It was 1984, Juergen Teller was a student at Bayerische Staatslehranstalt, studying photography and picking up the technical skills to kickstart his career. It was a pivot inspired by his cousin, Helmut Teller, who introduced him to photography - Juergen originally set out to be a luthier, the family tradition, but developed an asthmatic reaction to the wood used in violin bridges. Just 2 years later, Teller would set out to London, in part to avoid mandatory military service and in part to photograph record covers for the likes of the Cocteau Twins, Bjork, Sinéad O’Connor, and to tour with a then unknown Nirvana, all while learning how to speak English. Following Teller’s success in music, he’d begin to work with i-D and The Face, the latter of which would give him his first editorial in the late 80s, starting his career as a fashion photographer.

Most famous of Teller’s fashion contributions are his works with the likes of Helmut Lang, Vivienne Westwood, and Marc Jacobs. The backstage photography, editorials, and advertisement campaigns are all commonly referred to as raw, perhaps a bit reductively. It’s true, his work is overexposed and unflattering, lightly edited, a touch awkward and deeply ironic, a rejection of the fashion imagery canon that preceded him; however, his photography contained a sense of intimacy and desire that Teller himself described as “very direct”, an intentional focus inspired by his Bavarian upbringing.

Outside of commercial fashion photography, Teller also had a series titled Go-Sees, a collection of 462 photographs flipping the “go-sees” recruitment process, where instead of Teller traveling to scout models, they’d come to him. Teller photographed each model that came to him over the course of a year, posing them candidly, framed against his studio door with minimal direction. The body of work explored the power dynamic that laid between photographer and model, man and woman, and the way in which female bodies are commodified in the fashion industry.

I was recently on the train to work, reflecting on my time as a fashion journalist so far. It’d been just over a year - I’d completed my first circuit around the fashion sun. A year of attending runways and showrooms, doing coverage, stressing over socials, engagement metrics, pitching stories, making little to no money, writing during my lunch breaks and days off. As the express train blistered past 50th, then 59th, then 66th, I wondered what I’d even remember from...

Designed in Los Angeles and developed in Ahmedabad, India, Tigra Tigra works closely with its garment makers, who oversee production and determine pricing. Hunter also serves as creative director of The Elder Statesman, where she focuses on cashmere and knitwear development.
During market week, which overlapped with Paris Fashion Week Men’s, Hunter presented an exhibition and live performance celebrating the upcoming Collection 19 alongside a capsule collaboration with painter and performance ar...

After passing through a handful of rooms in the front of the residence, which maintained all of its original decor spanning back to the mid 1700s, a salmon and beige sign laid atop a grand piano welcoming visitors to Rogge’s latest offering.

 
Instead of a typical showroom, the Belgian designer presented her collection as a series of flat lays. Contrasted against the baroque works of the halls prior, the installation was instead all black, a converging hallway for guests to peruse both Rogge’...

He was in the East End, a self described “late in life” skinhead, attending Bournemouth and Poole College of Art and Design, compiling his first photography book to come out in 1982, appropriately titled Skinheads. To Knight, photography wasn’t about directly replicating reality onto print, or capturing the scene that he had become a part of in full, but rather a means of transmuting the emotional experiences that came with the lifestyle. It was this point of view that caught the eye of Terry Jones at i-D, and then Marc Ascoli, who would then bring on Knight to shoot Yohji Yamamoto’s 1986 catalogue with Peter Saville, fully launching his career as a fashion photographer and later, fashion filmmaker.

It’s difficult to fully capture the scope of Knight’s work - his photography alone spans decades of pioneering across the medium. In black and white, Knight used harsh lighting to extreme ends, dramatic shadows blending and blurring the body in motion, flattening and overexposing his subjects for dramatic effect. In color, his work was deeply saturated, surreal, and heavily constructed; the dresses of Galliano and McQueen were used to further build out the dream-like worlds his subjects inhabited. Important to understanding Knight’s work is his embracing of emergent technologies. His early images were painted over and manipulated through the Paintbox long before photoshop existed. Knight had a desire to create art that was yet to be imagined, which eventually pushed him into the realm of fashion filmmaking.

In 2000, Knight launched SHOWstudio to host fashion films, BTS, and streams. A year in, the website hosted Sleep, the first ever live fashion editorial, where nine models were livestreamed as they slept in the Metropolitan Hotel. The images pulled from the event were heavily pixelated, blurred through the poor bitrate of early streaming.

Regardless of where Knight’s work laid, the motivation stayed the same: “You don’t care what paintbrush a painter uses,” he said in a 2015 interview with the British Journal of Photography. “It’s about what you’re trying to say.”

Nicolas Ghesquiere’s Spring/Summer 1998 Balenciaga debut came at a critical moment for the house. The collection came on the tail of Josephus Thimister’s disastrous F/W ‘97 show; half the audience left in annoyance with the soundtrack, and the crowd that remained found the show at best mediocre. To the deafening sound of Inevitable Fast Access by Add N To (x), Thimister’s 10 show tenure at Balenciaga was over.

In the scramble to replace him in time for the following spring, household names like Helmut Lang and Yohji Yamamoto swirled around the fashion circuit as rumored suitors for successorship. But it would be a then unknown Nicolas Ghesquière, an internal hire, who would be selected to lead the house. Ghesquière, who had previously freelanced under Mugler and Gaultier, had been cutting his teeth designing licensed funeral wear for Balenciaga’s Japanese market - a successful but undesirable gig.

Ghesquière’s debut was a course correction, an almost entirely black collection presented at the Opéra Bastille just four months after Thimister’s departure. Models marched down the runway in leather caps and heavy eyeshadow, their trousers tight fitting and low slung. The collection blended ’90s minimalism with the architectural language of Cristóbal’s work. Where there were spaghetti straps and skin tight rider boots, there were also updated chemises, maxi dresses, and cocoon silhouettes. Tailoring presented high vented suits with sharp shoulders, buttonless and cinched closed with a cummerbund, with wide sleeves to billow behind in kimono-like fashion, paired with flip-flops and pointed heels.

The show is often described as a modest beginning, a title in part given to the austere color palette and material compositions, an homage to Thimister’s first show at Balenciaga in 1992, which was all black as well. Ghesquière’s immediate success rewarded him with the longest running tenure in Balenciaga’s history after Cristóbal himself, a transformation that brought Balenciaga from a storied couture house into modernity.

The first handful of looks for Comme des Garçons Homme Plus’ A/W ‘15 show presented tattoo artist Joseph Ari Aloi’s work rather secretively. What began as a series of leg sleeves paired with asymmetrically cut bermuda shorts, spiraling pinstripe suiting, and enveloping headwear, eventually expanded into a fully encompassing set of garments that projected the tattoo artist’s work across the entirety of the body. Aloi’s script tattooing, which took inspiration from Sanskrit and ornamental typefaces, was printed and interfaced onto cinched tailoring, leg and arm sleeves, and graphic t-shirts, leaving the body to appear stretched and distorted - at its most extreme presentations, it was difficult to tell when suiting ended and the body began.

Joseph Ari Aloi, Aka JK5, got his work into the hands of Kawakubo through a long game of telephone. JK5 handed his recently published Rizzoli book off to a Japanese client of his who was friends with the brand, who then showed it to Adrian Joffe, Kawakubo’s husband, and from there, a deal was struck. It wasn’t until Paris Fashion Week did JK5 see the outcome of the collaboration. During a guest lecture at RISD, he and the class watched through the screen as his work came down the runway, where 37 of the 40 looks contained his art.

Following the show, JK5 and CDG would go on to collaborate again through an installation in Dover Street Market’s NYC store. Together, JK5 and the DSM NY team designed a space on the 4th floor of the department store, featuring custom CDG wallets, sneakers, and perfume boxes alongside his book and artworks.

Though the world still felt the tension of a shifting geopolitical structure, there was a glimmer of optimism that emerged with space travel. In 1957, Sputnik 1 made its first orbit around the Earth, kicking off the space race between the US & the Soviet Union. In April of 1961, Yuri Gagarin would become the first human in space. Humanity was approaching the final frontier, and the aesthetics of the era followed suit.

In July of the same year, André Courrèges, alongside his wife Coqueline Barrière, would debut his own house, following a 10 year career under Cristóbal Balenciaga as his head assistant. His early work, although well received, struggled to meaningfully separate itself from the design language of Balenciaga; the suiting was clean & well tailored, the coats, much like his mentor’s, draped loosely and sack-like with upturned collars and raglan sleeves, the color palette was noted as tasteful & luxurious. It wouldn’t be until his 1964 shows that Courrèges would establish the “Moon Girl” motifs that would define him as a space age couturier.

Predominantly in stark all-white ensembles, Courrèges presented domed, astronaut-like caps, oversized goggles, vinyl gloves, flowing dresses, calf-high goatskin boots with flat soles, geometric tweed coats banded together with welts & high placed pockets, mid-rise trousers and clean-lined pantsuits, & most famously, the miniskirt, which he is often accredited for bringing to haute couture after being inspired by youth culture. Throughout the ’60s, Courrèges maintained this futuristic aesthetic even after it peaked in popularity, partially as a resistance towards growing hippie movements that struck him as overtly nostalgic.

As Courrèges continued into the ’70s and ’80s, the brand expanded dramatically, with over 100 boutiques across the world, a fragrance line in 1971, & a short-lived menswear line in 1973. His work maintained a similar tone, but now accessible at the commercial level, in vibrant acids & primaries that were beloved in the ’80s.

In 1995 Courrèges retired, leaving the brand to his wife.

2007 saw the release of Damir Doma’s first presentation, S/S ‘08, under his eponymous label. The 16 look collection was a succinct offering from the Croatian born, Bavarian raised designer, who pared down menswear staples with a bohemian energy, taking design hints he’d gathered from his apprenticeships under Raf Simons and Dirk Schönberger. Slouchy trenchcoats had their buttons removed and were draped asymmetrically across the body, suits were unstructured and lost their lapels and buttons, and instead closed with a loose knot along the navel. Shirting was elongated and featured a scalloped hem, before ending with a pair of gladiator sandals wrapped atop the model’s slim cut trousers. Despite relaxed and airy material compositions and a carefree sensibility to styling, the palette was distinctly moody and desaturated.

Doma’s following A/W ‘08 show was his runway debut, and subsequently extended the major ideas presented in the season prior. Layering grew more intricate, now with voluminous, swallowing shawls and jackets paired with double layered trousers and sheer shirting. Debuting this season was the bag scarf, which would see several iterations in following seasons. A streetwear influence soon emerged through longline hoodies and bomber jackets.

Both A/W ‘09 and A/W ‘10 saw Doma at his most focused. Speckled coats and contrasting noragis in egg shaped silhouettes were paired with wider cut trousers tucked into tall shafted boots. Models sported wrapped headpieces and skull caps, which would be further explored in S/S ‘11. New to the Doma design language was structured tailoring, with a handful of blazers featuring shoulder pads and Neapolitan gatherings. Meanwhile, Doma launched his womenswear line, as well as his diffusion label, Silent, which was a more affordable and minimalist offering as his mainline work expanded in scope.

Alongside contemporaries such as Rick Owens, BBS, and Julius, Doma was a pivotal member of an aesthetic period long left behind. In the 2010s, his work shifted towards traditional menswear, calling back to his early time as an Antwerp apprentice.

Hiroshige Maki founded Gomme in 1989, following a decade-long tenure as senior patternmaker for Yohji Yamamoto’s Y’s line. The Bunka Fashion College graduate named the brand after the French word for “eraser,” to evoke the elasticity in how his pieces draped and changed shape. His work was inspired by space age couturiers from the ’60s, replacing the vinyls and plastics from the era with natural materials, silks with their shine removed for a matte-like effect, or coated in nylon to break down the fabric further for recutting. Maki’s work often took advantage of drawstring cinching and gathering to accentuate the figure. Maki’s work began at Tokyo Fashion Week, debuting in 1993, and eventually expanded to Paris through showroom exhibitions in 1995.

Among the most iconic of Maki’s work is Gomme’s A/W ‘98 show, which centered around explorations of tubular shapes. United under a single piece of music, the runway’s color palette was reduced to predominantly khakis and other neutrals to allow the patternmaking and material texture to take center stage. Notable to this show were the tube dresses, which were sleeveless and often had additional holes placed at the hip, back and buttocks to stretch against the body for new forms based on the wearer’s body type. Flannels, gauze-like cotton jersey, and felted poly-wool materials were stretched across diagonally cut sleeves to create tension and draping effects. Built upon from Maki’s previous works were the presence of drawstring cinches around the neckline and waist, which were now translated into the endings of tubes.

This show preceded Maki’s debut in Paris Fashion week, which would occur the following year. Maki was found here at his most conceptual, critiquing the Japanese relationship with the physical form, which he felt was too restrained and homogenized, compared to the western influences he had absorbed while in Paris.

In 1992, following a 20 year tenure as the womenswear designer for French brand Chacok, Claude Sabbah founded GR 816 alongside Giles Rosier. Rosier was previously the successor to Martin Margiela as Jean Paul Gaultier’s assistant in both men’s and womenswear. GR 816 was a blend of Rosier’s campier influences from Gaultier and Sabbah’s background as a French Moroccan and world traveler, melding together tunics, kilts, and other global influences with exaggerated tailoring and dress making. The duo also consulted for Tati, where they developed “La rue est a nous,” the textile manufacturer’s first ever clothing label, which focused on affordability. GR 816 was coined as “deep street couture” by Alan Bilzerian; the label’s body of work was seminal to Sabbah’s design language going forward. The brand closed in 1996, following issues with manufacturing and a dip in sales in major markets.

Following his time at GR 816, Sabbah moved to New York City and founded Da House of Sabbah on Mulberry Street in 1999. It was here that Sabbah would find his stride as a couturier, designing custom made pieces for the likes of Eminem, Lauryn Hill, and Lil Kim, local drag queens, as well as denizens of the queer party scene in lower Manhattan. Key to his aesthetic was the blending of high fashion, black street culture, and queer nightlife, often pairing dresses, vests, and military jackets covered in camouflage and stars with fishnets and leathers, adorned with durags that had attached trains flowing behind them. Sabbah saw camouflage as the unifier between rigid social hierarchies and symbolic of the contradictions he saw in the American way of life.

In 1992, Gianni Versace left Milan and moved to South Beach, where he converted the Amsterdam Palace apartment complex into his own private mansion, now named Casa Casuarina. Versace’s arrival to Miami Beach coincided with the meteoric rise of the city’s queer scene, which only grew more fervent with his presence, transforming the neighborhood into what was commonly referred to as the Gay Mecca.

This move directly followed after arguably two of Gianni’s most iconic shows, S/S ‘91’s “Pop” collection and A/W ‘91’s show, “Freedom”. Both shows captured what Gianni was capable of: rich, full color palettes in dazzling primaries, clashing pattern work over glamorous satins and silks, an eye for both camp and sensuality, and a proximity to pop culture unique to Versace. In “Pop”, Gianni overlaid prints of Vogue covers and Warhol paintings onto bodysuits, coats, and dresses. For “Freedom”, he championed supermodel culture and featured the legendary final walk of Linda Evangelista, Cindy Crawford, Naomi Campbell, and Christy Turlington singing George Michael’s “Freedom! ‘90”.

With the Miami nightlife at the front of his mind, Versace was free to fully develop his voice – one that was sexier, more provocative. F/W ‘92, titled “Miss S&M” marked the evolution of his design language moving forward. The show featured kinky leather outerwear, body-con corseting, bondage dresses, and patterning that landed more art deco than greco-roman, all of which was a direct response to the neighborhood he now resided in.

Gianni’s relationship to his heritage did not come to a complete end with his move to Miami. His work still contained references to his upbringing; Atelier Versace, the label’s couture line, referenced ’60s silhouetting in their S/S ‘96 show. In 1993 the brand introduced the Medusa head logo, both a callback to his childhood adventures in Reggio Calabria’s ancient ruins and a nod to the “fatal attraction” Versace had begun to embody. Throughout the ’90s his work continued to intertwine his Italian heritage and Miami Beach lifestyle, up until his murder in 1997.

Milan’s emergence as a fashion capital was a “phenomenon” in the late 70s, an occurrence that happened in spite of the material conditions that plagued the city. Vying against other major Italian cities, namely Rome and Florence, Milan came out ahead due to the perfect storm of press, industry, and a wave of major designers like Jean Baptiste Caumont, Giorgio Armani, Anna Fendi, Aldo Ferrante of Basile, Mariuccia Manedlli of Krizia, and Gianni Versace, who designed for Genny and its avant-garde sublabel, Complice.

Versace would go on to start his own eponymous label in 1978, taking forward with him the design language he had picked up during his time at Genny and Complice, blending in his own inspirations that ranged from Greco-Roman art to Andy Warhol, Superman, Poiret, and his own Southern Italian heritage.

His garments were sensual, hugging and wrapping around the body to create sculpture-like effects, supported by broad pagoda shoulders and nipped waists, similar to that of his Tunisian contemporary, Alaia, who was designing in Paris. Silks and linens were draped effortlessly over harem and renaissance pants, which cinched around the calf and flowed over the thighs, evocative of Japanese tobi pants, but recontextualized to be carefree and sexy. Versace’s specialty, best seen in his S/S ‘82 show, were bright and campy color palettes; dresses and blouses in heavily saturated primaries were paired with dizzying stripes, bold graphics, and clashing geometric patterns, further exaggerated through precise tailoring and pleating.

Versace’s earlier work was decidedly pared down – still extravagant and luxurious, but a far cry from the Medusa adorned provocateur that would define the label in its later years.

“I look ahead. But I never forget what has happened before.”

Benjamin Cho was a real fixture in the NYC fashion scene that had begun to explode in the ’90s; he was often found DJ’ing in lower Manhattan for Smiths night, or sat between the likes of Chloe Sevigny, Dash Snow, Tara Subkoff of Imitation of Christ, Zac Posen, or Natasha Lyonne. The San Jose native was the first in his family to make it to NYC to attend Parsons, although Cho would drop out of fashion school after two years to start designing full time.

His eponymous label was best known for its tailoring: pared down suits coupled with lingerie, capes and blazers tufted, ruched, and laced with impossible precision. Silk-braided fringes, ribbons, and buckles were worked into dresses and corsets - his garments were tenderly made, and often impossible to produce at scale. As Vogue described it: “Cho also showed a couple of stunning wide-knit dresses that sensually hugged every curve of the body and looked as if they were held together by the mercy of God.”

As his career progressed, his work turned whimsical and camp, less reminiscent of the avant-garde grunge that he evoked in his early work. In Cho’s words: “I unfixated on beauty and the collection is turning ugly.” Subtle patterning, which was once achieved through stripped back fabric compositions and delicate gathering, went the way of extravagant accessorizing. Vibrant basket-woven fabrics, jewel toned sashes, and feathers were overlaid body-con dresses and covered in puzzle pieces and oversized flowers.

Following his run in the 2000s, Cho would eventually pull away from the fashion world, still involved in the NYC scene, but as a friend to many instead. Benjamin Cho passed away on June 3rd, 2017, remembered as a trailblazer for Asian American designers and a leading light of the NYC fashion canon.

424’s A/W ’26 show “Artigianale” broken down by @archivepdf.

The presentation explored imperfection through texture, wear, and proof of life, blended with contemporary influences through a collaboration with Azuki TCG, interpreting their characters on the runway.

Voice over by @sethsherwoodjr
Edited by @tbfieulaine

Last year our Co-EIC, Nash, wrote a post titled “Demna’s Gucci and a Broken History”. It came after a short-lived photo posted by Demna’s husband, Loki, made its rounds online and took the archive fashion space by storm. If I were to paraphrase: he figured that the odds of a full blown Tom Ford Gucci revival were pretty slim, and that Demna ought to do better than simply retread Ford’s territory, which he wasn’t convinced anyone actually wanted.

Nash accurately pinned down that Demna isn’t exactly known for being sleazy, sharp, or sexy. He expected that there would be some callbacks to that era of Gucci, considering it was (neck-and-neck with Michele’s tenure) the peak of the brand’s cultural capital — and more importantly, made a lot of money. Nash pointed out that a potential Tom Ford revival is rooted more in the desire for the mood of the era than for the clothing itself. He points to a sort of nostalgia-poisoning that has come to dominate fashion in the 2020s: fashion as simulacrum, tactility gone the way of spectacle and algorithmic engagement. Everyone is paying homage and reflecting on the “better days,” with each retrieval of the past becoming more pastiche than the last. There will be no new clothes unless humans start growing new arms and legs. It’s a bit of a pessimistic take, but spend enough time playing the Instagram fashion content game and attending East Village activations surrounded by niche micro-knowledge influencers, and you may end up with the same bleak outlook.

When it came to womenswear, Tom Ford knew that sex sells. Inspired by the golden era of late 70s nightclubs like Studio 54, Ford took disco sensibilities and mixed them with power suiting, inspired by his love of 60s mod tailoring. Blended with provocative cuts in sumptuous fabrics, Ford established “The New Sexy,” one that was luxurious yet louche.

S/S ‘00 found Ford at his most reverent to the disco days, with models strutting in snakeskin dresses and shirts with plunging necklines, paired with equally vibrant stockings. Lounging sets were aggrandized with liquid-like silks and slacks covered with sequins. Swimwear was skimpy and low cut, strappy around the ribs and stomach to accentuate the waistline.

The following autumn, Ford presented a more formal collection, ranging from enveloping cashmeres to rugged motowear, ending with a series of eveningwear dresses, rompers, and high necked overcoats. The plunging necklines were now ruffled, layered under a velvet suit set with a strong shoulder. Ford opted for a comparatively muted palette, replacing deep blues and saturated pinks from the prior season with black and white outwear, with occasional pops of mustard and gold for geometric patterning on dresses.

S/S ‘02 was a relaxed offering from Ford. Shirts and coats were worn untied and flowed loosely, in natural off-whites and paired with bamboo heeled clogs and raw suede bags. Jackets sported hooks and buckles instead of typical button closures. Dresses and skirts were cut asymmetrically, often paired with cutouts of flowers and hearts.

Tom Ford’s Gucci spanned a range of aesthetics and occasions, but never strayed from its clear vision of the Gucci woman: self assured, unafraid of the spotlight, and, most importantly, glamorous.

It’s an uneasy scene at Soma Faitanin’s debut show. Algha’s Plantroom, an East London heritage site, has been converted into a post-war landscape. Stepping through strewn about feathers is Faitanin’s eclectic cast of models, adorned in free flowing silks and militaristic leathers. They have mummified hair, electroplated face prosthetics, and move with zombie-like gaits. Their makeup is ghostly and streaked. Some models walk with their hands outstretched as if preaching, or perhaps begging. One is almost naked, only dressed in undergarments and a mask covered in nails. Backed against an overpowering flood light, the otherworldly aftermath of some long gone war becomes visible.

Faitanin’s garments are visibly lived in, distressed and worn in to resemble the clothing she handled during her teenage years working at her father’s vintage warehouse. Outerwear is intentionally aged and pinched at the seams, pockets and other closures worn out and unable to close due to tension. Seam allowances are flipped and hand stitched back down. These heritage garments are reimagined through a queer lens, accessorized with leather jockstraps and corsets, exaggerated with camp sensibilities to create new silhouettes. A single bag is present in the show, a large mass of stitched leathers restrained by carefully knotted ropes, slung over a shoeless model wearing an antique dress.

The show ends on a somber note, with all models cascading down the runway as a mob before disappearing backstage, fading away like a distant memory.

Nearing the turn of the millennium, Tom Ford had successfully transformed Gucci from a classic leather accessories house into a brazen provocateur. The Italian heritage leathermaker was now a sex symbol, a brand for the erotic and seductive. Ford understood that for many consumers the clothing often came second to the image, and used his runways to deliver the fantasies he promised in his ad campaigns.

A/W 2000 - 2001 menswear was a more restrained collection from Ford. This season was an exploration of moto wear blended with formal eveningwear; models wore outwear in exotic furs, slim cut slacks that were tight around the crotch, and high necked jackets and coats layered over skin tight turtlenecks. Leather moto pants are a key motif of the season, appearing alongside quilted leathers, fur outwear, and constructed in wool as part of a suiting set.

Ford’s tailoring featured brash geometric patterning over nipped waists and power shoulders, contrasted with bulkier trench coats and double breasted coats that sported large lapels and low slung belts. Knitwear was presented in dress casual, styled over collared shirts and slacks, finished with pointed derbies in a shiny patent leather.

As the show closed, the narrative was clear. The Gucci man was someone who owned animal furs and leathers that commanded eye-watering prices, split lanes on his Ducati, and made it on time to a gala in his velvet suit and bowtie.

In the midst of fashion’s reorganization into an industry of large conglomerates, Tom Ford pulled Gucci from the brink of bankruptcy to become the foundation for what is now Kering. Ford transformed Gucci into something unabashedly horny, a far cry from the reserved elegance of the brand’s past. Through scandalous ad campaigns and a focus on the sexy, glamorous woman, Ford led the house to an unprecedented level of success; By the early 2000s, Gucci was approaching nearly $3 billion in revenue.

Although Ford’s clothing was provocative on its own, it was his campaigns with Carine Rotifeld and Mario Testino that exposed the consumer’s carnal desires. The ads were pornographic, with Rotifeld’s styling leaving little to the imagination. Silk and satin robes were slung off the shoulder to reveal lingerie, blouses in striking jewel tones were unbuttoned down to the navel. Slim suiting was paired with power shoulders and nipped waists, pants sat low on the hips. The women were rail-thin with shimmering eyeshadow and contoured cheekbones, the men had sculpted abs and chiseled jawlines, and Testino’s photography captured them at their most vulnerable.

S/S ‘03’s campaign is among the most iconic of the two’s work for Ford, featuring legendary models Carmen Kass, Louise Pedersen, Iván de Pineda, and Adam Senn. The spreads are voyeuristic, with models often making direct eye contact with the camera while posing erotically, their garments worn loosely, if at all. The lighting is harsh, exposing the sheer details of the silk garments and accentuating their figures against the set’s backdrop. Perhaps most recognizable from the campaign is the photograph of Carmen Kass and Adam Senn, where Senn is pulling down Kass’ underwear to reveal a G shaven into her pubic hair.

Despite Ford’s radical success at Gucci, he left the conglomerate in 2004 after failed contract negotiations over creative control, and started his own eponymous label the following year.

Imitation of Christ founders Tara Subkoff and Matthew Damhave offered a response to the megalomania that was festering in fashion. They started with the clothes themselves, which were made from upcycled secondhand garments - a ‘resurrection’ of cloth. But IOC also attacked the runway, questioning the purpose of the typical catwalk. While the clothes themselves were desirable and well-crafted, it was the transgressive approach of IOC that resonated with the New York Fashion Week circle, despite consistent panning by critics.

Imitation of Christ’s first New York presentation for S/S ’01 was a mock wake held in a funeral parlor, with models wearing the collection as they approached the casket. As each model paid their respects and placed a flower over the deceased, the audience was left to interpret the show how they see fit, with Subkoff and Damhave unwilling to provide any explanation.

Following the previous season, IOC presented their A/W ‘01 show in a theater on 66th. Models walked the red carpet and were photographed by faux paparazzi. After arrival, attendees were asked to make a donation to charities that fought against child labor. The show raised over 25k despite attendees’ frustration with IOC asking for donations on the spot.

S/S ‘02 was perhaps the brand’s most inventive presentation – and also Damhave’s last showing before his departure. Editors and critics were quickly ushered into a room that was already seated by the models wearing the collection, with directions on where to go yelled over the speaker. The models held notepads and cameras, reversing the roles as the journalists were taunted and jeered through both the megaphone and models.

Following Damhave’s exit, IOC stayed their conceptual course. In A/W ‘02, models were auctioned off as pieces of art, standing frozen as they were sold to the highest bidder. The brand continued as a provocateur until IOC was placed on hiatus in 2005, before their 2011 relaunch as Imitation.

The legendary Ura-Hara streetwear brand NEIGHBORHOOD recently celebrated its 30 year anniversary with an exhibition in Laforet, which housed a recreation of the original Harajuku storefront for a week in October. Portraits of Takizawa’s longtime friends and collaborators surround the storefront, next to a series of incense chambers sized up for display.

Initially founded as a project between Takizawa and three of his friends, NEIGHBORHOOD specialized in the rugged and utilitarian, producing collections that Takizawa envisioned as a “complete wardrobe.” Influenced by his love of vintage Americana, punk, moto, and military aesthetics, Takizawa frequently designed with functionality in mind. As a motorcyclist himself, he drew inspiration from the LA biker subcultures of the 60s, often displaying his own bikes in the storefront.

NEIGHBORHOOD also sports a long list of frequent collaborators, perhaps the most iconic of which is Adidas, starting in 2005 with the release of a Superstar model to celebrate the sneaker’s 35th anniversary. The pair sported NEIGHBORHOOD’s logo at the heel, with NEIGHBORHOOD typography along the spare laces. The sole came in an aged off-white look, true to Takizawa’s love of vintage, alongside blacked out three stripes and contrast stitching.

For A/W ‘25, Takizawa collaborated with Y-3 for “Y-3 NEIGHBORHOOD,” a fusion of the two brands under the shorthand Y-3-N. Takizawa and Y-3 tapped into the moto community for this collaboration, including Japanese moto brand Cherryscompany for the campaign’s custom bike and legendary racing gear manufacturer Dainese to develop the collection’s moto apparel.

Painstakingly crafted on shuttlelooms, selvedge got its name from the self-finishing method along the edge of the fabric, visible at the seam when cuffed at the ankle. Selvedge denim takes on a stiffer, rigid shape due to the low tension weaving process, creating a denser and more durable fabric. While shuttlelooms have been replaced by modern machinery, the technique has seen a resurgence led by artisan makers in Japan.

In homage to the material’s workwear origins, Junya Watanabe’s A/W ‘25 show features a collaboration with Filson, pairing heritage jackets with pairs of selvedge denim. Some pairs sport a standard cuff, while others riff on the tradition by stitching the fold underneath a buffalo check kneepad. Similarly, sacai hybridizes a type 2 denim jacket with a satin bomber in their collaboration with Levis, blending two pieces into something new.

Houses such as Dior elevate selvedge to a more formal context, contrasting the hardy material with smart tailoring. For Dior’s A/W ‘17 show, Maria Grazia Chiuri presented a series of looks entirely in navy blue, with the “J’ADIOR” motif along the selvedge ID.

Rick Owens makes use of a waxed selvedge in his A/W ‘19 show, “LARRY.” Through a slimmer cut of pant and lengthened inseam, the selvedge’s stiffness is exaggerated as it stacks on top of Owens’ Kiss heels, a callback to the rockers from the ’70s and ’80s. Beyond “LARRY,” Owens has continued to create selvedge in various cuts through his collaboration with Self Edge, manufacturing his denim out of Japan’s denim capital, Okayama.

Varied in cut, color and shape, selvedge denim has found a place within high fashion as a symbol of quality craftsmanship and a growing desire for personal, long lasting garments. Find your next pair on Grailed via the link in bio.

In the early ’80s, Massimo Osti was struggling to figure out how his new creation could fit into C.P. Company. Dubbed “Tela Stella,” the fabric was inspired by the heavy duty tarp typically stretched over military trucks, with a similar handfeel and waterproofing. Osti considered the material to be too far-reaching for C.P. Company, and instead decided to launch it under a new brand, named Stone Island.

The name was pulled from a Joseph Conrad novel, whose maritime past as a merchant marine mirrored Osti’s love for the ocean and sailing. Founded in 1982, the brand was an overnight success, although for all the wrong reasons. Stone Island’s logo, the wind rose, bared resemblance to the Celtic cross, a favorite among the Italian far-right. Worn as a signifier of both financial and political status, Osti spent most of the ‘80s unaware of the connotations the brand had begun to develop.

Following his early success, Osti worked tirelessly to procure his vision for Stone Island as a more radical and experimental counterpart to his work at C.P. Company. Similarly inspired by his deep archive of military garments, Osti would remix details from uniforms and workwear pieces to create his collections, one such example being the Reflective jacket. Osti combined the reflective elements of a fireman jacket with added protection against electro-magnetic fields, a quality typical of fisherman jackets.

Osti rebuked the notion of being a “fashion designer” and considered himself to be an engineer first, only ever presenting his work once in Berlin, as a celebration of 15 years of his work. Against the idea of a traditional runway, Osti instead displayed a series of pieces across all three of his brands - including Boneville, an affordable alternative to both C.P. Company and Stone Island - side by side.

In the end, overwhelmed by the work and its growing disconnect with his own personal values, Osti sold his shares in Stone Island to focus on his own smaller productions, as well as his activism as a member of the Democratic Party of the Left.