It used to be simple.

If someone showed up to a gig in designer clothes, you knew they were either lost or about to get kicked in the shins during the second chorus.

Now? Now the drummer’s wearing Margiela. The merch girl’s rocking Comme des Garçons. And that guy in the front row, screaming every lyric from the DIY EP you helped mix in a garage? He’s dressed like a Paris Fashion Week seating chart.

What the hell happened?

From Duct Tape to Drip

There was a time when looking like shit was part of the brand. Oversized flannels. Beat-up sneakers. A tote bag that’s carried three laptops, two packs of strings, and a broken heart. That’s how you knew someone meant it.

Now?

You open Instagram and that same kid’s in head-to-toe Rick Owens, posing like he just paid $800 to look like he survived a warehouse fire, not played in one.

When Grit Becomes Aesthetic Currency

Look, it was inevitable. Cool eats itself. And nothing’s cooler than someone who doesn’t care about being cool — which is why fashion always ends up chasing the kids who were just trying to pay rent by selling zines and noise tapes out of their trunk.

But now the pipeline’s terrifyingly fast.

One week you’re a 19-year-old dropping blown-out emo-rap on SoundCloud with a profile pic that’s a JPEG of a broken CRT TV.
Two months later you’re modeling for Acne Studios, and GQ is calling you “the voice of Gen Z’s disaffection with modern capitalism.”

You still live with your aunt.

A Brief List of Things Fashion Brands Have Stolen From the Scene

• The grimy club flyer aesthetic (you know the one: bad fonts, worse spacing, somehow iconic).

• Band tees so obscure even the lead singer’s mom didn’t buy one.

• Safety pins as statement jewelry (Vivienne Westwood is screaming from the grave).

• Distressed hoodies that look like they were left in a tour van during a heatwave — for $1,200.

• That look you had when you were broke and hungover and trying to make a 2PM soundcheck — now called “deconstructed streetwear.”

They Took the Noise and Left the Feedback

Here’s the real kicker: half these runway kids couldn’t name a single track by the artists printed on their shirt. They don’t know the band, the venue, the tour that shirt came from. They’ve never been hit by a snare drum mic that fell mid-set.

They’re wearing your scene like it’s a filter.

They think D-beat is a sneaker drop.

But Here’s the Twist: Maybe We’re In On It Now

Because some of those SoundCloud kids? They like it. They’re taking the platform, the press, the free Balenciaga jacket and using it to fund the next 12-inch. They’re bringing their crew to Paris. They’re name-dropping their favorite noise label mid-interview.

And honestly? Respect.

If the fashion vultures are gonna feast, make them pay for the privilege. Sell them the attitude. Keep the soul.

And when the hype fades?

You’re still the one who can sell out a 200-cap venue on a Tuesday night, wearing jeans you patched yourself and a hoodie from the last band you opened for.

Stay Ugly, Stay Loud

Let them wear Prada.

We’ll wear beer stains and unfinished lyrics and patches from bands that don’t have Spotify pages.

And we’ll still look better — because we mean it.

Fashion’s just playing dress-up.

We were born like this.