Want Magnum mentorship? Tell the stories fashion ignores

This year, the competition expands to moving-image submissions for the first time. Running from May 19th to July 13th, 2025, it offers selected entrants not only a paid commission but also mentorship from Magnum photographers and the opportunity to present their work at the Textile Exchange Conference later this year.

But beyond the career opportunities it provides, this competition is quietly radical in its intention. It asks participants to look beyond product, beyond aesthetics, and even beyond sustainability buzzwords – and instead into the layered relationships that exist between material and meaning, tradition and transformation, humans and the ecosystems they shape and depend on.

Whether it’s a farmer in Turkey rediscovering ancestral regenerative techniques, a Peruvian family living symbiotically with their alpacas, or a young generation trying to sustain ancient textile practices in the face of climate collapse and globalisation, the stories this competition has surfaced over the years are moving, intimate, and often profoundly instructive.

“These stories remind us that behind every material is a human – a farmer, a herder, a recycler – whose expertise, culture, and livelihood are intimately linked with the products we use every day,” says Claire Bergkamp, CEO of Textile Exchange. “Storytelling is a powerful tool. When we invite people into the stories behind textiles and materials, we create space for empathy, understanding, and ultimately, action.”

The brief for 2025 remains under the theme Textile Transformations, a title that reflects the multi-layered journey a material undergoes – from seed to fabric, from utility to meaning – and the way these processes shape and are shaped by people. It also speaks to the broader transformation that the fashion and textile industries so urgently require.

In a cultural climate where images move fast and attention spans move faster, this project champions depth over noise. And in doing so, it quietly repositions the narrative around textiles – not as trends or commodities, but as vessels of memory, systems of care, and carriers of futures we haven’t yet imagined.

Submissions are now open.

Claire Bergkamp, CEO, Textile Exchange

Why is it important, in your view, to tell stories about textiles, materials, and the communities behind them – especially in today’s globalised and industrialised fashion system?

Supply systems are often deeply opaque, even for those working within the fashion industry. It can be difficult to trace materials back to their origins or to connect with the people who bring them to life. At Textile Exchange, we’re working to rebuild that connection: to remind both consumers and industry actors that behind every material is a human – a farmer, a herder, a recycler – whose expertise, culture, and livelihood are intimately linked with the products we use every day.

Storytelling is a powerful tool in this effort. When we invite people into the stories that sit behind textiles and materials, we create space for empathy, understanding, and, ultimately, action. Stories have the ability to cut through complexity, mobilise support, and inspire participation in transforming the fashion system into one that is more equitable and regenerative.

What kind of impact do you hope this competition can have – on the photographers, on the subjects featured, and on the wider industries it touches?

When we first launched the competition with Magnum Photos four years ago, our aim was to reframe materials beyond objects or commodities. We invited photographers to explore the deeper stories behind them, and the response has been incredible. We’ve received submissions from around the world, and through the resulting commissions, we’ve been able to put the people, processes, landscapes, and systems behind our materials in front of a global audience.

One of the most meaningful aspects is how the people featured in these stories have so openly shared their knowledge, their work, and their values. It has provided an incredible platform to share their perspectives and give these voices a seat at the table. We hope this year’s competition continues to offer that sense of inspiration and exchange – for the photographers, for the communities they collaborate with, and for all of us as viewers.

It has also been a brilliant way to elevate emerging talent and give space to storytellers who are ready to take on these complex and sensitive narratives in a way that’s thoughtful and grounded, true to the Magnum Photos reputation.

What do you hope entrants consider or prioritise as they approach their projects?

The initiative is really about shifting our relationship with materials and encouraging us to think more deeply about their origins and impacts. There are myriad ways to interpret that visually. We’re especially excited that this year, for the first time, we’re accepting video submissions alongside photography. It opens up more creative possibilities, and we are curious to see how storytellers use this to encourage different dialogues about textiles.

Anass Ouaziz (2022 Winner)

What first drew you to the relationship between people, land, and tradition in the Büyük Menderes Delta, and how did that connection evolve throughout the project?

What drew me in was the familiar bond between people, land, and tradition – something I’ve often witnessed in Moroccan villages. Even in just five days, I felt a deep connection to the farmers and fishers in the Büyük Menderes Delta. Their way of life, their relationship with the land, and their quiet resilience reminded me of people back home. There was a shared sense of dignity in their work and a commitment to preserving tradition while adapting to change. It felt both distant and deeply familiar.

Can you describe a moment during the project that deeply moved or surprised you?

One moment that really stayed with me was meeting a farmer who had shifted to non-synthetic fertilisers after years of conventional cotton growing. He told me, “The land stopped speaking to me, so I had to learn how to listen again.” That sentence hit me deeply. I grew up around farmers, and I’ve always understood that farming isn’t just labour – it’s a dialogue, a relationship built on care and instinct. His words weren’t just about agriculture; they were about healing, humility, and reconnecting with something ancestral.

How did you approach capturing the material culture – the textiles, the environment, the labour – in a way that honours the people behind them?

I approached it with a sense of slowness and presence. I didn’t want to just take pictures; I wanted to receive them. That meant spending time observing the textures of life. I used natural light and chose framing that emphasised the dignity and care in their gestures. Everything was rooted in respect and collaboration, not extraction.

In what ways did you see tradition either preserved or transformed in response to modern challenges like climate change, globalisation, or cultural erosion?

Tradition here wasn’t static – it was a living, breathing thing. I witnessed how some older methods, like crop rotation or hand-harvesting, were being reintroduced as answers to modern problems like soil depletion and water scarcity. At the same time, there was a quiet grief about how certain songs, rituals, and seasonal rhythms were being lost. But what struck me most was the innovation within tradition – people weren’t just holding on; they were adapting without losing the soul of their practice.

Why do you think it’s important to document traditional practices in today’s fast-paced culture of production and consumption?

Because they carry wisdom that industrial systems often overlook. Traditional practices are slow, intentional, and rooted in balance – with nature, with time, with community. In documenting them, we’re not just preserving aesthetics; we’re safeguarding knowledge systems and ways of being that might offer us clues for a more sustainable future. Photography becomes a bridge, not just for memory, but for reflection and maybe even repair.

Alejandra Orosco (2024 Winner)

What first drew you to Evelyn Diaz and her family’s relationship with alpacas in the Peruvian highlands, and how did that connection evolve throughout the project?

The Textile Exchange team connected me with animal fiber specialists in Peru, and that’s where I first learned about Evelyn and her work with the alpacas. That’s how we decided to travel to Chaupihuasi, the farm where they care for the alpacas in Puno. While there, the connection was immediate. The entire family was very open to sharing both their personal stories and their reflections on what it means to live in the mountains alongside these animals. During the conversations we shared over meals or while visiting the animals, I noticed there was an important story to tell about how both Evelyn’s parents and she had grown up alongside alpacas. It was no longer just about a job – it was as if we were talking about the history of a family, both among themselves and with the alpacas.

Can you describe a moment during the project that deeply moved or surprised you?

Every day I spent with this family and the animals was a great learning experience. But I’d say one of the most emotional moments for me was when Evelyn and her mother, Felicitas, talked about growing up with the alpacas and the affection they had developed during their childhood. These stories were what motivated my photographs, which sought to highlight the maternal relationship that existed both between Evelyn and Felicitas and between the animals and their babies. I understood the value of women as caregivers and that, although they are often overlooked in the fibre market, they are ultimately the ones who create the most intimate bond with the animals.

How did you approach capturing the material culture – the textiles, the environment, the labour – in a way that honours the people behind them?

For me, it was very important to highlight the personal stories behind all the work. The story of the alpaca fiber and the environment the animals inhabit emerged very organically through the memories the Diaz family shared with us. In this way, it was no longer a story about alpaca fiber, but about the relationship between these animals and their environment, their importance in preserving high Andean ecosystems, and how their very existence motivates thousands of families to continue living at high altitudes, preserving their cultural traditions.

In what ways did you see tradition either preserved or transformed in response to modern challenges like climate change, globalisation, or cultural erosion?

This story is a reflection of rural resilience. On the one hand, there is the problem of migration of younger generations, who want to go to the cities in search of new opportunities, as access to information through new technologies encourages them to seek out other ways of life. On the other hand, alpaca farmers in the high Andean regions face the repercussions of climate change daily. The lack of water has created major problems for alpaca farming, so the Diaz family decided to build an artificial lagoon to ensure water preservation even during dry seasons.

They are very aware of the importance of alpacas in preserving these ecosystems, which supply water to the communities that flourish beneath them. If they were to leave and the alpacas were to disappear, the ecosystem itself could collapse. It is a symbiotic relationship.

Why do you think it’s important to document traditional practices in today’s fast-paced culture of production and consumption?

Rapid consumerism prevents us from considering where our clothes come from. I think this kind of story helps us think about who’s behind the production of those garments, the difficulties they face daily, and the entire chain involved in getting their product to us.

It is important to promote a culture of conscious consumerism because continuing to ignore all the work that goes into what we consume will guide us toward the accelerated collapse of our planet.

Non-industrialised practices such as traditional alpaca farming are an example of sustainable practices that respect natural resources, avoiding abusive and extractive use of them, which could lead to destroying these species that we treasure so much.

What did this project teach you about the broader relationship between people, land, and the materials they work with?

I learned that, in the case of animal fibres, it is important to work from a respectful relationship. It is a living matter that must be understood and cared for. Like every natural resource, it has its own cycles, which cannot be accelerated by the logic of consumerism.

Thanks to the Díaz family, I understood that it is possible to generate an intimate relationship with these animals and to see ourselves reflected in their way of life.

I also liked seeing the mutual benefit that was generated between the animals and their caretakers. As I mentioned before, it’s a symbiotic relationship in which the animals benefit from the care and protection they receive, the producers benefit from the fibre they obtain to sell and sustain their economy, and the land benefits from respectful and sustainable practices like these.

Sonia Jeunet, Global Education Director, Magnum Photos

What kind of impact do you hope this competition can have – on the photographers, on the subjects featured, and on the wider industries it touches?

This competition is an incredible opportunity for emerging photographers to work professionally on assignment for Textile Exchange, while benefiting from the guidance of a Magnum photographer. There is no charge to enter, and the prize on offer is a way for photographers to get their first paid commission.

What do you hope entrants consider or prioritise as they approach their projects?

Be yourself – don’t try to make a portfolio you think will please the jury. We’re looking for honest, considered applications that show maturity in your practice and give us a sense of who you are as a visual storyteller.