Insulation — the series
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Warmth is a thickness of air
A fabric is a tenth fibre and the rest air, so its thermal conductivity is a mixture of the two — and the pair of bounds that any mixture must lie between comes out narrower than the difference between wool and nylon. The model cannot tell one fibre from another in a cloth. What it can tell, exactly and with no bracket at all, is that twice the thickness is twice the warmth.
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The wind takes the air and not the cloth
A shirting's own thermal resistance is eight per cent of what a person wearing it has; the other ninety-two is a still-air layer half a millimetre thick clinging to its outside. Wind destroys both, and it destroys the larger one first and by a mechanism that has nothing to do with the fabric — so a windproof layer works by keeping air still rather than by resisting heat.
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Warmth is mostly the hairs
This collection established that a fabric's thermal resistance is its thickness and not its fibre, and that twice the thickness is twice the warmth. It never asked what the thickness was made of. On a raised cloth almost none of it is cloth.
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A knit is warm because of where its yarn is not
Warmth is a thickness of still air, and until a knitted fabric had a thickness there was nothing to compute. It has one now, and the answer is that a rib's warmth is a machine setting: opening the beds from two diameters to five nearly trebles the fabric's resistance without changing a gram of yarn.