A new project in the Netherlands employs skilful refugees to mend much-loved clothes – and the idea is spreading fast.

I visit United Repair Centre on a quiet day at the tail end of summer, and there’s not much happening in the suburban streets of west Amsterdam. Inside, however, this bright workshop generates its own buzz. The radio is on, people are popping in and out of the open kitchen for coffee and snacks, chatting over the noise from sewing machines or gathered around the cutting table puzzling over burst seams, holes and knotty technical problems. The walls are lined with completed and ongoing repairs – fleeces, coats, tops, jumpers, jeans and more – and boxes and rails display colourful zips and buttons.

The place has a laid-back Dutch vibe. The communal garden and bespoke textile art lend a creative startup feel, and the slogan “repair is the new cool” appears everywhere. But what’s happening here is far from ordinary startup stuff. At United Repair Centre (URC), newcomers to the Netherlands from across the world, many of them former refugees, are using their tailoring skills to mend clothes on behalf of some of the world’s biggest brands. The project started in partnership with the outdoor clothing brand Patagonia, but clients now include sportswear behemoth Decathlon and yogawear brand Lululemon, among others – and it’s building day by day.

Ambrose, who greets me, mans the front desk. He’s a 20-year-old Palestinian fashion fan, who was born in Syria and lived in Abu Dhabi before moving to the Netherlands in May; he is working in parallel with studying for a fashion and design diploma. Ambrose started at URC in May and loves it: the way he gets to work in collaboration with the tailors, giving advice and learning from their years of experience. “It’s really easy, fun, chill … Everyone has their own vibe, their own identity.” His is the first step in the repair process, checking in parcels of clothes that are sent in directly from customers or from brands (URC keeps the packaging – everything is returned in the box or bag in which it arrived). Ambrose also creates a paper fiche with a diagram highlighting what repair is needed; in this multilingual environment (I count nine nationalities on the day I visit), it’s the best way to make sure everyone understands. Based on his knowledge of the tailors and their skill set, each repair gets a colour code that corresponds to someone, maybe Ramzi, who is also Palestinian; Omar, who’s Syrian; or Maryam from Morocco – all of whom are busy at their sewing machines today. When the repair is completed, Hengameh, who is Iranian, runs quality control, then it goes back to Ambrose for dispatch to customers.

This project has been operating for the past year, stitching together a quiet revolution with new recruits, an expanding roster of brands and a move in June to these larger premises. It is the product of a collaboration between 38-year-old CEO Thami Schweichler (a calm but determined dynamo of Dutch and Brazilian descent, who ping-pongs around the building between calls, strategy chats and coffee pitstops), the city of Amsterdam and Patagonia. Amsterdam is extremely green; not the Vondelpark, or the lovely tree-lined streets, but its philosophy, which goes far beyond bikes and boats. The city has the ambition and appetite for radical, necessary change – it aims to go fully “ circular ” (creating zero waste and using zero new materials) by 2050. That ethos goes deep. I take a taxi from the station to URC because I’m running late, but I’m taken aback when en route the driver points out the many conveniently located stations and tram stops I could use for my return journey.

‘My dream is that sustainability becomes accessible to everybody’ … Thami Schweichler, CEO of URC. Photograph: Jeremy Meek/The Guardian

URC is a small but important part of implementing that radical green philosophy. It grew out of Schweichler’s other project, Makers Unite , which also harnesses the skills of newcomers to the Netherlands, who work on sustainable fashion projects as diverse as upcycled collections for high street and high fashion retailers, and using lifejackets abandoned on Greek beaches by refugees arriving in boats to make laptop sleeves and bags. (Makers Unite is still running, working on a host of other projects – to date, it has provided 270 newcomers with talent development programmes, supporting them in accessing the labour market, and it now has a workshop in Istanbul.)

While Amsterdam was looking for ways to implement its textile “green deal”, which committed to increasing textile recycling and reducing waste, Patagonia was hoping to expand its European repair network. The brand puts its money where its mouth is on its long-stated commitment to tackling the existential crisis the planet faces: earlier this year, it spectacularly transferred 98% of company stock to a non-profit focused on climate activism. Still, it negotiates a delicate line between selling clothes and sustainability. A big part of that involves seeking to shift our perception of clothing fro>“consumption to ownership”/, adopting a new attitude to what it calls “worn wear”. That includes offering free repairs.

Unite had made him aware how hard it was for refugees and other recent arrivals to find fulfilling employment. “In the Netherlands, the average unemployment rate now is around 3%; for the refugee population it’s much higher. Why? Are they less smart? Are they less skilled? It’s just unfair.” He has seen, he says, many newcomers being put into low-skilled jobs that do not suit them, becoming depressed and leaving the workforce. “They want to work; they want to deliver.”

Along with high migrant unemployment rates, Schweichler had become aware of the dearth of homegrown tailoring expertise. Silk and wool weaving, lacemaking and “Dutch wax” batik fabrics all formed a significant part of the Netherlands’ industrial and commercial history, but textiles have been in decline since the mid-20th century, and most of the associated skills have been lost. “A lot of newcomers come to the Netherlands with skills in textiles; they wouldn’t find satisfaction somewhere else. Feeling you belong, that you can contribute meaningfully with your skills, is one of the biggest challenges that an incomer has to face,” he says.

Ambrose, who dispatches repaired garments to customers. Photograph: Jeremy Meek/The Guardian

One of the two questions he asked Patagonia before they started collaborating, he says, was, “Can we use this opportunity to create jobs for people who really need it?” Patagonia was on board, so URC could meet that challenge: the people who work there – some recruited via the city authorities; some by word of mouth – are solving a real skills shortage problem, contributing to shaping a better future for the city and the planet. In return, they are paid union-negotiated rates under the textile industry collective agreement for the Netherlands (which provides a complimentary pension and five extra vacation days on top of the statutory four weeks; URC also funds wellbeing and self-development programmes). All of this means URC’s employees can escape the frustrating limbo many migrants to Europe are forced into. “The past of a refugee, what happened, the burden that they carry, I can do nothing about,” says Schweichler. “But from today onwards, we can build a new future together.”

The general vibe might be laid-back but URC’s achievements, and its ambitions for the future, are anything but. Since the official launch on 1 July 2022, the workshop has grown from a team of four (three tailors plus Schweichler) to 19 full-time employees. The new workshop has space to ramp up capacity rapidly: 60 tailors and 150,000 garments within two years is the plan, and the hope is to employ 140 tailors in the Netherlands by 2027. In February, it will launch a training programme – United Repair Academy – to provide more people with tailoring skills. The initial 10 participants will be guaranteed a job when they complete their studies.

The workshop now has 19 full-time employees. Photograph: Jeremy Meek/The Guardian

Then there’s the ever-increasing demand from brands. The workshop has 10 batches of clothes in final testing – I spot logos of some huge fashion names I’m not allowed to mention yet. Is repair reaching a tipping point? Someone, says Schweichler, compared the state of textile repair with mobile phones in 2010, and he thinks that’s opposite. “In three years, the whole world flipped.” He sees “an exponential growth of awareness” of the social and environmental costs of fast fashion, but the real way to effect change is to convince manufacturers they need to do things differently, and he sees that happening too.

That challenge was behind the second question Swcheichler posed Patagonia in their initial discussions: “We’re not going to really solve a problem if you’re the only one repairing, so can we use your knowhow to help other brands repair?” They answered a resounding yes. URC tracks repairs using software initially developed by Patagonia, which it has built on and uses for the other brands involved.

“For us, the more the merrier,” Willem Swager, Patagonia’s European director of operations, explains when I visit the company’s waterfront office – it has made Amsterdam its European HQ. “We were very explicit we wanted to bring other brands along. That’s where the ‘United’ came from. A lot of discussions I have with brands are, ‘Where do I start?’ If you can just give them a playbook it makes it much easier.”

It’s not quite that easy, of course. Schweichler says he is surprised by the pockets of resistance to change he still sees in the industry beyond his “green bubble”. Shein and the like are out there, churning out, in dizzying volumes, fast fashion that can’t be repaired. “We were more enthusiastic in the beginning; now we’re more realistic,” he laughs. One thing that helps is showing brands how repair can reframe their relationship with their customers. It’s something Patagonia has seen to a dramatic degree: how attached people become to their clothes and how appreciative they are of repairs. But for things to change at scale, repair can’t be a luxury limited to high-end brands. “My dream is that sustainability becomes accessible to everybody,” Schweichler says.

That urge to democratise feels quite Dutch. “It’s our culture to be close and connected to people,” says Schweichler, and that’s very clear in the workshop. “Everyone is very nice,” according to Maryam, who is busy darning the cuff of a jumper. She moved to the Netherlands from Morocco to join her husband in 2019 and has worked at URC since last year, relishing a job that enables her to use the skills from her fashion design course back in Morocco. “I do it all; machine, hand-stitching, everything.” Ramzi worked in garment manufacturing when he lived in Syria. He would rather be making trousers “A to Z” than fixing the pair in front of him, he says, but he values the work (“I believe this is our life: to stay working”); his life in Amsterdam, where his wife and five children are all now securely settled and looking to the future; and the special atmosphere at URC. “We can keep in touch during work: talking, laughing, doing things together.” Because of that the days go fast, he says. “You come in at eight; blah, blah, blah; and then it’s six!”