Hip-Hop and Fashion Have Always Gone Hand in Hand
Some people are only just noticing
On the day of Zac Posen’s Fall 2016 runway show, the designer posted an Instagram photo of himself carrying a handbag emblazoned with the message, “Black Models Matter.” The designer’s statement appears in line with much of the conversation in fashion today. Lately, talk about diversifying the runways of international fashion weeks have been taken up with much enthusiasm. According to the Fashion Spot, the percentage of models of color at New York Fashion Week has grown with 11% since the Spring 2015 collections, while London’s Fashion Week, lagging behind, saw an increase of 3%.
While models might be the most visible measure of diversity within high fashion, the crisis is much more dire backstage. High fashion is a notoriously elitist pursuit — designers of color often lack the funding and connections to complete a fashion degree or launch a label, while emerging voices face the challenge of being pigeonholed into stereotypes like streetwear or ‘ethnic’ designs. Not surprisingly, one of the most high-flying black fashion designers at the moment is also one who can afford to be: Multi-hyphenate artist Kanye West booked the whole of Madison Square Garden for his Fall 2016 runway show, and while Zac Posen’s show came in second on the runway diversity rankings with 87% models of color, Kanye’s Yeezy presentation beat everyone with an absolute 100% non-white cast. During the 90-minute show, models raised their fists in the air alongside Kanye’s lyrics on police violence, while the show’s invitation showed a photo of a Rwandan refugee camp shortly after the nation’s genocide.
Whether Kanye’s statement was successful is a discussion longer than this article alone, but it is hard to deny that the Yeezy Season 3 show was the brashest message on racial politics that fashion has recently produced. But before we applaud New York’s fashion industry for having turned a new corner, it’s worthwhile to consider that racial politics have always played a part in fashion. The difference now is that the mainstream has made space for it in its spotlights.
A group that has recently regained its notoriety in fashion’s newly expanded interest is Lo Life. The group was founded in the 1980’s as two rivaling gangs from Brooklyn’s projects merged together for their love of the Polo brand and their desire to acquire it at all costs, whether it was through shoplifting or robbery. The group’s founder, rapper Thirstin Howl the 3rd, a.k.a. the Polo Rican, explained to me that it was about the ‘head-to-toe’ approach — members of the crew would wear matching jackets, sweaters, hats, and trousers, often in an individualized manner. Some would wear the trousers a big baggier, some would make a shirt out of four $500 silk scarves, while others held Polo items because it didn’t fit anymore on their bodies. “People need to understand how exaggerated we took the idea of the clothes,” Thirstin told me.
Lo Life wasn’t, and isn’t, acknowledged by Ralph Lauren himself, and operated outside the mainstream fashion system. Streets, clubs or bodega’s were their runways, and their pursuit of stolen gear existed as an informal economy outside the fashion system. “There was no internet to tell you where the items were. You had to be a foot soldier and actually be out on the streets to know where things are at,” Thirstin said. At the time, Thirstin worked as a dispatcher at a messenger service, where he had recruited his friends too. As a result, Lo Life members were continuously traversing up and down the city. Once they had scouted the stores with the most desirable items, a team would be sent to the location to empty its racks.
Even though Lo Life members also took to other brands like Gucci and Guess, Ralph Lauren remained the main focus. “A lot of these brands were created for students in Harvard or Yale, but we were wearing it in a different manner in the projects of Brooklyn New York. It was more about the individual wearing it, not about the designer or the brand.” It was precisely because it was not made for them that heightened the brand’s appeal. Lo Life subverted the WASP-y codes for the streets of Brooklyn — it was about what the symbolism of the brand could do for the individual, not how the individual could conform to the brand’s aesthetic.
Lo Life became so well-known that their way of wearing Ralph Lauren became the way. They are cited to be the primary influence of Ralph Lauren’s significance in hip-hop, and the reason why the designer’s name still appears in lyrics by anyone from Gucci Mane to Rick Ross. Their legacy in fashion has seeped through so thoroughly that it has long surpassed its musical association — like many other trends that originated in hip-hop, its head-to-toe, logo-manic styles are now worn whether one identifies with hip-hop or not.
The influence of hip-hop on fashion has long been documented, but its effects limited itself mostly to sportswear and streetwear brands. High fashion might have echoed the looks found on the streets, but until recently, designers rarely acknowledged these influences. In a 1993 New York Times article, Julia Chance, former fashion editor for The Source, explained that “…they think that if their clothes are celebrated in the black, urban community, with all its ills, that it will cheapen their brand names.”
This is no longer true today. Brands like Guess and Tommy Hilfiger have reintroduced the 90’s aesthetic that was part of Lo Life’s ethos. Asap Rocky, on top of his collaborations with J.W. Anderson and Guess Originals, is now the face of Dior Homme. The upper echelons of high fashion, a previously impenetrable field, has seen the profits to be gained in opening itself up to other voices. Before embarking on Yeezy, Kanye collaborated with Louis Vuitton on a sneaker collection — a type of product previously unknown to the brand. Thirstin launched Lo Life’s clothing line last year, which includes a $600 sweatshirt. The coffee table book, titled ‘Bury Me With The Lo On’, was released in a limited edition of 1,500 that catapults it into a luxury collector’s item.
Lo Life seems to be in good company. Many new names in fashion today are making their waves with designs that actively take on racial politics and cultural legacies, and it might precisely be the emergence of this diversity of voices that has paved the way for Lo Life’s resurgence. Duro Olowu’s collections, favored by Michelle Obama, are informed by his Nigerian-Jamaican heritage and built on a rich understanding of textiles around the world. Grace Wales Bonner, this year’s recipient of the prestigious LVMH prize, showed a menswear collection based on the 1930 crowning of Haile Selassie as emperor of Ethiopia. Watching Wales Bonner’s explorations of black history, black masculinity, and the limits that society puts on the aforementioned, one sees a political poetics in the first place, and only then does one realize that it’s a collection of clothes. Another example is Hood By Air’s Shayne Oliver, who has transformed the style of a gang of New York’s cool kids into a global phenomenon. Conventional markers of gender and race are hustled into meaninglessness on HBA runways: black men walk down with blonde wigs, while the clothes could be worn by one gender or another. What is recognizable, however, are the hip-hop references and the excessive use of logo’s. Lo Life, comes full circle.
I asked Thirstin how he feels about the current popularity of a niche he pioneered. When he said he didn’t understand my question, I asked again: how does it feel that the rich, white people Polo was designed for, are now trying to emulate you? To with he answered, “I’m happy to see people wear the style that me and my people created. It wasn’t as documented before, but it always was there, existing in everything you ever saw.”
