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.
H&M is facing a rare dilemma for a mass-market brand: it’s lost its edge. Playing it too safe, it now sits awkwardly between Shein’s race-to-the-bottom pricing and Zara’s aspirational cool. In today’s hyper-competitive, culturally fluent landscape, H&M risks becoming forgettable.
With sales stagnating and brand identity in flux, it's now turning to the culture playbook—tapping Charli XCX for its AW ‘Brat’ campaign in a bid to reclaim relevance.
In my view, H&M occupies a valuable strategic middle ground between Shein and Zara—but to own it, the brand needs a rebrand built on playfulness, attitude, and true cultural fluency. Gen Z and Gen Alpha won’t tolerate cultural illiteracy from global players anymore.
Daniel Ervér’s leadership signals a pivot—store refreshes, stronger design direction, and campaigns rooted in music and subculture. It's a move towards relevance, not just revenue—but as we’ve seen time and time again, this playbook is easier said than done.
The real question: Can a Swedish mass retailer still feel culturally exciting?
Let’s see if H&M can make the leap from basic to brat. 👀
While exploring the future of women’s sneaker culture, I found myself circling back to the Samba – a trend that didn’t just emerge, it was architected with intention.
First released in 1949 as a football boot for icy pitches, the Samba was later adopted by UK terrace culture and spent decades in quiet rotation. Then came Grace Wales Bonner, reworking the silhouette with luxe, high-fashion touches – and igniting a full-blown cultural reappraisal.
The strategy was textbook:
🔁 Reimagine – Partner with a culturally resonant designer to reposition the icon
👀 Recontextualise – Put OG colourways on the feet of Bella Hadid and A$AP Rocky to build cultural cachet
💥 Reveal – Drop TikTok-bait pastel editions to unlock mass appeal
The impact? A legacy sneaker rebranded as a fashion essential – driving a 50% YoY uplift in adidas women’s resale volume in 2024 (StockX). The Samba didn’t just ride the wave of women’s sneaker culture; it helped reshape it.
But overexposure diluted the allure. Distribution outpaced demand. The Samba went from cult object to casualty of ubiquity – a recurring misstep in adidas’ trend cycle.
Still, the case study is clear:
• Trends spread fast across subcultures
• Cultural credibility beats product alone
• Brand momentum is built, not stumbled into
The Samba may be cooling, but the framework remains hot.
If this resonated, feel free to share.
Gorpcore gets tossed around in a lot of boardrooms I’ve been in—often reduced to a fleeting aesthetic. But from where I’m sitting, backed by our own data and firsthand work with Columbia, Berghaus, and The North Face, it’s always been more than that.
Well before the Hypebeast headlines, Gorpcore had roots in Liverpool and Manchester’s Scally culture—born out of necessity, not novelty. It started as functional fashion for those living real, active lives on the street. Over time, that utility-first ethos evolved into something more expressive, more directional—a look that blurred the lines between outdoor, street, and luxury.
What we’re seeing now—whether you call it Gorpcore or post-Gorpcore—isn’t a style trend. It’s a broader cultural shift toward performance-led design. We’ve transitioned from casualwear to sportswear to technicalwear. And this evolution is here to stay.
Today’s consumer demands more—style with purpose. As cities evolve and climate volatility becomes the norm, technicalwear will continue to scale. It’s not just part of the future—it’s leading it.
The future of fashion is functional.
Nike is poised to post its steepest revenue drop in five years. App downloads have plummeted 35%, and in-store traffic is down 11%—already impacting key retail partners like JD Sports and Foot Locker, both grappling with markdown pressure and slowing sell-through.
But let’s not write Nike off just yet.
With Eliott Hill stepping in as CEO, the brand appears to be reactivating elements of its golden-era cultural strategy. Still, cultural resonance can’t be rebuilt overnight. Steering a brand of this scale takes time—expect a 12–18 month runway before meaningful momentum returns.
The bigger hurdle? The cultural and competitive landscape has evolved. It's more fragmented, more dynamic, and far less forgiving. Challenger brands like Montirex and Salomon are moving faster, striking harder, and winning credibility at street level.
Nike will recover—but its monopoly era is behind it.
Young people are actively seeking out music from regions marked by conflict, change, oppression, and adversity—drawn to raw, authentic narratives of social mobility and lived experience. It’s not just about their own realities but about finding connection through shared struggles across borders.
With platforms like Spotify, YouTube, and TikTok, music has never been more accessible. In fact, 67% of Gen Z listen to music for most of their day, with the artists they follow deeply shaping their worldview.
As digital spaces continue to evolve, music remains a powerful tool for cultural connection—a platform where new narratives emerge, communities form, and perspectives shift. Brands that immerse themselves in this cultural current will be the ones to forge genuine connections with youth culture.
The classic monochrome Nike Air Max 90 gets a bold new chapter with Nike’s latest collaboration with Slawn. One of the most exciting British-Nigerian artists of the moment, Slawn injects his raw, spray-painted aesthetic into an undeniable streetwear icon—bringing fresh creative energy to a silhouette that has defined generations.
But this isn’t just another drop. It feels like Nike is dusting off its cultural playbook, making calculated moves to reclaim its place at the heart of the culture. With recent collaborations tapping into unfiltered artistic expression, it’s clear the brand is reasserting its creative dominance.
Growing up, black-and-white 90s were a staple for me—seeing them reimagined through Slawn’s rebellious, hand-crafted lens feels like an instant classic.
