Putting on our favorite, cozy hoodie on a cold winter day will never fail to give us a sense of comfort and warmth. Everyone owns a hoodie for this very reason, making hoodies an essential staple of everyday life. By nature, hoodies are very versatile, allowing us to embody a variety of looks, from cool and minimalist to edgy and sophisticated. Here at InnerDesires, we have an assortment of hoodies, jackets, jeans, and accessories designed to keep you warm and set your style apart. We put together this lookbook, which consists of five methods for elevating your hoodie game to help you navigate these styles and keep you stay fly all season long.
1. Collected & Cool:
A classic “worker jacket” or denim jacket is the perfect way to subtly set yourself apart. By combining a hoodie with these jackets, the outfit holds a greater structure that effortlessly creates a more sophisticated appearance. You can also combine these pieces with a nice boot to give it a sleek and off-duty rockstar-esque look.
Pairing a leather jacket with a hoodie is the perfect look for a rainy day at a museum, a night in the city, or a cozy day at the office. The combination of fabrics between leather and cotton gives the impression that you are stylishly edgy, yet cool and comfortable. Pair this with a shoe that complements the fit, and you have a crisp look that works for any semi-casual occasion.
3. Sauce Up Your Set
The best thing about matching sets is that they give us structure and athleisure vibes in the coziest and most minimalist manner possible. One way to level up this look is by layering with the jackets mentioned above. Complementary accessories can also contribute to the organization of your sweat set for an even more effortlessly cool, structured look. It is most typical for sweat sets to be worn with a sneaker, so you can set your style apart further by pairing your sweat set with a utility boot such as Timberlands or Doc Martens.
4. Comfortable & Sophisticated:
If you are looking to style your hoodie in a chic and tailored manner, adding a trench coat to your hoodie combinations is a perfect place to start. Similar to pairing with a jacket, trench coats provide a structure for hoodies that are essentially shapeless on their own. Furthermore, trench coats emanate a timelessness that, when paired with a classic hoodie and sneakers, brings forth a contemporary combination of professional and leisure. This style is always a great way to keep you looking casual and classy without sacrificing any warmth. Feel free to mix and match with different boot styles for a more formal and professional look.
5. Keepin’ it Classic:
When it comes to streetwear, there is nothing wrong with keeping it simple. The styles we have here at InnerDesires are chosen with the purpose of ensuring our customers look of the highest caliber, even on their off-duty days! We trust that the quality of our items speaks for itself and enhances even the most minimalist of looks. With a simple t-shirt, bottoms, and hoodie combination, you can pair a nice shoe and a couple accessories to give it that extra OOMPH (or chef’s kiss, if you will). Thus creating a look that makes you stand out not because of its relationship with unconventional pieces, but due to the quality and your personal style.
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WOMEN MAKING WAVES: SISTER ROSETTA THARPE
Lylah Permanna
We have reached a point where women can creatively express themselves in remarkable ways never before seen in history. Whether it be Rihanna simultaneously dominating the fashion, music, and beauty industry; Queen Latifah, the trailblazing rapper, singer, and actress, who won numerous prestigious awards in each category; Or Lauren Hill, who revolutionized hip hop with her only solo album. Women have long made bold impressions and contributions to the world of creative expression around us.
The progress made for women's autonomy that we continue to strive towards derives from the resistance and innovation of women throughout history who fearlessly enter male-centered industries and dominate them. Among those deserving recognition are the OG female icons of Rock N' Roll. Most notably, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, also known as the Godmother of Rock N' Roll (an understatement), defied the domesticated stereotypes imposed on women and contributed to founding one of the biggest music genres of all time.
Sister Tharpe was a gifted performer, guitarist, artist, and songwriter her entire life. In 1921, Tharpe began performing at the age of six alongside her mother for church services in Chicago, Illinois. She would sing various songs while also playing the guitar and piano. Her talent and passion drew crowds of people into the church and guided them in feeling closer to God. Growing up in Chicago during the 20's, Sister Tharpe was exposed to jazz and blues, which she later integrated into her own personal style to create the most quintessential sounds in Rock N' Roll. During her teen years, Tharpe began touring and performing at various churches from state to state with her mother, who decided to become a traveling evangelist preacher.
In her 20's, Tharpe moved to New York where she was hired to perform at some of the popular jazz clubs to primarily white crowds among primarily white artists. A highly unusual phenomenon in a still segregated society. She experimented with lyrics outside of what was permitted by the church for a more sensual sound that evoked dancing rather than complementing a preach to God, although she loved doing both. Sister Tharpe was quickly recognized for her fiery voice and mesmerizing guitar riffs that produced a fantastic amalgamation of blues, jazz, and gospel. Her rebellious and passionate style of performing, sounds, and rifts created some of the most integral aspects of the Rock N' Roll essence.
In 1938, Tharpe signed a record contract with Decca Records and was among the few women to make it big in a male-dominated industry. When told her guitar skills were similar to that of a man, she would simply state: “Can’t no man play like me. I play better than a man.”
Sister Rosetta Tharple began touring across the United States and became one of the biggest names in American music throughout the 40's. Her work set the perfect stage for what would formally be called Rock N' Roll in the 50's. Primarily white men began studying the sound of Black gospel music due to its profound ability to evoke an inescapable feeling of soul and dance, something that Sister Tharpe was distinctly known for. Many of the most famous rock stars have accredited their sound to Sister Tharpe, including Bob Dylan, Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, and Chuck
Sister Rosetta Sharpe is a founding mother of Rock N’ Roll, and an embodiment of the creative influence women have had in the music industry. Although many Rock N’ Roll greats have acknowledged the profound impact Tharpe had on the foundation of their music, her life is not widely celebrated or known. A study from Loyola Marymount University found that only 7.7 percent of the people welcomed into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame are women. Sharpe was not inducted into the Rock N’ Roll Hall of Fame until 2018, while the male counterparts have long been praised. Although it should be celebrated that Sister Sharpe is finally being recognized, her almost-forgotten legacy reminds us that we must continue to empower and support women in all industries and give them the recognition they deserve.
]]>Lylah Permanna
Cholo/a culture is synonymous with streetwear in a variety of stylistic and cultural forms for both men and women, such as layering with flannels, clean-cut Dickies, over-sized attire, Chuck Taylors, and low riders just to name a few. The Cholo influence is seen everywhere, from being the source of inspiration for fashion campaigns around the globe to sparking subcultures with a devoted following in Japan. We often do not appreciate that streetwear staples derive from a history of Latino resistance and unity in the City of Angels.
The World War II era marked a period in U.S. history in which the government heavily enforced assimilation and racism against non-white communities, and facilitated a criminalization campaign against working-class Latinos, many of whom lived in L.A. Fast forward to today, Cholo culture is a highly booming and creative space for Latinos in Streetwear but it was not always embraced by the world with open arms.
As early as the 1930’s, much of the Latino identity and street culture in L.A. stemmed from working class migrants, as well as resistance efforts against white-American favoring politics and street gang culture. In other words, Cholo culture bloomed from the systems of adversity and racism that sought to squash the Latino voice in the U.S. During this time, Latinos living in L.A. who resisted white-American norms in ideology and dress were called Pachucos.
Tensions between white America and the Latino community became blatantly apparent during the Great Depression, in which the U.S. government actively coerced over a million Mexican Americans to leave the country, of which around 60% of them had legal citizenship. As a result, American politics adopted a culture of criminalizing Latino culture and anything associated with it, including their streetwear attire.
This criminalization heightened following the Zoot Suit Riots of 1943, in which U.S. American sailors and officers openly and repeatedly attacked the Latino community in Los Angeles. The sailors targeted young Latino’s wearing Zoot Suits, a style of baggy formal suit wear that represented strength, independence, and defiance from the norm. At one point, Zoot Suits were banned by the City of Los Angeles as a means to target the Latino community and ration cloth for the war effort.
Moving forward into the 1950-60’s, the Cholo identity formed from it’s parent culture of Pachucos (influenced by Black American jazz culture) continued to use fashion as a means of expressing Latino resistance and pride in L.A. and throughout the southwestern parts of the U.S. Latino creators expanded the use of baggy, affordable garment wear inspired by migrant farm workers and street-life, and expanded it to what today includes items such as bandanas, big-hoop earrings, gothic-style tattoos, thick eye-liner, and customized muscle cars.
With their unconventional, edgy look that in many ways screams defiance and the independent “f*ck-off” attitude that Chola/os embodied, it is no wonder that Cholo culture has made significant waves to modern streetwear. What started as a subculture of Latinos in the City of Angels has immensely impacted the daily clothes and styles we wear around the globe. Cholo Culture fashion is so much more than a street aesthetic; it is symbolic of Latino/a creation and liberation.
]]>October marks the time of the year in which we share a duty to recognize breast cancer, the second most common cancer in women. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer, men can also get breast cancer but are at lower risk. In spite of the immense challenges breast cancer bears on many people, survivors never fail to inspire us and make significant strides in all fields including fashion and modeling.
Earlier this year, model Ericka Hart confidently displayed her breast cancer scars. In a show of activism never before seen on a New York Fashion week stage, Ericka Hart has facilitated a new space in fashion for women with breast cancer and breast cancer survivors. Ericka Hart, also an activist and educator, was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2014. She stated in a post, "Fashion weeks put such a high premium on whose body is worthy to be seen — even the shows that include one small fat, racially ambiguous person are sending a message. There's no way you can be a part of the fashion world and not critique it.” Her message highlights the ways in which the fashion world must adapt to be inclusive of women from all walks of life. Revealing her mastectomy scars was somewhat a taboo for women with breast cancer, as it has been a struggle for many women with breast cancer to experience life without their breasts and is an experience not commonly shared in public discourse.
Through boosting awareness about breast cancer, we can reimagine a world where women with breast cancer scars are no longer embarrassing for women and do our part in supporting the cause for finding a cure.
TWO WAYS YOU CAN SUPPORT
Pink is the color for breast cancer awareness, and fashion is always a great way to support the cause. For the remainder of breast cancer awareness month, InnerDesires is giving 20% of the profits from pink items sold to breast cancer research organizations.
It is never too late to donate to breast cancer organizations. Here are a few verified donation sites committed to finding a cure and providing support for women with breast cancer.
We honor the lives lost to breast cancer each year, and stand with the fight against breast cancer!
]]>What began as a love of sneakers and a unique style that drew attention in Kola’s youth evolved into a career as a leading stylist, DJ, artist and creative. In 2010, Kola became the first woman ever to design a pair of Air Jordans. The “Air Jordan 2 Retro Gs ‘Violette’,” design was inspired by her brand, Violette New York, and represents, “masculine meets feminine and old school meets new school,” according to Kola.
Although Kola played a role in popularizing sneakers for women, she insists that she did not start any trends, but rather stayed true to the style she had always loved. Her website features throwback pictures of young Kola in her hometown of Albany, always wearing the latest kicks. When she moved to Manhattan for film school, she was frequently met with criticism about her “unladylike” style. Despite the judgement, Kola leaned into her individuality and turned her passion into a career, curating a clientele of well-known brands like Puma, Billionaire Boys Club, and Roc Nation.
“When I came to NYC to study film I quickly became known for being one of the rare gals at that time who wore kicks all the time,” Kola said in an article published on her site.
“I say ‘rare’ because it was truly rare to find a girl who loved sneakers as opposed to now-- where everyone and their mama wears kicks.”
Like Kola, May’s love for sneakers started at a young age, prompted by her elementary school’s strict dress code. Because shoes were her only form of creative expression, May was always rocking a new, bold pair of Air Forces or Jordans. Born and raised in Los Angeles, May got her start in fashion with a part-time job at a Louis Vuitton store, which helped her land a gig working for Don C and Virgil Abloh’s RSVP Gallery while attending Columbia College Chicago. Her career had a strong start, and May has gone on to style high-profile clients including Kendrick Lamar, Jaden Smith and Lil Yachty.
Following in Kola’s footsteps, May designed her first Jordan collaboration in 2017, the “Air Jordan 1 Aleali May/ Satin Shadow,” making her the first woman to create a unisex shoe in the brand’s history. May credits Kola with influencing her and opening the door for women to get involved in streetwear fashion.
“When I got a Jordan, all women got a Jordan,” May said, as reported by the LA Times, exemplifying her mission to encourage more women to embrace streetwear.
In 2018, May collaborated with WNBA star Maya Moore to create “The Court Lux,” Air Jordan 1 and Air Jordan X. The AJI sneaker incorporates a removable faux-fur feature to represent May’s sense of fashion, a combination of luxury and streetwear style. The collaboration made Moore the first female basketball player to sign with the Jordan brand.
Kola and May’s authenticity is apparent in their work and has inspired women to defy stereotypes. While streetwear and sneakers may not be considered “ladylike,” the designers are pushing the boundaries between masculine and feminine style and proving that streetwear has no gender.
“I want a dope shoe to be a dope shoe regardless of whether it’s men’s or women’s,” May said in an interview with the LA Times. “It’s really cool to see how far we’ve come.”
]]>The role of Black women in the popularization of streetwear is undeniable. As both the vision and muse behind some of the most popular trends in streetwear for decades, Black women have made a huge impact on the industry as the originators of street style. Women in hip-hop like Lil’ Kim and Mary J Blige, styled by creative genius Misa Hylton, redefined streetwear with never-before-seen silhouettes and a more feminine take on the style, and they continue to inspire current trends thanks to their iconic looks. Beth Gibbs has also changed the idea of streetwear with her gender-neutral clothing line Bephie and her innovative designs for major brands. These women have played an immense role in influencing street fashion, but are rarely acknowledged for their accomplishments.
Shaniqwa Jarvis, an artist and photographer hailing from New York, is one of the many female visionaries who has influenced streetwear fashion for more than 20 years. Like Hylton and Gibbs, Jarvis is inarguably one of the greats in her field, but her impact is not always recognized. Jarvis’ work boasts a cult following and has been worn by streetwear fanatics and displayed across the globe, but she fails to receive her rightful credit in an industry that has been dominated by male photographers.
“Working and excelling in spaces where you don't typically find Black women is a political statement of its own,” Jarvis said in an interview with Forbes. “I tend to use my voice behind the scenes to advocate for other people of color to be photographed and highlighted in spaces they currently are not in.”
In 2017 Jarvis launched Social Studies, a multi-day pop-up event meant to empower underprivileged youth and connect them with creators in the industry, in a collaborative effort with Baque Creative and Something Special Studios. The experience consists of a series of panels, discussions and workshops led by Jarvis and other creatives on educational topics such as how they reached their success and the importance of Black votes in the 2020 election. Due to the pandemic, these workshops and conversations have taken place online, making them more accessible to a broader audience. Also highlighted on the website is a compilation of books by Black authors, including Jarvis’ sold-out self-titled work which features 160 pages of her photography spanning across her career.
Recently, Jarvis became the first artist to have residence in New York Fashion Week, with an exhibition of her work displayed at Spring Studio during NYFW in 2018. The proceeds from her artwork sales were donated to Harlem School of Arts, where Jarvis used to study. Jarvis’ display featured her photography printed on unique materials, such as cotton, linen, and silk chiffon, to reinforce her concept of the contrast between, “hard and soft,” according to Jarvis.
Inspired by her parents, who were both photographers, Jarvis began taking photos at five years old. Jarvis notes that her 2020 collaboration with Converse, a pair of gender-neutral, high-top Chuck Taylors with a floral image printed on the shoe, was inspired by her father and his suave style.
“I’m always giving props to my mom for all the things that she’s done,” Jarvis said, as reported by Vogue. “But for this collection I thought, let me just give the man his flowers.”
In addition to her profound influence on streetwear, Jarvis continues to use her platform to empower young creatives to explore their passions. Throughout her career, Jarvis has given credit where credit is due, but it’s time that she receives her flowers too.
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Beth Gibbs is one of the many women behind the scenes of the streetwear industry who has quietly set trends for decades. As the co-owner and creative director of streetwear giant UNION, founder of her own clothing line, Bephie, and the creative director who has engineered many of your favorite ads, Gibbs is the mastermind behind the vision for countless brands that define streetwear. Though her list of accomplishments is extensive and her talent is indisputable, Gibbs still fails to receive the same respect and recognition as her male colleagues.
“The same dudes that have done what I have are a lot more visible,” Gibbs said, in an article by Highsnobiety.
As a result, Gibbs strives to bring awareness to the disparities between men and women in the industry, specifically focusing on the barriers that women of color face. Although Gibbs’s designs are gender-neutral to represent the freedom of movement, Gibbs said that her objective is to create clothing for Black women. Moreover, she views the streetwear movement as an opportunity to create a community that heavily incorporates women of color.
“Creating a brand that’s for ‘us’ by ‘us’ allows the future of young girls of color to have a lane that’s never existed before,” Gibbs said.
The foundation of Bephie is built on ideas of community and authenticity, and the brand has received high accolades for its fresh, inclusionary approach to the once exclusionary culture of street style. Featuring avant-garde, gender-neutral silhouettes that emphasize freedom of movement and core ideologies that represent freedom of thought, Gibbs’ commitment to community is apparent in her designs. Named as the “most interesting brand in women’s streetwear” by Complex, Bephie continues to open doors for any and all genders to take part in street fashion. Bephie approaches streetwear with a modern lens that is “redefining fashion, by being unapologetically, a Woman, Black, and a progressive designer,” according to Gibbs.
In addition to paving new lanes in streetwear, Gibbs is the creative genius behind numerous brand campaigns and advertisements. Most recently, Gibbs worked as the stylist for the film Native Son, and she is the current co-owner and creative director at UNION, alongside her husband, Chris. Throughout her career, Gibbs has collaborated with well-known brands including Nike, Jordan, Dickies, and Beats, and has directed a number of short films on channels such as Esquire, MTV, and Showtime. Although Gibbs’ influence sometimes goes unacknowledged, she continues to inspire the streetwear community with her innovation.
]]>When Sofia Prantera began working on the concept for Aries in 2010, women had little presence in the streetwear community. Born as a counterculture aesthetic cross-referencing music, sports, clubbing and community, its leading brands — Supreme, Stüssy and BAPE, as well as 21st-century successors like The Hundreds, Kith and Palace — were not only founded by men but prominently catered to them.
“Men have really been the ones who have been interested in it, running it and profiting from it,” says Leah McSweeney, who founded New York-based label Married to the Mob in 2004. While McSweeney didn’t launch with a “feminist” agenda in mind, the brand had a defiant attitude, starting from the infamous “Supreme Bitch” slogan that prompted Supreme to sue for $10 million in 2013. “I was always very much [about] why can't girls do what boys do and that was going to be the attitude behind the brand too,” she says. Similarly, part of the reason Laura Marie Fama and Ashley Jones founded Dimepiece in 2007 was to bring female voices to the industry and the streetwear community in LA. During its peak from 2015 to 2016, the brand generated revenue of $2 million, according to the founders, and now does about $250 million a year in direct orders.
At its height, Dimepiece generated annual sales of $2 million.
© Dimepiece
“The first streetwear brands created by women, I wanted everything,” says style consultant and streetstyle favourite Aleali May, who is the second woman to collaborate with Nike on a Jordan release. While most products were still out of reach because of pricing, May was taken by the fact that they were actually designed by people who knew what she wanted.
Twenty years ago few would have predicted streetwear’s influence on fashion. According to Euromonitor International, in 2018 sports-inspired apparel and footwear generated combined sales of $133.5 billion, and are estimated to grow by 3.8 per cent and 5.4 per cent respectively by 2023. Investors have poured millions into companies like StockX, Grailed and Highsnobiety.
Still, the number of women blazing a trail in the market remains small. The Hypebeast 100, an annual list that recognises the most prominent names in street culture, included only 26 women in 2018. “It’s not just sexism, it’s also the way women are framed,” says Prantera. “We are more behind the scenes, but I think it's changing. Younger girls are getting much stronger than we ever were.”
Even at the height of their success, brands catering specifically to women missed out on wider recognition, visibility and financial gains. “I made so much less money than my male counterparts,” says McSweeney, who briefly and reluctantly added men’s T-shirts to her line at the suggestion of her investor. “My brand was better and I had better collaborations, but sales weren't there because there were just not as many women buying streetwear.”
© Getty Images
Prantera had the customers but found selling through womenswear channels a challenge. “The type of woman I was trying to communicate with was actually buying clothing in menswear shops,” she says. Prantera maintained her design direction but switched to menswear trade shows and retailers, a decision that changed the perception of the brand “enormously”, she says. “We didn't change anything, we just put it within a menswear environment and all of a sudden it was visible,” she says. “The line took off in a way that it hadn't before.”
Natalia Maczek, founder of Polish brand Misbhv, started with men’s T-shirts because that was what she was wearing at the time and they were easier to design as someone without a fashion degree. Still, women were buying them. “From the very beginning our women customers were buying men's clothes,” she says, adding that while 80 per cent of her stockists are men’s stores, almost 60 per cent of her clients are women. After launching a womenswear line in 2016 and footwear in 2017, Maczek is shifting towards womenswear wholesalers as women’s activewear now makes up 30 per cent of sales.
Women interested in streetwear have always bought from the men’s section. In 1993 Stüssy was selling nearly 30 per cent of its collection to women, so the brand decided to launch its first limited women’s line called Stüssy Sista Gear. Other companies, including Nike, Adidas and Ewing, only recently began releasing some of their most sought-after footwear styles in women’s sizes. Nike, for example, still produces only some of its Jordan trainers in extended sizing.
“With streetwear, you knew you wanted it but you couldn't get it because it was never in your size as a woman, it never got small enough,” says May.
The tables might be turning. When Amsterdam-based womenswear designer Daniëlle Cathari releases her fourth Adidas drop on 15 July, the line will include unisex pieces for the first time. “There was quite a demand [from] men wanting to wear it too, but the first time it was a very feminine fit and concept,” she says of the launch drop. This time the clothing, including a tailored lilac suit, a black blazer and a melange sweater tracksuit, is interchangeably modelled by both men and women.
To meet demand from male shoppers, Daniëlle Cathari's fourth Adidas drop includes unisex pieces for the first time.
© Daniëlle Cathari
“It’s like the reverse role, where men want the women’s exclusive,” says May. Her Air Jordan 1, released in October 2017, was the first Air Jordan for both men and women designed by a woman. Retailing for $140 at launch, a US men’s size 14 can now be bought on Stadium Goods for around $727.
Prantera officially launched a dedicated men’s line only last year, but the brand’s T-shirts, sweatshirts and even her denim have always been bought by men. “Aries can be seen as quite daring from a menswear [perspective] but I think people like that because a lot of it is actually designed to be worn by women,” says Prantera. “By having that sort of gender-fluid approach to the line you can appeal to a more fashion customer.”
“Streetwear has changed enormously as it’s now fully integrated into the fashion system,” says Luca Benini, founder of distribution and retail businesses Slam Jam, which has been operating since 1989. With Supreme now valued at $1 billion, after an investment from The Carlyle Group in 2017, streetwear is no longer a niche market, a development that has its critics. For McSweeney, streetwear has lost its countercultural status. “Wearing a streetwear label now is the same thing as wearing Calvin Klein back then,” she says.
May, on the other hand, sees the popularity of streetwear and its open referencing in fashion as a long-due achievement. “Finally we are getting that praise that a lot of people before me deserved,” she says. And while the lines between streetwear, mainstream fashion and sportswear continue to blur, some of its essential traits — like community, its DIY spirit and connection to music — continue to manifest.
Carolina Amoretti's Fantabody label is influenced by what she and her friends used to wear clubbing in Milan.
© Fantabody
Maczek launched Misbhv with an initial investment of €300, no business plan and no experience. Prantera used to conduct her tie-dyeing experiments on T-shirt blanks and basic jeans at home. Carolina Amoretti’s Fantabody was born as a reiteration of what the Italian photographer and her friends used to wear in their clubbing years in Milan.
With women’s influence on streetwear continuing to rise, it is sparking interesting conversations around inclusivity, body issues and politics. As May says, “Fashion should speak to the person and their experiences. We are adding more stories to it.”
“Have you ever thought about cutting your hair?” she asked matter-of-factly.
My locs hung down my back as still and suspended as the room. I sensed the question had less to do with my hairstyle and more to do with my lifestyle choices. Locs after all—like cornrows and huge Afros—make some white people uncomfortable. Not considered professional. Considered rebellious. I didn’t think twice about my answer.
“No,” I replied.
Time paused in the silence. She smiled. An approving murmur shot through the room like a tremor from her smile. They felt my hair love. It was as if she had asked, “Do you worry about what white people think about you?” And I responded, “No.” She was glad I had escaped. Her classmates were glad I had escaped.
I had escaped what Toni Morrison called the “white gaze.” When internalized by Black people, the white gaze functions as a pair of glasses binding our eyes—and thereby our very being. To see the world through the white gaze—no matter one’s identity—is to center white people and their looks, their ways, their perspectives and their actions. A real-life Get Out.
The white gaze positions white people as the perpetual main character of Black life and thought. It colonizes imaginations. It becomes hard to create without what white people think about the creation ever present. That’s because the white gaze situates white people as the audience and deports the rest of us illegal aliens. No Latinx or Asian or Native or Middle Eastern people in the audience. No Black people in the audience even in an auditorium filled with Black students at Delaware State University. It is as if “our lives have no meaning, no depth without the white gaze,” Morrison once said. “And I have spent my entire writing life trying to make sure that the white gaze was not the dominant one in any of my books.”
In this first Black History Month after the racial reckoning of 2020, I feel impelled to do what historians rarely do: mark history while the story is still being written. We are living in a time when the white gaze remains ever present in American life, but is hardly dominant among today’s assemblage of courageous Black creators. We are living in the time of a new renaissance—what we are calling the Black Renaissance—the third great cultural revival of Black Americans, after the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s, after the Black Arts Movement of the 1960s and 1970s. Black creators today were nurtured by these past cultural revivals—and all those brilliant creators who sustained Black Arts during the 1980s and 1990s. But if the Harlem Renaissance stirred Black people to see themselves, if the Black Arts Movement stirred Black people to love themselves, then the Black Renaissance is stirring Black people to be themselves. Totally. Unapologetically. Freely.
As Beyoncé wrote in 2018, “I like to be free. I’m not alive unless I am creating something.”
A renaissance does not emerge on its own. Structures must be built to allow creativity to truly flourish. During the past six or so years, Black artists formed mechanisms to lift up their own work and that of their peers: Lena Waithe created a mentorship program, and Ava DuVernay a film distribution and resource collective. Leaders in the publishing industry, like Tracy Sherrod and my own editor, Chris Jackson, are running their own imprints and delivering the mighty literature of Ta-Nehisi Coates and the late great Cicely Tyson. Numerous creators are following in Oprah’s and Spike Lee’s footsteps and building their own entertainment and production companies, signing and managing and inspiring young superstars like Chloe x Halle. And all of this has coincided with a moment when white executives, out of shame or guilt, goodwill or good (money) sense, began to seek out our stories and storytellers in greater numbers.
Black novelists, poets, filmmakers, producers, musicians, playwrights, artists and writers got the white judge off our heads. We are no longer focused on making white people comfortable or uncomfortable. We also got the Black judge out of our heads. We refuse to carry the race on our shoulders. We are tired of being race representatives. We’ve escaped the shaming politics of respectability. We are showing that our Black lives have meaning and depth beyond white people.
At the height of the Harlem Renaissance in 1926, Langston Hughes expressed a similar sentiment to the one inspiring creators today: We “now intend to express our individual dark-skinned selves without fear or shame … We know we are beautiful. And ugly too.”
Black people, like all racial groups, are knowledgeable and ignorant, law-abiding and lawbreaking, secure and insecure, hardworking and lazy. The racial groups are equals, and what makes the racial groups equals is our common humanity; and our common humanity is imperfect and complex.
The creators of this new renaissance have been expressing their own humanity in myriad ways. Cardi B, Megan Thee Stallion and the hosts of The Breakfast Club are modeling our freestyling posture. Issa Rae told our stories about dating and sex and work and friendship in Insecure. Jesmyn Ward shared a story of familial bonds in southern Mississippi in Sing, Unburied, Sing. Kerry Washington, Michael B. Jordan, Billy Porter, Lupita Nyong’o, Daveed Diggs, Danai Gurira, Regina King and Viola Davishave played familiar and unfamiliar—but always unforgettable—Black characters on the stage and screen. In I Am Not Your Negro, Raoul Peck breathed new life into an unfinished work of James Baldwin’s. These creators are constantly breathing new life into Black history—and not breaths of constant woe and pity. Scholar Imani Perry evoked Zora Neale Hurston when writing last summer, “I do not want pity from a single soul. Sin and shame are found in neither my body nor my identity. Blackness is an immense and defiant joy.”
We are creating our immensity. No creator should have to tone down their individuality in the chorus of Blackness. We are telling America to tone down its anti-Black racism; and its sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, classism and nativism; and all the ways those isms intersect; and all their violence. So, we can live and be trans and cis and queer and disabled in the moonlight. Because, as Alicia, Patrisse and Opal put it: All Black lives matter.
“For generations in the mind of America, the Negro has been more of a formula than a human being—a something to be argued about, condemned or defended, to be ‘kept down,’ or ‘in his place,’ or ‘helped up,’ to be worried with or worried over, harassed or patronized, a social bogey or a social burden,” scholar Alain Locke wrote in his signature essay marking the Harlem Renaissance in 1925, published in Survey Graphic magazine. “By shedding the old chrysalis of the Negro problem we are achieving something like a spiritual emancipation.”
In this new Black Renaissance, we are once again shedding what and who do not serve us. Our plays, portraits, films, shows, books, music, essays, podcasts and art are growing in popularity—are emancipating the American consciousness, and banging on the door of the classical canon. The audience for our work is Black people—or people of all races. Black people are appreciating what J. Cole and Janelle Monáe and John Legend and Jason Reynolds are creating because they see their complex selves. Non-Black people are appreciating the podcasts Code Switch and The Nod, the poetry of Amanda Gorman and Jericho Brown, the novels of Colson Whitehead, the illustrations of Kadir Nelson and Vashti Harrison, and the television shows Watchmen and Lovecraft Country, because they do not see themselves, at the same time that they see themselves in our common humanity. Black creators have inspired Native, Asian, white, Latinx and Middle Eastern creators just as they inspired us. Black creators in the U.S. have inspired Black creators abroad just as those creators abroad have inspired us. Around the world we are becoming.
But our Wakanda, our 1619 Project, our anti-racism is facing resistance. Mobs have amassed in front of our Capitol and told us we are stealing their country, and told us to go back to our “sh-thole” countries, which caused us to lean in and create more unapologetically. When the violence and intimidation did not work, the discrediting began, saying we hated white people since we didn’t worship white people; saying we hated America because we didn’t worship America as exceptional. Because in racist minds Black people either worship white people or hate white people. In racist minds, white people can’t just be people like we are. Black people can’t just be ourselves, like they are.
In the end, the racism has not knocked us out. Our chins are steel like Adonis Johnson’s in Creed, like our real-life fighter, Tarana Burke. In the end, as Kendrick Lamar put it, “we gon’ be alright.” Toni was like our Harriet Tubman before she passed away in 2019. She guided us, willed us to escape the white gaze, until we did.
When I was younger, I often saw myself and other Black people through the eyes of white people. I worried about what white people thought about me; how I was appearing, speaking, acting, being in their world. When I looked in the mirror sometimes, I did not see myself, for myself. I saw what the white gaze saw and felt inadequate or proud; and changed myself or rebelled—and apologized for conforming or rebelling—thus apologizing for being Black. I was not alone.
But by the time I stood before those Black students in October 2016, on the eve of Donald Trump’s election, we were no longer apologizing for who we were. This is our world too. We were calling ourselves “unapologetically Black” like writer Damon Young of the Very Smart Brothas. Whether that was the right phrase or not isn’t important now. Our collective sentiment was important.
Who knows when the Black Renaissance actually started? Perhaps 2015, with a long pregnancy. It was the year that Black Lives Matter, which originated with a Facebook post in 2013, expanded into a movement. In April, Freddie Gray was killed by police officers and Baltimore exploded. On June 16, Trump announced his presidential bid, and the very next day, a white supremacist murdered nine Black churchgoers in South Carolina after praying with them. “Our mourning, this mourning, is in time with our lives,” wrote poet Claudia Rankine soon afterward. “There is no life outside of our reality here.” There was no reality outside of the death of Sandra Bland that July. There was no reality outside of us saying her name.
As Childish Gambino declared: “This is America.”
But nothing baked our Black Renaissance quite like the heat of the first Black presidency. Barack Obama’s Administration was akin to the Great Migration for the Harlem Renaissance; akin to the civil rights bills for the Black Arts Movement. Our raised expectations collided with the racism of the emerging Tea Party. We witnessed the rising opposition to the first Black presidency, day after day, year after year. We came to know full well that the more Black people uplift themselves, the more we will find ourselves on the receiving end of a racist backlash like Obama was.
As writer and director Tonja Renée Stidhum explained to CNN, “He was the respectable Negro. He was biracial, wasn’t dark-skinned, spoke the King’s English, was smart, married and the head of a nuclear family. But still that wasn’t enough.”
Every cheap shot at Obama shot down our worry about what white people thought. Not because we universally adored him or agreed with all his policies. The lesson was clear: If Obama wasn’t enough, then we would never be enough.
Many of us were taught to protect ourselves through the white gaze—knowing any off-beam move in this America could be our downfall or death. But over the past six years we’ve come to protect ourselves from the white gaze—knowing we could be shot at any point for no reason. So why not live freely and create freely before our downfall or death? Why can’t we be anti-racist to prevent our downfall or death?
When I say we, I’m not saying all Black creators have been thinking this way. I, for one, am not always thinking this way: my scholarship flows from research and evidence, which can lead me anywhere. But there do seem to be mainstream currents driving the Black Renaissance, that many of us swim in and out of, or follow like a stream of consciousness.
I cannot speak for the entire renaissance and all Black creators. I am not a representative. Indeed, we chafe at the idea that anyone can represent us. But just as there are many ideas we disagree upon, there are ideas many of us likely share, or are sympathetic to, anti-racist ideas rooting our art, or watering our art, or weeding our art. Escaping the white gaze is one. Rejecting the politics of respectability is another. Confronting racism while silently kneeling or standing loudly is another. Being our genuine selves is still another. Maintaining an inclusive and complicated view of Blackness is yet another.
I could be wrong. I could be way off. After all, we don’t like to be put into boxes. Our stories often escape categories. Our lives are complex and heavy and thick, like our humanity.
But we can be captured by painters Awol Erizku and Amy Sherald. We can be described by 2 Dope Queens in their podcast, or by Roxane Gay in print. Part of the job of creators is to describe ourselves, and our cultures, and our nations, while recognizing we are not bound by ourselves, or our cultures, or our nations. We are not bound by anyone or anything or any gaze. Our imaginations are not bound by racism. The Black Renaissance cannot be bound. The Black Renaissance is fighting for the freedom of being. The Black Renaissance is the freedom of being.
We are free.
]]>Before fatally shooting 17-year-old Trayvon Martin in 2012, neighborhood watchman George Zimmerman told the 911 dispatcher that the young man in “a dark hoodie, a gray hoodie” was a “suspicious guy.”
Just days after Martin’s death, Geraldo Rivera on the Fox & Friends TV show circumvented justification for Zimmerman’s actions. “The hoodie is as much responsible for Trayvon Martin’s death as George Zimmerman was,” said Rivera, who later told Politico that it is “common sense” for minorities to avoid wearing hoodies. NPR deemed the hoodie the emergent symbol of the people that same year, the clothing item already part of a long-standing discourse about the politics of streetwear.
How does wearing a hoodie pose as a threat? According to Zimmerman and Rivera, the answer is the person wearing it.
Just like any cultural phenomenon, streetwear is a derivation, part of a broader change that gave control to mass culture involving fashion, music, and art. It’s a movement shaped by Black culture. With the recent rise in media attention surrounding Black Lives Matter protests and the unjust killings of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Elijah McClain, it’s become more important than ever to educate ourselves on the history of streetwear. We have to recognize the double standard between POC and white people when it comes to the fashion industry.
Streetwear emerged in the 1980s. It was a result of the ‘50s and ‘60s, when the hip-hop genre was born amidst Bronx street gang culture. By the 1970s, gangs had established their turf; this was the backdrop of the frontier where hip-hop took root and flourished. The music gradually spread downtown, flowing into Brooklyn and, in the ensuing decades, to the rest of the world. The first successful commercial rap single, Sugar Hill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight,” was our first taste of the fashion movement to come.
The young POC that brought the world streetwear were the same people to experience the systemic injustice of President Reagan’s War on Drugs. This criminalization of drugs in various American cities led to the mass incarceration of Black and Latino men, since crack was readily available in urban centers. The music of the marginalized reflected the political backlash against Nancy Reagan’s Just Say No to Drugs campaign.
FIT professor and luxury branding consultant Shawn Grain Carter experienced this change firsthand when she was a student at the University of Virginia, working for the college’s radio station. “That year [1979] was the turning point where you saw this new emerging sound coming out of rhythm and blues, and it was rap music,” said Carter. “So the clothing that young people wore, Black and white, was clothing that reflected this new music.”
In other words, there’s a distinct connection between music started by Black and brown communities and the commodification of street style. According to Carter, whose entire career has been on the business side of fashion, “The history of what I call urban, cool, Black casual wear goes back to the history of rap music, which morphed into hip-hop music. They’re intertwined because fashion—like music—is an artistic expression of identity, so it has always been both cultural and political.” Streetwear didn’t emerge in a vacuum; to understand its history, therefore, is to understand its underlying sound.
By the mid-1990s, hip-hop brands had entered specialty shops and department stores throughout the United States. Ever since then, the fashion movement has grown exponentially. Last year, PricewaterhouseCoopers’s global consulting team estimated the size of the global streetwear market at $185 billion by sales, making it by some estimates about 10% of the entire global apparel and footwear market. Out of this market, almost 80% of global consumersresponded that they felt the Supreme brand represented streetwear to them the most. Nike, Off-White, and Adidas also scored highly among consumers.
Out of these four brands, only one has been headed by a Black CEO, stressing the point of contingency on representation and questions of appropriation. “Streetwear is so huge now and it’s extremely white and male-dominated in so many ways, even though it has its cultural roots in Blackness,” said Yasmine Barboza, 20, designer and founder of the clothing brand Fooghou. “I think that what fashion companies are doing is almost co-opting that word and co-opting the style, and immediately tying it to the Blackness that makes it cool.”
Barboza’s claims are only further reinforced by the media’s words, or, rather, lack thereof. Reputable news sources like The New York Times, Who What Wear, and GQ primarily attribute the movement’s success to the brands Supreme and Stussy. While it’s true Supreme and Stussy (as well as other high-fashion brands like Vetements and Louis Vuitton) have made a significant impact in further popularizing the term “streetwear,” all of these articles omit that it was America’s Black diaspora which pioneered streetwear’s essence. Erasure? Maybe. Well, maybe more than maybe.
Bucket hats. Oversized clothing. Scripted necklaces. Hoop earrings. Sneaker culture. Logomania. All of these trends, all of these things both you and I wear, can be traced back to Black and brown communities.
Fellow designer and fashion merchandising student Sainabou Lowe, 22, was quick to underline the need for the masses to acknowledge the origins of these trends. “People should pay attention to streetwear’s history because I feel like when we learn about Black history in America, so much of it’s negative. It’s important that we shine a light on all the positive, popular things that Black people have brought to this world.”
This isn’t to say that streetwear only belongs to Black people or that Black people are monolithic in their style. After all, streetwear’s mission is to create a sense of belonging whilst going against tradition and conformity. The movement is a testament to authenticity itself as it is a result of the people, a subversion of the top-down nature of the fashion industry, producing a democracy unlike any other.
A byproduct of this democratization is its anti-gatekeeping mentality, which has led to the flourishing online streetwear community. In fact, as of last year, 31.7% of global consumers stated that they took their streetwear style inspiration from social media influencers. As one of those influencers, Kevin Waugh, 25, stresses the inclusivity inherently tied to street style. “I didn’t go into this with the intention of being an influencer,” he confessed. “I was just looking to express myself, and I want people to know that streetwear is for everyone who’s looking to genuinely put themselves out there.”
It is this very authenticity which makes it important to support Black creators, especially those lesser known. “It’s not large companies that create creative streetwear. What it really comes down to are these grassroot, ground-up individuals. That’s really where the seeds of culture are, and it’s so important—in that seed—to have more Black and brown people. I think we don’t because, ultimately, the ideal is still white.”
To put it simply, Black culture isn’t a mere component of streetwear but its cornerstone. To give it the proper recognition, respect, and representation it deserves, we must first give its people proper recognition, respect, and representation. The omission of streetwear’s history is what has thus far propagated the reassignment of streetwear’s high fashion market. In other words, it is now used to appraise white individuals rather than uplift their black counterparts.
For years America has refused to swallow this bitter pill of its own shortcomings, but now—more than ever—is the time to do so. “It’s a very critical conversation now because no one should be killed because they’re wearing a hoodie like Trayvon Martin,” declared Carter. “Black America has had enough.”
So you there, wearing your hoodie while reading this—swallow this pill if you really care about #BlackLivesMatter.
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Adidas said that 60% of its business was currently at a standstill, with more than 70% of its stores closed worldwide.
E-commerce sales, which last year represented 13% of the total, are growing fast, particularly in China, but are not enough to compensate for the loss of in-store sales.
As shops reopen in China, customers have been returning but they have not been buying as much as before the crisis, Chief Executive Kasper Rorsted told journalists, adding he only expects a full recovery there by the end of the second quarter.
“We’re not going to see an imminent return to what we had before,” he said, declining to comment on what trends it has seen from the 20 stores it reopened in Europe last week.
One bright spot is that the pandemic is increasing interest in fitness and health, Rorsted said, noting record sales of yoga mats as people exercise at home.
Adidas, which was forced to suspend dividend payments as a condition for a government-backed loan earlier this month to get it through the crisis as it burns cash, said it would replace that loan with other financial vehicles as soon as possible.
The company warned of a possible 40% fall in second-quarter sales and a drop in second-quarter operating profit of more than 100 million euros, with Rorsted saying it has already lost more than 1 billion euros ($1.1 billion) of sales in April.
The company has partially cancelled orders with suppliers for the second and third quarter after inventories jumped by more than a third in the first quarter to 4.334 billion euros.
It plans to repurpose some of that unsold stock into products to be sold in 2021 and sell the rest at a discount through partners and its own website and outlet stores.
First-quarter operating profit fell to 65 million euros, well short of the 263 million expected by analysts, while sales dropped 19% to 4.75 billion euros versus 4.85 billion forecast by analysts, Refinitiv Eikon data showed.
Adidas shares, which have fallen by more than a third since the coronavirus pandemic started, were up 1.8% at 1037 GMT.
Analysts at Jefferies said sales were better than feared in Europe and North America - down 8% and up 1% respectively - with the company reporting revenue growth of 8% outside Asia in January and February before the crisis hit elsewhere.
UBS analyst Zuzanna Pusz said: “The good start to the year and some other positives such as (a) decent North America performance and comments on a gradual recovery in China could provide some comfort to the market.”
Adidas said it had taken a hit of around 250 million euros on unsold stock it took back from retailers in greater China, purchase order cancellations and higher bad debt provisions.
It declined to provide an outlook for the year given the uncertainty over when stores might reopen. Rorsted said he expected those in North America to start reopening in mid-May.
Adidas saw e-commerce sales jump 35% in the first quarter, accelerating to 55% in March.
In China, online sales have more than doubled in the first weeks of April, Rorsted said, predicting e-commerce will exceed a target for 4 billion euros in 2020 from 3 billion in 2019.
Rival Nike Inc (NKE.N) last month beat estimates for its third quarter ended Feb. 29, with revenue up 5.1% as strong online demand offset lower sales in China.
Adidas said its cash position had deteriorated by more than 1.4 billion in the first quarter, underlining why it had taken a 2.4 billion euro government-backed loan on April 14. Its cash position was 1.975 billion euros at March 31.
The company said it would push back the presentation of a new five-year strategic plan to next March from November.
The biggest shifts in fashion have historically not come from runway trends but followed events such as wars that disrupt society on a huge scale, says Kimberly Chrisman-Campbell, a fashion historian and author of Worn on This Day: The Clothes That Made History. Their effects ripple through supply chains, the economy, social behavior, and daily life, often accelerating and normalizing changes already underway.
Chrisman-Campbell points to examples such as hoop petticoats dwindling following the French Revolution, as women avoided symbols of aristocracy, and women wearing pants more regularlyafter World War II hurried them into the workforce. “Having done it by necessity, they began to do it by choice,” she says.
The coronavirus crisis may not have as dramatic an effect on clothing but could drive subtler changes. To start, the surge in working from home may spur even more dressing-down in the workforce. It’s been happening for years already as social standards loosen and comfort becomes a greater priority for shoppers. Yoga pants and hoodies—aka athleisure—have become everyday fashion, even making their way into the office. Though growth of athleisure as an industry category had begun to slow, Chrisman-Campbell believes the current situation should prolong its strength. Since January, online sales of sweatpants and track suits at many US and UK retailers have jumped.
Once the crisis clears and shoppers can finally go out, those casual clothes may coexist alongside a renewed joy for dressing up. Again, it’s what happened after World War II. After years of fabric rationing that limited dressmakers, designer Christian Dior introduced the “new look” that made him famous in 1947. “Dior brought back all the wonderful, huge expanses of fabric that you couldn’t get during the war,” Chrisman-Campbell says. Women had grown more comfortable with pants, but also wanted to be feminine in their full-skirted dresses, if they could afford them.
One obvious contrast between World War II and the coronavirus situation is duration. The war went on for several years. With any luck, most countries dealing with Covid-19 will resume normal life in months. While the present predicament is more likely to have a greater effect the longer it continues, Chrisman-Campbell notes the connectivity created by the internet also means fashion moves more quickly now. Consequently, its effects could be out of proportion to how long the crisis lasts.
Even after cases drop off, though, the impact will persist. The International Monetary Fund predicts a recession this year that will be as bad as the one in 2008. That recession prompted a shift in fashion away from trendy, logo-heavy products as shoppers shied from flaunting wealth and chose items that wouldn’t quickly lose status. Before the coronavirus spread, fashion was already moving from the maximalism of the past several years back toward minimalism. If history is any indication, the coronavirus and a recession could speed the process.
Javier Seara, sector leader for fashion and luxury at Boston Consulting Group, warns it’s early for definitive long-term forecasts but thinks US and Western European shoppers may also invest more in fewer items. “That’s a trend that was already going: higher quality and less pieces,” he says.
In the near-term, shoppers buying less clothing is practically guaranteed, unless it’s a pair of sweatpants.
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