Gucci faces strike threats in Italy and mounting criticism over exotic skins, revealing deeper tensions across luxury fashion’s labour and sustainability fronts.
Employees at Gucci in Italy have declared a state of unrest, signalling potential strike action after the fashion house reportedly refused to honour a welfare bonus that had been assured for 2025 under the agreement covering 2022 through 2024. Roughly 1,000 retail and logistics staff across Italy participated in the action, representing a serious escalation in industrial tensions. The unions Filcams Cgil, Fisascat Cisl, and Uiltucs warned that further steps could follow if negotiations do not progress.
In their joint statement, the unions declared that Gucci had previously promised the welfare bonus, and claimed the accord remained in force despite the absence of a new contract. They allege the company is now seeking to tie the benefit to a broader review of incentive schemes, a move they find unacceptable. As the unions put it, “The company (…) has only wasted precious time, making a mockery of the workers who dedicate themselves daily in stores and have been waiting, and continue to wait, for the welfare payment.”
Gucci, headquartered in Florence and a cornerstone of the Kering luxury group, has endured declining sales in recent years. That downturn has compounded pressure on the entire conglomerate, now banking its recovery on new CEO Luca de Meo.
Gucci’s internal dispute unfolds against a backdrop of mounting scrutiny over sustainability, ethical sourcing, and labour rights across the fashion industry. Similar tensions have emerged internationally as brands navigate competing pressure from workers and activists alike. Last year, PETA activists held banners reading “Gucci: Ban Wild-Animal Skins” outside the brand’s store on Multrees Walk in Edinburgh, demanding the end of reptile skin usage in luxury accessories. “Every wild animal-skin accessory, from wallets and bags to belts and watch straps, comes from a terrified animal who was beaten, tortured, and skinned — sometimes while still conscious,” PETA vice president Mimi Bekhechi said in a statement. She added that “Peta is calling on Gucci to do right by animals by shedding reptile and other exotic skins.”
Worker action in the luxury sector is rare but meaningful, especially given brands’ typically powerful global profiles. Gucci’s dispute echoes previous protests at similar houses — though few have escalated to strike declarations. Retail and logistics staff often fall outside of public view, yet they sustain the daily operations of global flagships. Italy’s labour laws define a state of unrest as a preliminary step to formal strikes; it obliges the company and unions to engage before escalation. With about 1,000 employees now mobilized, the issue enters a critical phase where delays or unresolved negotiations may force broader industrial action.
Gucci’s hesitation to pay the welfare bonus reflects broader dilemmas facing luxury brands under pressure to cut costs and overhaul incentive structures. While allegiance to legacy agreements may be morally — or even contractually — tenable, executives under pressure for performance often reassess commitments. At the same time, focusing on controversial materials such as exotic skins draws in another front of advocacy risks. The firm’s response to demonstrators in Edinburgh suggests it acknowledges reputational stakes but refuses to yield to PETA’s demands for a full ban — a cautious stance in an environment where many peers are shedding animal skins entirely.
The unrest at Gucci is not an isolated event. It reflects a deeper and growing dissonance between luxury fashion’s high-gloss branding and its treatment of workers across the supply chain. In June, Loro Piana, the Italian label known for its ultra-soft cashmere and eye-watering price points, came under fire when a government inspection uncovered undocumented workers employed through subcontractors at one of its mills in Piedmont. According to the Italian Labour Inspectorate, these workers were receiving as little as five euros per hour — well below legal minimums. The investigation, which resulted in the temporary suspension of operations at that site, raised uncomfortable questions about the credibility of “Made in Italy” when it comes to human rights.
LVMH, which owns Loro Piana, claimed the violations were tied to third-party contractors, but that excuse is rapidly losing traction among rights advocates. The problem isn’t just the subcontractor — it’s the lack of transparency. Luxury brands have outsourced both the work and the responsibility.
Elsewhere, Dior was accused of similar lapses when an investigation was opened into allegations that undocumented workers had been exploited in the production of its leather goods. The accusations focused on Chinese and Vietnamese migrants sewing handbags for as little as seventy euros per day inside Italian factories contracted by Dior. The parent company, LVMH, distanced itself, stating that its suppliers were subject to regular audits. Yet critics argue that brands too often rely on a paper trail of compliance rather than conducting meaningful due diligence.
In May, Italy’s antitrust authority closed its investigation into Dior, finding no wrongdoing but noting the brand’s formal commitments following revelations of labor exploitation at its suppliers. As part of a five-year pledge, Dior will contribute €2 million to support victims of labor abuse and revise its ethical marketing and supplier oversight practices. The case adds to mounting scrutiny of the luxury sector in Italy, where similar abuses have implicated brands including Armani and Valentino.
These revelations underscore a systemic pattern. Even as brands pour millions into marketing their commitments to craftsmanship and sustainability, their operations tell another story — one of profit-driven opacity, subcontracted risk, and power imbalances that are baked into the supply chain. In many cases, the same brands boasting carbon-neutral runway shows or regenerative cotton programs are quietly exploiting regulatory grey zones to minimize labor costs. And in luxury fashion, where margins are high and reputations priceless, such contradictions are harder to excuse.
Part of the challenge lies in how the luxury sector defines value. While materials like python skin or vicuña wool are elevated for their rarity and price, the human labour that transforms them into coveted objects remains underacknowledged.
There are exceptions. Chloé, under Gabriela Hearst, became the first luxury brand to obtain B Corp certification, requiring rigorous social and environmental standards, including transparency in its supply chain. But even B Corp status has its limits; it applies only to the brand’s direct operations and can’t guarantee clean subcontracting practices. As the demand for traceability expands from raw materials to labour, luxury brands will have to reckon with scrutiny beyond the runway.
As Gucci navigates both internal unrest and external advocacy, it faces intersecting pressures on labour, ethical sourcing, and brand reputation. The standoff over welfare payments highlights tensions within supply chains and corporate transparency, while protests over reptile skins underscore the shifting landscape of animal welfare values in fashion. But the broader reckoning extends well beyond Gucci. It touches on an industry-wide failure to reconcile its image of care and craftsmanship with the real, often hidden, lives of the people behind the label.
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