The Cost of Being First
I might be crazy or maybe just chronically online, caught in my own bubble of curated content—but I’ve started to notice a pattern. Time after time, the ideas, aesthetics, and references I put out into the world somehow end up resurfacing months later on runways, in campaigns, or as part of the next big “trend.” I’m not claiming I invented them, but there’s a certain energy I move with—an instinctual sense of what’s next—that always seems to get picked up, polished, and pushed out by the bigger houses. And when that happens, it doesn’t feel like a compliment. It feels like something intimate has been taken and made generic.
It’s bittersweet being ahead, but unseen. When I share something, it’s personal. It’s raw. It’s an extension of my world and my perspective. But once the industry gets a hold of it, it becomes less about essence and more about aesthetic. The true voices, the ones that get it on a visceral level, get buried. And so we’re forced to push even further , to stay ahead, stay strange, stay true—just to not be mistaken for someone chasing trends.
Trend fatigue is real. For example, Dior 2004? Sure, it’s cool. But when it starts showing up everywhere—from Pinterest boards to front-row seats—it no longer feels fresh. Cool, to me, has never been about what’s accepted by the masses. It’s about what feels rare, untouched, not yet ready to be understood by everyone. I don’t want to feel like I’m wearing the 2025 version of Air Force 1s—those default items that people wear not because they love them, but because they’ve been told to. And that’s what’s happened to things like Margiela Tabis or GATs. Beautiful pieces, but they’ve lost their spark under the weight of overexposure.
And I know it’s a bold statement, but I genuinely don’t believe everyone is meant to “do fashion.” There’s a difference between having personal style and participating in fashion culture with intention. Today, fashion is hyper-accessible—but not everyone engages with it beyond the surface. And while people should absolutely be free to explore and enjoy clothing, it gets frustrating when it feels like individuality is being replaced by imitation. Fashion was never supposed to be cosplay for clout.
Social media has amplified all of this. We’re in an era of heightened self-consciousness—where people care more about how they’re perceived than how they actually feel in what they wear. Outfits are curated for engagement. Looks are assembled for virality. Style used to be a dialogue between you and your world. Now, it’s a performance for people you don’t even know. And I think insecurity is at the core of that. The need to be seen as fashionable, relevant, or different has overpowered the joy of just being.
And so, where does that leave those of us who live this? It makes us dig deeper. We search for the untouched, the unbothered, the untrendy. We turn to archives, old interviews, out-of-print editorials. We create new references, find beauty in awkward silhouettes or overlooked moments. Not to gatekeep—but to preserve what still feels sacred. Because in a culture that recycles and repackages everything, real originality isn’t just refreshing. It’s revolutionary.
Let them chase the moment. I’ll be somewhere growing timeless.
