Many manufacturers today employ cost-saving methods that impoverish the product: using fibers of varying length, spinning the wool before it's fully dried after dyeing. A salesperson is not likely to talk about these shortcuts, and they don't have a particularly noticeable effect on how a cashmere sweater looks or feels—at least, not at first. Give an inferior cashmere sweater a few wears, though, and you'll see it starts to pill much sooner than a good one.
Meanwhile, luxury labels have found ways (adding fur trim, using baby cashmere) to up the ante. In short, the difference between good and bad cashmere has never been so pronounced. The goats of Mongolia, Iran and Afghanistan are now part of the global supply chain, and even the most respected purveyors also sell lower grades of cashmere. With price and provenance telling less and less of the story, the average retail customer buys cashmere with only a dim idea of what he's paying for.
Fortunately, there are some ways for the consumer to test a garment's quality, including its pilling potential. Stretch the fabric with your hands; if it reverts immediately to its former shape, that's good. If not, it may contain cheaper fabrics or have been knit too loosely. According to Cédric Turk, executive vice president and general manager at Zilli, an upscale French cashmere brand, the density of a cashmere garment's weave is a sign of quality. "Cheaper brands knit with more space because it takes less time and cashmere," Mr. Turk noted. Hold an expensive sweater up to the light—you shouldn't be able to see through it.
A common misconception is that softer cashmere is better, but it's not that simple. A fabric's fluff could be the result of fine fibers and spinning—or of harsh artificial softeners.
Some cashmere brands, including high-end European ones, soften up their sweaters with repeated washings. Scottish traditionalists consider this gilding the lily—and point out that it reduces the garment's lifespan. Established Scottish manufacturers such as Todd & Duncan, founded in 1867 and suppliers of yarn to Brooks Brothers and Hermès, claim that the soft, pure loch water in which they wash and dye their cashmere swells the fabric more delicately than additional washing does. Even if a four-ply Scottish sweater feels slightly coarser on the shelf than its French or Italian counterpart, the argument goes, it lasts for decades, arriving at cozy perfection around the time those fancy continental sweaters might start to pill. On the other hand, there's something to be said for that "instant, tangible feel of luxury," said premium-cashmere purveyor Brunello Cucinelli.
Although most shoppers will probably never become experts on the matter, they can examine sweaters for bubbles or so-called "chicken feet," ripples and wrinkles in a weave that appear when factories knit too fast. Or, follow Mr. Turk's advice that particularly in cashmere, established brands have the edge, if only because customers have put their product's durability to the test for decades. Cashmere, after all, should be soft but rugged, have real weight but feel light as air. And by no means must it have origins in Kashmir, the mountainous region from which it takes its name. In other words, it should discreetly defy logic. As Mr. Turk said, "That's the magic of cashmere."
—Darrell Hartman
