Topshop lives in cultural memory, stitched into the 90s and Y2K wardrobes of Millennials and early Gen Z. That kind of brand equity is hard to build and even harder to revive.

Its re-entry has been calculated, sneaking back first through Pinterest-core, thrift hauls, and TikTok styling videos before the full relaunch. It re-emerged through culture before commerce.

But here’s the catch: to win today, Topshop can’t just reissue the It Girl look. It has to meet Gen Z on their terms with irony, styling freedom, and agency.

Fashion cycles are tighter, trends move faster. The question now is whether this will be a quick hit riding the British It Girl wave or a slow-burn nostalgia play that earns its way back into relevance.

Curious what you’re seeing. Drop your take and feel free to share if this resonated.

I recently had the chance to contribute to a Guardian piece exploring the resurgence of British cultural influence across music, fashion, slang, and streetwear.

But for me, this isn’t the monocultural Britpop version of Cool Britannia.

This moment feels less Blur and Blair, more Central Cee and Corteiz. It is multicultural, grounded, and globally resonant. Most importantly, it is powered by the communities who were historically left out of the narrative and who are now reclaiming Britishness on their own terms.

Here are a few of my reflections:
• I see a new kind of British pride emerging from the street up. It is not flag-waving, but creative, confident, and rooted in lived culture.
• From AJ Tracey to Stormzy, to streetwear labels IDA and Lostboys, I notice the Union Jack being reappropriated as a symbol of ownership rather than establishment.
• Global youth are borrowing from UK subcultures post-Skepta, picking up our slang, underground sounds, and streetwear codes. A level of influence that once felt unthinkable.
• British streetwear, from Palace to Poser, Up In Flames to Grime 3.0, along with UK drill and rap, all carry serious cultural gravity right now. Just look at Drake linking with Headie One. We are not following, we are setting the tone.

You can read the full article here:
https://lnkd.in/eSs_2a4r

I would love to hear your thoughts on this and what you are noticing too. If it resonates, feel free to share.

The run is just the warm-up. Real status lies in the uniform, the footage, the post-run hang.

My latest piece for The Drum looks at how run clubs are shifting from fitness to fashion, from athletics to aesthetics — and what that means for brands navigating the performance-lifestyle crossover.

Read it here: https://lnkd.in/eMbHzHTP

Curious what you’re seeing on the ground. Feel free to share if it hits.

Running isn’t about pace anymore. It’s about optics.

Today’s run clubs aren’t fronted by elite athletes in split shorts — they’re led by cultural tastemakers in Oakleys, bouncy marathon shoes, Arc’teryx shells, Soar hats, hipster thigh tats and Salomons. It’s powered by £4.50 coffees and meets in gentrified inner-city parks with postcode cachet.

The run? That’s just the warm-up. The real status lives in the uniform, the footage, the post-run hangout.
Run club aesthetic is fast becoming the new streetwear.

It’s easy to write it off as performative, but something deeper is happening.
Running has evolved into a lifestyle code — aesthetic = identity = belonging.

As someone joked on Basement Approved: “If your run club isn’t filmed on this… then I’m not f*cking coming.”
Tongue-in-cheek, yes — but it captures a very real tension: cult authenticity versus open accessibility.

As running shifts into the fashion-sport crossover lane, are we seeing the same exclusivity mechanics we once saw in skate and sneaker culture?
Where cultural capital trumps performance — and the look determines who gets let in?

That said, the current crowd still feels pretty narrow. There’s space for this scene to open up — if brands and communities are willing to let it.

My take:
This is a textbook case of how subcultures form, gatekeep, and evolve — even around something as supposedly neutral as running.

If brands want in, they need to realise: they’re not marketing to athletes anymore.
They’re marketing to communities of cultural coders.

Let me know what you think or what you're seeing — and feel free to share if this resonated.

It’s official: DICK’S Sporting Goods is acquiring Foot Locker for $2.4 billion.

This is a major shake-up in U.S. retail. The merged business will form one of the most powerful forces in global athletic retail, with revenue topping $21 billion and a brand portfolio spanning Champs Sports, atmos, and WSS. Foot Locker will continue to operate as a standalone unit—but the impact runs deep.

A few quick takes from my side:

💥 Brand leverage just levelled up. In a market still rocked by tariffs and cost volatility, the combined weight of DICK’S and Foot Locker gives them huge clout. Expect brands to feel that pressure as margin dynamics shift.

📈 Is wholesale back? As Nike and others double down on DTC, this deal might tip the balance. A powerful, consolidated retail partner could offer brands a more controlled, brand-safe route to scale.

🧠 But culture is fragile. Foot Locker has long been embedded in sneaker culture. A closer blend with DICK’S broader sporting profile risks eroding its cultural capital—leaving space for more youth-tuned players to fill the gap.

🌍 Zooming out: this is global. The U.S. is no longer the sole cultural engine of sneaker culture. The UK and Europe are increasingly driving the style agenda. With Foot Locker leaning mall-mass, JD Sports’ recent Hibbett acquisition puts it in pole position to own the culture-first space globally.

This isn’t just consolidation—it’s a reset. Power, positioning, and cultural relevance are all up for grabs.

Let me know what you're seeing—or where you think it’s heading next.
And if this resonated, feel free to share.

Launched in 1989, Nike ACG (All Conditions Gear) was built for the outdoors but quickly found its footing in the streets — thanks to bold colourways, utilitarian design and deep subcultural resonance. Its rugged techwear aesthetic earned cult status, more visible in cities than on trails.

The Errolson Hugh-led reboot in the 2010s cemented ACG’s legacy for a new wave of streetwear purists, transforming it into a symbol of style, function and attitude.

Once exclusive to Tier 0 doors and boutique rails, ACG’s arrival at JD Sports signals a clear shift: the retail hierarchy is levelling out. JD is broadening its cultural reach, and Nike looks to be loosening ACG’s distribution in a bid to win back market share. It’s a sharp move from JD — but one that invites a bigger question...

As once-coveted product becomes more accessible, can cultural capital survive the scale?

Let me know what you’re seeing — and feel free to share this post if it resonates.

As athleisure and sneaker culture edge closer to oversaturation, style-conscious consumers are beginning to pivot. There’s a growing appetite to reject modern uniformity in favour of more traditional, individually-led expressions of taste.

That might explain the quiet resurgence of Americana and Ivy League-style codes. Brands like Aimé Leon Dore are reworking heritage silhouettes, while the move away from performance sneakers is opening the door to Bass Weejuns, loafers and soft tailoring.

Technical wear isn’t going anywhere fast—but athluxe is beginning to show its limits. It lacks the versatility and narrative depth many now crave. From what I’m seeing, style-forward consumers are gravitating toward brands that lead with subtle cues, premium materials and timeless cuts. This doesn’t feel like another prep revival—it feels like early signs of a broader wardrobe reset.

While this shift is currently emerging among more fashion-literate segments, its influence is likely to trickle down.

Let me know what you think or what you’re seeing—and feel free to share this post if you found it interesting.

Size? was once a tier 1 streetwear destination — a home for limited drops, hard-to-find apparel lines (like ACG), and a cultural bridge between sneaker elitism and high street accessibility. It was where grailed heat landed before wider releases filtered into JD Sports or Foot Locker.

But the landscape has shifted.

Today’s most culturally influential youth brands — Corteiz, Unknown, Palace, Up in Flames, Supreme, Poser, Cole Buxton, Represent — are all DTC-first. And none of them are showing up at Size?. The old model of launching at Size? before scaling out no longer holds.

The sneaker bubble has softened, trend cycles are shorter, and the retail hierarchy is collapsing. What once sat exclusively at Size? now appears for a few weeks before landing in JD. The line between exclusive and accessible is blurring fast. The cultural consumer doesn’t need a gatekeeper when DTC offers them front-row access.

Size? isn’t disappearing. But in a new fashion economy — where brands are built on TikTok, drops are dictated by Discord, and hype isn’t set on the high street — Size? feels like it’s losing its place.

Let me know what you think or what you’re seeing — and feel free to share this post if you found it interesting.

PUMA’s latest results show modest growth (+2.5%) in a market where many players are flatlining or in decline. But the contrast is stark when you stack it against adidas’ 12% growth, stronger margins, and a cultural strategy powered by the Samba and Gazelle resurgence.

One of PUMA’s more intriguing plays was the re-release of the Speedcat. Originally launched in 1998 as a motorsport shoe, its return synced with the brand’s renewed Formula 1 focus—bolstered by names like A$AP Rocky. The Speedcat had all the makings of a cult comeback: rich racing heritage, Y2K energy, and a sleek, low-profile silhouette that fits neatly into the retro sneaker wave sweeping TikTok and the high street.

But here’s where the execution faltered. PUMA kept the Speedcat in the influencer seeding phase for too long. It lingered in fashion circles and social feeds for over a year before broader retail rollout. By then, the cultural momentum had begun to cool. The window to scale it into a breakout hit had closed.

Truth is, the Speedcat was always a moment, not a movement. It lacks the cross-tribe versatility of a Samba. But with sharper timing, it could’ve delivered more hype—and better returns.

This is the balancing act every brand faces when trying to build cultural capital. There’s a fine line between curating hype and missing the moment.

PUMA still has strong foundations. But to play at the top, it needs to move faster—with sharper instincts around timing, cultural signals, and execution.

Let me know what you think or what you’re seeing—and feel free to share this post if you found it interesting.

Amazon has reportedly made a surprise, last-ditch bid to acquire TikTok’s U.S. operations ahead of the government’s fast-approaching ownership deadline.

And on paper, it tracks — TikTok is the heartbeat of youth-led e-commerce, and Amazon has yet to crack that code (RIP Inspire 😬). The synergy is compelling: a seamless link between cultural discovery and instant conversion.

But let’s be honest — this feels more like a power move than a viable acquisition. It’s tough to see ByteDance, with Beijing in the wings, handing over its cultural crown jewel to America’s biggest corporate heavyweight — especially in the shadow of Trump’s new wave of tariffs.

Still, the signal is loud and clear: culture and commerce are now inseparable. And right now, TikTok is the most potent cultural commerce engine on the planet.