THE CASE FOR DISRUPTION

FASHION’S GREATEST SHIFTS HAVE BEEN BROUGHT ON BY OUTSIDERS. IN A SYSTEM BENT ON MATERIAL GROWTH, HOW CAN THE INDUSTRY SUPPORT ITS NEXT GENERATION?

By Christopher Michael

Historically, seismic shifts in culture have come not from those who played within the system, but from outsiders who defied it—often with little money. In the late 1970s, punk emerged as a rebellion against the polished excess of mainstream rock and the economic disparity that left youth disillusioned. Designers like Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren didn’t wait for establishment approval, they weaponized subversion, translating raw subcultural energy into fashion that rejected bourgeois ideals and rewrote the aesthetics of non-conformity. Similarly, hip-hop—once dismissed as a passing fad—grew from block parties in the Bronx into a global movement that would redefine music, language, and style. Operating outside the traditional fashion system, Dapper Dan built an empire remixing European luxury with Harlem sensibilities, ultimately forcing brands like Gucci to embrace his influence. These moments recalibrated existing power dynamics, proving once again that impact isn’t dictated solely by legacy but by an ability to speak to the moment in ways the establishment often fails to anticipate.

Fashion has long relied on cultural insurgency to stay relevant. In the 1980s, avant-garde Japanese designers—Rei Kawakubo, Yohji Yamamoto, Issey Miyake—disrupted Parisian couture with their asymmetry and deconstruction. And in the 1990s, Martin Margiela’s radical anonymity challenged the notion of designer as celebrity. These figures changed what we wore and altered how we thought about clothing, luxury, and authorship. Yet despite the industry’s celebration of past disruptors, it has never been more difficult for the next wave of iconoclasts to break through. One reason may be the absence of dominant subcultures—pockets of youth expression that acted as incubators for new aesthetics and ideologies. Without them, fashion lacks the raw, oppositional energy that once pushed it forward, leaving emerging designers to search for inspiration in a cultural landscape flattened by mass media. In a system that now favors material growth over raw artistic expression, the challenge becomes how an industry that once thrived on outliers can make space for them today.

Legacy is more than just history—it is cultural currency. It’s also, for many, an insurmountable barrier. The industry’s most established names—Chanel, Dior, Louis Vuitton—are not merely brands but institutions, shaping what we wear and how we think about craftsmanship, status, and influence. Their reach extends far beyond fashion, ingraining itself in art, film, and even diplomacy, reinforcing their place as arbiters of taste and gatekeepers of prestige.

New ideas—more than simply a source of creative novelty—are essential to the industry’s survival. While heritage houses push forward, pioneering sustainability initiatives and immersive brand experiences, their sheer scale often limits true creative risk-taking. Independent designers, unburdened by corporate expectations and legacy codes, serve as the industry’s testing ground, introducing new ways of thinking, producing, and dressing that can ripple outward and redefine the landscape. Without the infrastructure to support them, these voices risk being drowned out, leaving fashion increasingly reliant on the past to sustain its future.

Cristóbal Balenciaga knew what it meant to be an outsider. When he arrived in Paris in 1937, couture had already been codified by the likes of Chanel, Schiaparelli, and Vionnet. But he had no interest in playing by the rules. Less concerned with embellishment than with the architecture of fabric, he redefined the silhouette entirely. His mastery of cut and construction—sculptural, restrained, almost monastic—stood in stark contrast to the prevailing aesthetic of the time. Coco Chanel once famously dismissed his work as “fashion for Spanish nuns,” but those who understood design knew otherwise. His rise was inevitable, built not on spectacle but on the quiet power of technical brilliance. Even in a world governed by legacy, he proved that innovation could carve out its own space.

A decade later, Christian Dior took a different approach—one rooted in an understanding of the untapped commercial potential of the time. When his house launched in 1947 with the now-legendary “New Look,” he didn’t just enter the world of couture, he expanded it. Unlike Balenciaga, who remained focused on artistic purity, Dior recognized that couture needed to be global. He extended his influence beyond Paris, brought his designs to America, and in doing so, set a precedent for fashion as an international business. He was also one of the first to embrace brand extensions, launching the fragrance Miss Dior. It was a move that laid the foundation for what we now consider the modern fashion house, in all its glory.

If Balenciaga and Dior proved that new talent could disrupt the industry, the late 20th and early 21st centuries reinforced this idea—albeit on an entirely new scale. The documentary series Kingdom of Dreams (2022) offers a striking case study of how fresh creative vision—when placed within the machinery of luxury conglomerates—not only shifted aesthetics but exponentially expanded business. Designers like John Galliano, Alexander McQueen, Tom Ford, and Marc Jacobs did more than just inherit storied houses—they transformed them into cultural juggernauts, bridging old-world couture with the forces of celebrity, entertainment, and commerce. Galliano’s theatricality at Dior, McQueen’s raw emotionality at Givenchy, Ford’s unapologetic sexuality at Gucci, and Jacobs’s subversive coolness at Louis Vuitton injected new energy into brands that had yet to embrace the full potential of modernity. Their work gave house codes a makeover and fundamentally rewrote the financial playbook on luxury, proving that new creative leadership was a unique opportunity for growth.

Today, the fashion industry is larger and more profitable than ever, with luxury conglomerates, for the most part, reporting record-breaking revenues year after year. What was once a world dictated by seasons and insiders is now a high-stakes global enterprise, fueled by an insatiable appetite for what’s next. Yet, for all its rapid expansion, the business has also become increasingly volatile. Built on a model of perpetual growth, the pressure to constantly generate more—more collections, more collaborations, more product categories, more content—has turned creative leadership into an exhausting game of survival; an endless round of musical chairs where designers rotate through houses with increasing speed and long-term vision is often sacrificed for immediate commercial impact.

On paper, the industry has never been more committed to supporting new talent. The proliferation of prizes like the LVMH Prize, ANDAM Award, and CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund provides financial infusions and business mentorship. But even these resources are not enough, and breaking through remains harder than ever. While new talents are celebrated in theory, the infrastructure needed to sustain an independent brand is further out of reach. Retail partnerships are dwindling, manufacturing costs are rising, and digital platforms—once seen as the great equalizer—are saturated with competition, demanding both creativity and capital to cut through the noise. Talent is no longer sufficient—designers must also have endurance, strategy, and the ability to navigate a world that demands constant reinvention with little to no safety net.

Hedi Slimane’s rise is a testament to what happens when a designer is given the freedom to redefine a house. Appointed to Dior Homme in 2000, he revolutionized menswear with razor-sharp tailoring and ultra-slim silhouettes, challenging luxury’s definition of masculinity. His vision influenced an entire generation, with Karl Lagerfeld famously crediting Slimane for his own transformation. When he took over at Saint Laurent in 2012, controversially dropping “Yves” from the name, he made a significant return to the brand’s DNA, bringing back the very logo YSL himself designed and merging rock-and-roll edge with commercial dominance. His tenure remains one of the most successful reinventions in fashion history, proving that when given true autonomy, a designer doesn’t just honor a legacy—they expand it.

It seems only fitting that Slimane—a long-standing champion of the youthquake in fashion—would photograph supermodel du jour, Alex Consani, for one of the cover stories in this issue, dressed in designs by rising talents. The choice is more than just a visual statement; it’s an all-too-rare opportunity to support emerging designers, in a way that’s typically reserved for advertisers. For Slimane, who usually photographs his subjects in their own clothes or vintage, this project also feels personal—after all, he was once a young designer himself. It’s a nod to the necessity of fashion’s constant renewal, a reminder that the industry’s pulse beats strongest when new voices are given room to contribute to the shape of its narrative.

Today, designers like Duran Lantink and Nicklas Skovgaard are among those offering alternative visions that push beyond the formulaic cycles of trend and commerce. While Lantink’s approach to upcycling luxury deadstock into covetable pieces feels like a necessary evolution in an industry struggling to reconcile creativity with sustainability, Skovgaard, for his part, has disrupted expectations with a distinctive blend of surrealism and romanticism—crafting sculptural knitwear and exaggerated 1980s silhouettes that have quickly found a cult following, all while sidestepping the traditional fashion calendar. These designers, much like the avant-garde disruptors before them, bring a sense of urgency to their work—both in aesthetics and in how fashion operates as a whole. Yet, the path to longevity remains uncertain in a business that now measures success at the scale of conglomerates.

While heritage brands continue to reinforce their dominance through blockbuster marketing and relentless expansion, we return to the question, where does that leave the new guard? If the past is any indication, the industry’s next chapter will be written not by those who uphold the status quo but by those who find ways to defy it. Whether it’s Andrea Wazen redefining luxury footwear, Jude and Pauline Dujancourt bringing new perspectives to ready-to-wear, or Black Suede Studio carving out a niche in contemporary accessories, these emerging names are questioning the systems that dictate who gets to succeed. And while those systems may seem immovable, history has shown that change is not only inevitable—it’s unstoppable. The rules that once seemed fixed are already beginning to shift, bending under the weight of necessity and creative will. What we’re witnessing may not be a breakdown but a breakthrough—an inflection point from which a more daring, inclusive, and imaginative fashion future will emerge.