500,000 square meters of it per year.

“We feel like we’re at a place, with Mercedes, to deliver that material for some super-demanding applications,” he said.

In addition, Innovera is “ready for circularity,” according to Williamson. “We can strip it back off the car, do some things to it, return it back to BASF, and it’s ready to have a new life. Sustainability is not required to drive adoption, but it certainly helps.”

Other animal-free interiors

Among auto brands, Volvo has been ahead of the curve. Four years ago, the Swedish company announced that its new seating material, Nordico, would serve a goal of recycled or biobased materials in one-quarter of new cars by 2025. By 2030, Nordico is likely to feature prominently in Volvo’s target of 100 percent leather-free and electric vehicles. 

The material features recycled polyethylene terephthalate (PET) bottles, a practice that circular economy watchdogs criticize for taking material from closed-loop, bottle-to-bottle recycling. Nordico also uses recycled wine corks and “bio-attributed” material from Nordic forests. 

General Motors’ Cadillac has pursued leather with neither livestock nor petrochemical origins. GM Ventures in 2022 invested in MycoWorks, a mycelium material then making its debut beyond fashion. The automaker featured the San Francisco startup’s Fine Mycelium technology in the concept Cadillac Sollei EV.

Four years ago, GM had set goals to reduce Scopes 1 and 2 emissions by 72 percent by 2035 compared with 2018, and Scope 3 emissions by 51 percent per kilometer per vehicle. However, the company did not submit those goals in time for validation by the Science-Based Targets initiative (SBTi).

For others, the alternative to virgin leather is recycled leather. Alongside Coach parent Tapestry and Dr Martens, Jaguar Land Rover’s venture arm in 2023 invested $18 million in startup Gen Phoenix, which upcycles tannery waste.

Fits and starts

It hasn’t been a smooth path for animal- and plastic-free seating within cutting-edge car designs. 

In 2021, BMW iVentures threw its backing behind Natural Fiber Welding, a Peoria, Illinois, startup brewing plastic-free, leather-like Mirum from plants. The undisclosed investment explicitly served the German automaker’s science-based goals for 2030, validated by the SBTi. These include reducing emissions per vehicle for Scopes 1 and 2 by 80 percent and by at least 33 percent across all scopes per vehicle.

Although Natural Fiber Welding has raised $224 million, the decade-old company recently endured its third round of layoffs in three years.

In another failed promise, in 2022 Mercedes-Benz’s Vision EQXX featured mycelium-based Mylo “leather” material. “Working with these innovative, sustainable materials to design the interior of the VISION EQXX was a hugely liberating and exhilarating experience,” chief design officer Gorden Wagener said at the time. But the high was short-lived. Bolt Threads, which produced Mylo, discontinued it one year later to focus on developing vegan “silk.”

That failure reset industry expectations, as did the slow progress from companies such as Ecovative and SQIM, according to Lux Research Analyst Tiffany Hua. “It also points out how hard it is to move from pilot-stage innovation to commercial-scale production,” she said.

“For higher-performance use cases there are additional requirements where extra binders, coatings or backing materials are often needed,” said Hua. Therefore, surface treatments and tanning processes address the shortcomings in strength, flex resistance and durability.

“Most developers I’ve spoken with rely heavily on co-development partnerships with OEMs and brand partners to get anywhere close to meeting performance benchmarks,” Hua noted. 

For now, then, the potential for mycelium-based materials remains in the premium and luxury markets, she added.

The post How Mercedes-Benz, Cadillac and BMW are looking past leather appeared first on Trellis.

The flooring company Interface might not be known to the average consumer, but in sustainability circles its reputation is hard to beat. In 2000, under the leadership of the late Ray Anderson, Interface said it would eliminate its impact on the environment within 20 years. A quarter of a century later, most other large companies have still not committed to anything so ambitious.

Interface met Anderson’s goal a year early. Then, last April, it unveiled a new commitment for 2040. Trellis checked in this week with Liz Minné, the company’s head of global sustainability strategy, for an update.

From Mission Zero to ‘All in’

To hit the emissions component of its 2000 goal, which Interface dubbed “Mission Zero,” the company ratcheted up use of renewables and sourced low-carbon materials. 

It also factored in “ripple effects,” defined as emissions benefits that take place out of its value chain as a result of Interface actions. These included encouraging a supplier to provide nylon made from recycled materials — a product other companies then used — and helping capture methane from a Georgia landfill, which Interface and other companies then purchased. These two projects avoided 1 million metric tons of carbon dioxide emissions, which Interface subtracted from its total. The company also purchased offsets to certify some products as carbon-neutral.

Both those tactics have been discontinued under Interface’s “All In” strategy, with the offsets spending being diverted to projects aimed at cutting emissions and storing carbon in materials it uses. By 2040, the company now wants to be carbon negative across its value chain without using offsets. (It’s worth noting that the company has not quantified the extent to which it aims to be carbon negative. In theory, it could make a carbon-negative claim the moment its emissions cross from zero to negative.)

In the near term, Interface is working towards 1.5-degree-aligned science-based targets, which call for a 50 percent drop in absolute Scope 1 and 2 emissions by 2030 from a 2019 base year, alongside a cut of the same size in Scope 3 emissions from purchased goods and services and a 30 percent reduction in emissions from business travel and employee commuting.

Quitting offsets didn’t impact Interface’s emissions accounting, Minné noted. Interface used the offsets to market specific products as carbon neutral, but under the rules of the Science Based Targets initiative, which has validated Interface’s 2030 goal, they could not be counted against near-term emissions.

Carbon negative materials

It’s too early to evaluate progress toward the 2040 goal, but Interface remains comfortably on track for its 2030 targets. The Atlanta-based company is more than halfway to its goals for Scopes 1 and 2, for instance. Combined these account for just 3 percent of the nearly 400,000 tons of carbon dioxide equivalent Interface emitted in 2024 and, like many other companies, Scope 3 remains a much bigger challenge. But emissions from purchased goods and services, one of the hardest Scope 3 categories to tackle, have fallen by 43 percent.

Incorporating low carbon materials is one tactic behind the Scope 3 cuts. Interface has worked with a partner — Minné would not say more beyond describing it as a major chemical supplier — to source a material containing carbon captured during manufacture. Interface said last year that the unnamed ingredient is used in all carpet piles it produces in Europe and the U.S.

That helps cut the tiles’ carbon footprint. To tip products into carbon-negative territory, Interface sources bio-based ingredients, which contain CO2 captured during growth. Minné was similarly reluctant to reveal details of these materials, citing commercial considerations, but noted that Interface targets sources such as agricultural waste or other “rapidly renewable” environment products. The carbon-negative material is used in the backing for carpet tiles and is now standard in Europe, with production growing in the U.S.

The path to 2040

In addition to eschewing offsets, Interface has raised its ambition by expanding the scope of the emissions covered by its 2040 target. This raises some thorny challenges. Downstream emissions associated with use of its floors are included, which means Interface needs to estimate the carbon released when its floors are vacuumed or washed — and somehow persuade the organizations doing so to adopt lower-carbon methods. 

As a first step, Interface is gathering data on how customers clean its floors. Then it will look at issues such as use of renewables. “If they aren’t doing that, are there ways we can help them make the connection so that they can look for RECs or other mechanisms to do renewable energy?” said Minné. “And then in the cleaning space there are some interesting things happening with carbon captured materials that can be used for cleaning.”

The expanded scope for 2040 also includes end-of-life product emissions, something Interface has been working on for some time. Since 2016, the company has collected more than 80 million pounds of post-consumer carpet, close to 70 percent of which has been reused or recycled into its production processes. As a fraction of total production, Minné said this was “relatively low,” adding “we need it to get higher — this is one of our critical strategies.”

Tracking the fate of flooring is not easy. “The reverse logistics are incredibly challenging because most often we don’t know where that product is 10 years after we send it out,” said Minné. New regulations, including tougher carpet recycling requirements passed last year in California, will provide an assist, she added. The forthcoming Circular Economy Act, currently open for consultation in the European Union, may further accelerate progress.

Companywide buy-in will be needed to deliver on all these goals, but Interface does not tie compensation to sustainability targets, an oft-touted means of ensuring support. Interface’s reputation as a sustainability pioneer removes the need for that, Minné said: “Our leadership at the highest level — our CEO, our board — understand and support our targets. That trickles down.”

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RIP, carbon-neutral.

Just a decade ago, the term was a byword for climate ambition. Its credibility has since been wrecked by court cases — including a defeat for Apple last week — and negative press coverage. Next year, new European Union regulations threaten to kill it off altogether.

Retiring the language has opened the door for more rigorous approaches to capturing corporate action. But any assessment of the carbon-neutral movement needs to recognize that by ditching the term, companies have also lost a valuable method for communicating sustainability goals.

The rise …

The claim’s appeal lies partly with its simplicity: By measuring and offsetting the emissions associated with a product, or an entire organization, companies can declare one or both to be carbon neutral — a term consumers intuitively understand.

One early user on the product side was the flooring company Interface, which launched a series of carbon-neutral carpet tiles in 2003. A smattering of brands followed, and the concept gained cultural currency as conferences and sporting events made the claim. In 2006, the “New Oxford American Dictionary” named it word of the year. 

Meanwhile, an infrastructure for certifying the claim was emerging. In 2010, the Australian government launched a process for businesses to get certified. The Carbon Trust, an influential standard-setter, did the same two years later for products. 

Another organization that saw the momentum behind the idea was the non-profit Climate Neutral, which in 2019 launched a label designed to help consumers easily identify carbon-neutral products. “We thought here’s an opportunity, a moment, to harness the consumer recognition,” recalled Austin Whitman, the organization’s co-founder and CEO. “It’s the best hope we have to mobilize consumers.”

By the start of this decade, carbon-neutral claims were attached to everything from sneakers and automotive lubricants to tea, beer and consumer electronics. The list included emission-intensive products, such as flights, and even fossil fuels: In 2019, Shell began offering carbon-neutral shipments of liquified natural gas (LNG).

… and the fall

The logic behind carbon-neutral claims might be simple; their execution is not. Offset quality is one weak point. If offsets fail to deliver promised emissions benefits, the carbon-neutral claim that rests on them is voided.

In the early 2000s, media coverage suggested that was happening all too often. Delta and Credit Suisse were among the companies accused by Bloomberg of using “junk credits” to make carbon-neutral schemes. A report from the non-profit Corporate Accountability added Gucci, Volkswagen, ExxonMobil, Disney, easyJet and Nestlé to the list, while the New Yorker weighed in with an exposé that damaged the reputations of South Pole, a leading offsets provider, and Verra, the most prominent carbon credit registry.

The lawsuits started around the same time, with accusers arguing that unreliable offsets rendered carbon-neutral marketing misleading. One advocacy group — Environmental Action Germany — won cases in its home country against the airline Eurowings, BP, TotalEnergies, meal-kit company HelloFresh, Adidas and, last week, Apple. More recently, class-action suits have been filed in the U.S. against Clif Bar and the tobacco company R.J. Reynolds, which sold carbon-neutral vapes.

Unsurprisingly, many brands have now abandoned carbon-neutral marketing. But reputational issues are not the only reason. What constitutes robust ambition on climate has expanded over the past 10 years to include science-based targets, transition action plans, commitments to invest in decarbonization, supplier engagement and other strategies. Most carbon-neutral certifications required additional steps beyond just purchasing offsets, such as committing to emissions targets. Still, the idea at the heart of the claim — getting to neutral via offsets — can feel flimsy in comparison.

In 2023, Climate Neutral rebranded the organization as the Change Climate Project and its certification as the Climate Label. To earn it, companies commit to creating a fund in proportion to their emissions, and to spending it on climate projects. That could include decarbonizing company operations or those of suppliers, as well as purchasing high-quality credits. Whatever the focus, the emissions benefits that follow are not used as offsets.

What’s been lost

There remain no shortage of carbon-neutral claims out there, from carbon-neutral shipping (UPS) to laptops (Acer), packaging (Tetra Pak) and meetings (Hilton). Need some carbon-neutral LNG? Shell still has you covered.

Yet it’s clear the term is fading. And a year from now it will become even rarer, at least in Europe. That’s when new EU regulations will prohibit offsets from being used in carbon-neutral claims, meaning only products with zero lifecycle emissions will qualify.

The shift reflects a more sophisticated and rigorous approach to corporate sustainability, but it’s not without drawbacks. Apple is phasing out the term, for instance, but has cited EU rules as the reason and said the change will make it harder to communicate climate action to consumers. 

“People started to understand it,” said Whitman. “And we are now faced with a much more difficult challenge. We have had companies come to us and say, ‘We’re not going to do the Climate Label, because we just don’t think it means anything to individuals.’”

The old labels created what Whitman acknowledges as a “blunt, high-level impression that somebody’s climate impacts are just gone, neutralized. And that’s not what’s happening behind the scenes.” But, he added “the other side of that coin is that’s why marketers love it — because it’s like, boom, that’s what we did, right?”

The post How low-quality carbon credits killed a sustainability buzzword appeared first on Trellis.

The opinions expressed here by Trellis expert contributors are their own, not those of Trellis.​

Unwrapping a brand-new item is a great feeling. But the thrill of unboxing a beautifully designed product eventually fades as we begin to use it and the next shiny new thing takes its place. Consumers often think their experience is over when the item is disposed of, but there’s an overlooked space between the end of usage and the start of recycling or waste. We’ll call this the end gap.

This uninstructed, often abandoned final step in the consumer experience is where the language and methods for ending a product’s life are complex and unclear. This gap materializes in phenomena such as:

  • Unused clothing: A 2022 study by WRAP, a climate action NGO, found that the average U.K. adult has 118 items of clothing in their wardrobe, of which a quarter (31 items) were unworn for at least a year.
  • Off-site storage: The self-storage market is expected to grow significantly, fueled by decision fatigue of having to reduce items and the anxiety of making a final disposal decision.
  • Digital hoarding: The end gap exists in our digital lives, too. Many of us save everything, deferring the difficult act of deleting. IBM estimates that up to 90 percent of all data is “dark data,” or information that’s stored but never used, revealing our societal unwillingness to let go.

By looking at the end gap not as a problem but as an opportunity, sustainability professionals can see past the chaos to understand its foundational characteristics. That understanding is key to creating a more meaningful and sustainable business model.

4 signs an end gap is imminent

The relationship breaks: The relationship between a business and a consumer is a two-way street. During the initial stages of a product’s life, a business provides guidance marketing, out-of-box instructions, FAQs and the like. A consumer, meanwhile, provides valuable data — name, demographics and goals. This bonded relationship continues as the consumer benefits from product usage and the business giving service support.

As the product fulfills its promise, it moves past a usage phase and the consumer starts to think about off-boarding. But while the usage has taken place the business has backed away, seeking new customers. The consumer finds themselves abandoned to resolve product disposal alone. 

Identity is anonymized: At the beginning of the consumer lifecycle, the customer’s identity is captured through banking, loyalty systems and marketing schemes. It’s also celebrated through personalized language in communication of the product: “Well done, Joe, for becoming our customer!”

These identity systems fade as the relationship goes on. Marketing noise from purchase has been lost in the following weeks, months or years of ownership as people change shopping habits, email or social media. By the off-boarding experience the identity systems attached to the product are non-existent. 

Further to this, legal ownership is relinquished as the customer places the product into recycling, trash or goodwill. The consumer is no longer accountable for what happens to the product. Their identity is washed from the product’s history, along with the business that made it. Waste stream identity has to be reverse engineered. Impact becomes a “who done it” detective job.

Emotional meaning is lost: At the end of product life its emotional meaning to the consumer decays and its specific definition as an asset — size 10 dress, hiking boots by Columbia, 30-megapixel camera — disappears when it enters a generic waste stream. A phone, for example, begins as carefully defined components. At its end, it becomes “e-waste,” a jumble of unknown materials. The scale of this loss is vast: a European Commission report found over half of EU individuals keep old phones — an estimated 700 million devices. Meanwhile, Apple’s 2024 sales of 231.8 million iPhones dwarf its collection of only 15.9 million devices. E-waste, which totaled 62 million tonnes globally in 2022, is often chipped and smelted, irrevocably losing its product identity.

Disposal routes are blurred: When a customer eats an apple, they can be confident it will naturally decompose without a lasting negative impact. But what about human-made products such as a plastic bag? The process for disposal is far from clear. Instead of straightforward information, consumers are often faced with confusing symbols and technical material jargon.

This lack of clarity is reinforced by symbols that create a false sense of certainty. A product might be labeled “recycled” versus “recyclable,” two very different outcomes for the item’s end-of-life journey. A 2019 report by the Consumer Brands Association, aptly titled “Reduce. Reuse. Confuse.” found a staggering 92 percent of Americans didn’t understand the labels on plastic products.

While initiatives such as the SmartLabel platform attempt to solve this problem, they only scratch the surface of a much deeper issue: the gap between a product’s promise and its ultimate fate in the eyes of the consumer.

How to use the end gap

The four factors of the end gap are a starting point for asking human-scale, emotional questions. Instead of just measuring materials and weight, you can address the consumer’s experience directly:

  • Relationship: How does the relationship with your customers break down? Is it soon after the sale, or do you have contact well into the product’s usage period? Analyze when and how this connection fades.
  • Asset: Does the customer know the product’s material when it’s time to dispose of it? You don’t want to leave them wondering. If your business provides this information, you can maintain an open dialogue, building trust and collaboration.
  • Identity: If you have an open dialogue, you must still have their contact details. By informing consumers of the product’s impact and providing capture or offset options, you can partner with them more directly during this time.
  • Routes: Do the initiatives your company puts in place show a clear path? Or do you abandon the customer to stitch these issues together themselves? Build a straightforward route for them to complete their consumption. 

Our consumption journey begins with human desire, a powerful emotional driver for new beginnings. Yet, our current model often neglects the human experience of endings. Instead, it tries to measure the cold tangibles — material, weight, chemistry. This lack of human meaning leads to societal fear of making the “wrong” disposal decision and drawers full of old phones. To foster a truly circular economy, we must move beyond technical solutions and address this psychological void. 

The post The end gap: The overlooked space between product usage and disposal appeared first on Trellis.

Despite growing concerns over plastic pollution and how it’s affecting human health, global policy progress on the matter is faltering.

Research from Trellis data partner GlobeScan, in conjunction with ERM and Volans, shows that sustainability experts ranked a Global Plastics Treaty as highly impactful but among the least feasible actions out of 64 sustainability measures assessed. While the research was conducted prior to the latest treaty negotiations, treaty talks have stalled without meaningful commitments.

The unlikelihood of a treaty is all the more pressing at a time when public concern over plastic pollution is widespread. A Globescan study from last year showed 70 percent of people globally felt directly impacted by single-use plastic waste. The leading concern of single-use plastic waste? Not climate change or ocean pollution, but the presence and effect of microplastics and chemicals in the human body. 

What this means

The gap between the low feasibility of a global treaty and the significant public concern over the health impacts of plastics presents both risk and opportunity for business. Brands that take decisive action to reduce plastics can build consumer trust and credibility, while those that delay may face reputational challenges with increasingly health-conscious audiences.

Based on a survey of 844 sustainability practitioners in 72 countries conducted April-May 2025 and an online survey of more than 30,000 people across 31 markets conducted in 2024.

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