This past Men’s Fashion Week in Paris, nestled in the 11th Arrondissement of the fashion capital, Tokyo-based magazine [Sabukaru](https://www.instagram.com/sabukaru.online/) hosted their inaugural multi-brand showroom that featured independent brands from around the world. 

Though much attention during Fashion Week is given to the extravagant productions from massive luxury brands, events like these are essential for developing the next wave of designers. “It was always my dream to do a showroom,” said Sabukaru founder [Adrian Bianco](https://www.instagram.com/mrbianco/). “I always felt like having an impact in the fashion world behind the scenes was always something I dreamed about.” As Sabukaru has grown into a multi-faceted platform, originating from a blog he started almost eight years ago, Bianco feels like there is an opportunity to promote smaller designers that are moving the needle from the ground level. “Through our magazine work, I found so many designers and brands where I was like, ‘wait a second, why is no one taking care of them?’ So we put together a list of our favorite brands and put them in a showroom.”

The brands all share a common thread distinguished by a devotion to unadulterated expression. While many smaller labels lean on commercial growth with pieces that are easily understood, the items at the showroom demonstrated thoughtfulness; garments that require effort and challenge both creator and consumer. “It shows the direction of our showroom. We showcase creativity, extraordinary creativity, because we have to; this is what makes fashion interesting." 

ARCHIVE.pdf was fortunate enough to attend the event and get a firsthand look at the work. 

As background music played, ranging from Japanese city pop to Aphex Twin, there was a certain openness and warmth in the air that truly thrives in these intimate settings. The event almost felt like old friends getting back together after years apart, excited to show each other what they’d been working on. Meaningful clothing depends on the cultivation of these independent networks, else the tangible, human element is swept under the rug. 

As Adrian mused towards the end of our conversation, “With these young designers, you’re buying a cultural universe, you’re buying a story, you’re buying a potential legacy. I feel like you’re buying what fashion is meant for.” 

Marked by their independence and innovation, the following designers and brands represent the next-generation of creatives that are shaping the future of fashion. 

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From GT cars to gun design, Metal Gear Solid to the evolution of snakes into dragons as a journey of self-mastery, designer S is guided by mechanical complexity. Working out of his studio in LA, the force behind [Heightened-Sense](https://www.instagram.com/heightenedsense/) consistently pushes the limits of his designs with new shapes and materials. “Everything is done at a small-scale manufacturing level. We produce special assembly, hand finished products that are meant to last and age with time, not against it.” He’s spent the last two years working with a team in Japan to develop a new fabric textile known as “soft metal,” a three-layered fabric that places aluminum foil between cotton, maintaining a heavier silhouette while molding to the wearer’s body over time. 

“*Wearable armor*”, he calls it. “This was a big accomplishment to better translate the metal and armored silhouettes I drew inspiration from into wearable products, which birthed the product line ‘wearable armor’.  I had to develop completely new pattern systems and construction around the attributes of this textile.” Each piece takes anywhere between 6-12 hours to produce. 

Heightened Sense: 2022 'A Snake Cannot Eat A Dragon'

*Heightened Sense 2022 'A Snake Cannot Eat a Dragon'. Photographed by [Yudo Kurita](https://www.instagram.com/yudo_kurita/?img_index=1), Modelled by [Emilio Ventura Velasquez](https://www.instagram.com/zero_ko0l/?img_index=1)*

One of his latest experiments involved the use of a translucent leather that removes all pigmentation, leaving only the skin and veins visible. “I stumbled across a small piece of this leather and tested it with a tattoo machine I have in my studio. Once I confirmed that this process worked I had to figure out a way to get more of this leather,” explained S. After constructing the jacket, he worked with a [local tattoo artist](https://www.instagram.com/dogfood.tattoo) to develop the wildly intricate Irezumi imagery. “This particular piece inspired by the work of Fukushi Masaichi was aimed to feel as though it was the removed skin of a Yakuza member reworked into a contemporary blazer (Yakuza Skin Bla7er). The tattoo work alone took over 40 hours to complete.”

Bianco referred to S as a mad scientist; there’s certainly a level of alchemy involved when one fuses such design-forward components with the playful spirit of Hideo Kojima.

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[Luca Hamers](https://www.instagram.com/lucahamers/) is always looking forward. Before fashion, the Dutch designer worked in sales and marketing, though he was always fascinated with visions of the future. “My biggest inspiration is my relationship with my grandfather who was a futurist for the city of Amsterdam, contracted to draft visions and theories of what the city might look like hundreds of years in the future and how we might prepare for that. Because of this at a very young age I was introduced to many dystopian science fiction theories… This futurist way of looking at clothes is something that I wanted to encapsulate within my own work. I owe my grandfather a lot and loved him deeply.”

Hamers decided to enroll in Central Saint Martins, graduating in 2021. While most students at CSM are encouraged to explore the outer reaches of their creativity, occasionally to the point of frivolity, Hamers took a different approach. In his placement year, he worked for [Aitor Throup](https://www.instagram.com/archivepdf/p/CwAuHn1OjsR/), a formative period in the young designer’s career. 

“When I was at Central Saint Martins I developed this method of working where I would cut clothes and design them the same way that the sculptor might make a sculpture. We reserve a lot of judgment for clothes and kind of judge them on real world things; on functionality, image and a lot of other factors,  whereas sculpture simply evokes emotion. When you see a sculpture there is no use for it- there's just a visceral reaction of “I connect to this” or “I do not”. My methodology for this is to create creatures in my sketchbook and allow the anatomy of these shadowy creatures to become the details and shapes of the garments.”

*Lucas Hamers New Items, Photographed by [Paul Bellon](https://www.instagram.com/Paul.bellon/), Styled by [Mo A.](https://www.instagram.com/irl_mo/)*

In his placement year, Hamers worked for Aitor Throup, a designer with a shared appreciation of futurism. Hamer’s thesis collection was based on dark creatures that he encountered throughout his creative process. Their exaggerated forms, with oblong headpieces and padded shapes layered over one another, demonstrated a firm grasp of both conceptual and technical ability. 

Each piece from the studio engenders a rigorous process of testing and reworking until the prototype is almost perfect. This obsessive nature, while sometimes tedious, has earned Hamers a dedicated following from fans who appreciate his use of cutting-edge fabrics and techniques.The “Recluse Jacket,” released in collaboration with Sabukaru, is made with a waterproof mil-spec fabric and features a magnetic zip closure with external pockets. 

Don’t be surprised if some day Hamers is the costume designer of a great sci-fi epic. 

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Designer Susumu Miura takes independence very seriously. [AVALONE](https://www.instagram.com/avalonetokyo/) only sells their clothes online and in their Tokyo storefront, fully embracing the direct-to-consumer model. The inside of the store is split in half: one side functions as a retail and event space, where the brand occasionally hosts hardcore parties; the other side is the brand’s atelier, where everything is made  by an older Japanese artisan with over 50 years of experience. It’s quite intimate. 

Since the brand’s inception in 2013, Miura has focused on a core of well-made, functional clothing formed from the concept of “Futuristic Street Sportswear.” AVALONE furthers this approach with the use of new technology throughout the production process. “I think of AVALONE's 3D model as an analog 3D model. The 3d patterning of the framework, the mechanical arms, the cyborg feel of Japanese sci-fi anime from the late 80s. And I think it is somewhat challenging,” said Miura. 

Almost everything is done in black and monochromatic tones, lending the garments to everyday use along with their premium fabrics. “First of all, I take care of my own sensibility. I think it is important that the smell of my backbone is naturally expressed in the clothes; my backbone is the subculture that I have been exposed to since I was a boy,” explained Miura. There are traces of these hardcore and punk influences in the clothes, evident in each seam and stitched through the brand’s DIY ethos. 

The Sugar Punch x Sabukaru x Gantz Tee Shirt

The Sugar Punch Ghost in the Shell Long Sleeve

“There may have been a time of prejudice, but now people around the world are beginning to realize the artistry and excellence of anime and manga.” Referencing the satirical cartoon magazine “THE JAPAN PUNCH” by British artist Charles Wagman in 1862, [THE SUGAR PUNCH](https://www.instagram.com/the_sugar_punch/) elevates the art from their favorite anime and manga with a focus on high quality construction. “We first and foremost respect the cartoonists who created the original works, and that is why we felt that the products we made should be as good as their works.”

THE SUGAR PUNCH [recently released a collection for “GANTZ,”](https://sugar-punch.com/collections/gantz) A cult manga centered on the never-ending struggle to fight alien forces for humanity's survival. The brand also has created garments for the beloved “Ghost in the Shell” as well as the manga “Usogui.” 

“First, we examine the materials and select the best quality. Then we modify the patterns, find the right balance, and discuss with our craftsmen the mood we want to express and which technique to use for printing. We believe that through these processes, everyone's passion brings the clothes to life… everything is done by hand, including the dyeing and distressing of our products, allowing us to express the creativity and imagination of anime and manga goods, even though we are a fashion brand.”

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Born amidst the cultural euphoria of Berlin in the 90s, [Bagjack](https://www.instagram.com/bagjack/) makes high-quality handmade bags and accessories, ranging from backpacks to their staple messenger bags. When bike couriers from New York arrived in Germany with messenger bags, they brought something completely new to the country. Founder Peter Brunsberg was inspired by the new form, punctuated by a crossbody strap and easy accessibility. 

The brand’s first production facility opened in 1997, and after years of experimentation with various materials the bags have evolved to include intricate detailing with hardware. Along the way, Bagjack has collaborated with some of the most innovative tech-brands: they with Acronym to create their ‘3RD ARM’ bags, notably the 3A-6TS, one of the brand’s most intricate messenger bags; they’ve also collaborated with Stone Island Shadow Project on a bag that morphs between a messenger bag, backpack, and suitcase. 

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Bianco is convinced that [Jian Ye](https://www.instagram.com/jianye.official/) will be the next generation’s Undercover; he may not be far off. From the beginning, the brand has incorporated an eclectic array of references: an early season used the Triads from Grand Theft Auto as inspiration, another built a “pig special forces,” with models wearing pig masks and special patches with pig snouts. Jian Ye’s most recent collection looked to Shaolin kung fu for inspiration, the lookbook featuring models in fighting stance with looser, more technical fabrics offering a sense of mobility. 

Despite wildly disconnected references from season to season, Jian Ye is steadily building a cohesive creative universe. Behind the louder imagery of some collections, the clothes are clearly well-made and thoughtful. This season’s jackets use high-quality cotton fabrics with intricate pattern making and paneling, perforated with grommets and cinched by elastic ties. Noob, the designer of Jian Ye, understands the balance between the visual and tactile elements of fashion in an acute way, developing a unique aesthetic that proposes intelligent, wearable clothing. 

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“Grown, not made,” reads the bio of the [ALIVEFORM Instagram page](https://www.instagram.com/aliveform.bio/). Ping, the designer behind the footwear brand, focuses on the intersection between nature and technology to push our relationship with fashion into the future. Inspired by organic forms and the evolution of natural lifeforms, Ping blends these references with the architectural process of 3-D modeling. “My production process is similar to that of typical footwear creation from ideation to sketches and building 3D models… Followed by the development stage where I would print and test out samples, in my case what is unique is that the 3D file would completely determine the end result. There is a very direct translation from 3D model to end product; there are no molds, no patterns or fabrics involved in the process.”

The fashion industry is usually slow to embrace new technology, and the use of 3D modeling is still making its way into the production process. As the industry wrestles with the ecological implications of its practices, from unworn clothes piled into mountainous heaps of trash, to excess usage of water in making textiles, 3D modeling offers a new solution. “I do hope that we can take advantage of the technology in providing solutions for the potential problems that currently exist in fashion or in design, whether it be allowing us brands to take a more eco-conscious approach in production, to providing better wearing experience for customers.”

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[Agnes Kruel](https://www.instagram.com/agneskruel/) isn’t the first American expat to move to Tokyo and find renewed inspiration. Yet he’s managed to offer a new flavor of Americana, blending his roots in Atlanta with the vibrancy of Japanese youth and Otaku culture.

“I don’t really take so much inspiration from fashion as much as I more so look to develop a stranger interpretation of a heritage brand. And typically a heritage brand, also, is a distillation of the cultures and values that inform it.” Since World War II, Japanese and American fashion have exchanged interpretations of the original Ivy League and prep aesthetic that Japan adopted from America. “I find Americana has always been a bit myopic in what it defines as Americana. I believe ‘Americana’ within visual arts should embrace its history and roots from an angle of historical materialism rather than merely via military garments and blue jeans. The history is much more colorful and robust and deserves much more.” 

Agnes Kruel 'Diners in Domrémy', Photographed by [Francisco Narciso](https://www.instagram.com/franarciso/?img_index=1), Assistant Art Director [Nascarstarr](https://www.instagram.com/nascarstarr/?img_index=1)

Agnes straddles both past and present; he’s well equipped with myriad historical references to literature, art movements, and movies, generating an intellectualism that evades much of contemporary fashion.  His clothes offer vague allusions to these ideas, yet they embrace a disruptive pop-art sensibility.  “I am far more interested in literature than I can say that I am into fashion. Of course, fashion is pertinent to the project but the modus operandi is to integrate the various literary references into visual language in a non hamfisted way.”

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Tokyo-based magazine Sabukaru invited us to their Paris Showroom to view the work of several designers moving fashion forward on their own terms.

PFW Sabukaru Showroom: The Next Generation

Fashion is relentless, and it is fickle. But few designers have experienced its frailties like Miguel Adrover. He entered fashion in the 90s amidst the peak of the “anti-fashion” movement, when the likes of Martin Margiela, Rei Kawakubo and the Antwerp Six had shifted the lens of luxury fashion from the antiquated ritz of legacy brands to a sharpened modernity that deconstructed the normative language of fashion design. Following this pivotal creative renewal, much of the fresh talent was swiftly bought out by massive retail conglomerates, namely LVMH and Kering. At the turn of the century, the focus shifted to unfettered commercialism, and independent designers were left to fend for themselves. As the fashion industry endured an identity crisis, Miguel Adrover cut through the confusion and chaos with sincerity and integrity. 

Born in 1965, Miguel Adrover grew up in the village of Calogne, a quaint seaside town of little more than 1000 people on the island of Majorca, Spain. He dropped out of school when he was 12 to work on the family farm enveloped by towering almond trees and livestock. After he served his mandatory military service from ages 17 to 19,  he made frequent trips to London, where he saw the birth of the punk and New Romantics movement. The vivid expressionism that bands like Bauhaus and The Cult gave through their moody music and sensual style inspired the Spaniard. Invigorated by the fresh urban energy that diverged from his humble roots, Adrover made up his mind to go to New York City. 

When Adrover arrived in New York in 1991, the city was in bad shape. Following a series of social and economic fallouts in the 80s, including the crack epidemic and AIDS crisis, the ensuing decade was wrought with sweeping disarray. Adrover took up work as a janitor and lived in a tiny East Village basement apartment with rodents for roommates. As he settled into the city, he was satiated by its vivid multiculturalism. The streets of New York are the ultimate mingling of social class, where a rich man in a perfectly tailored bespoke suit with a job in the financial district is seated next to a homeless man nodding off on the subway. 

Miguel Adrover infront of Horn NY shop featured in Harper's Bazaar.

Miguel Adrover and Kate Moss for Alexander McQueen.

Despite his lack of formal training, Adrover quickly found his footing in the local fashion scene. In 1995, he opened Horn Boutique with Douglas Hobbs, a small store that sold experimental brands like Asfour and Alexander McQueen. Adrover and McQueen had been close friends dating back to the former’s travels London. McQueen actually received the call for Givenchy while he was at Adrover’s home in Majorca, and the two arranged photoshoots on the island including an editorial for McQueen’s “Highland Rape” collection that was deemed too explicit for the press. He worked on a few of the Londoner’s early collections, sleeping in the studio for months at a time and assisting with interns. As compensation, Adrover received pieces from the collections that were sold at Horn, and the boutique soon became a hub for avant-garde designers from all over the world. After a few years of owning the store, Adrover was encouraged to take the next step into design.

The Clemente Soto Vélez Cultural Center in the Lower East Side held Miguel Adrover’s debut collection, “Manaus-Chiapas NYC.” Dim lighting offered a faint glow, and tall reeds sheltered either side of the thin plywood catwalk. A nude model adorned an unsettling mask made from dozens of sticks, quickly flanked by makeshift tunics and dresses with submachine guns slung across the body. The show depicted the journey of refugees making their way to the United States from South America: in Manaus, they dressed themselves in the skin of a 15-foot python as they fled the industrialization of the Brazilian Amazon; they later armed themselves with guns and bullet straps during the civil war in Chiapas, Mexico; in New York, one wore a suit made from a hundred-year-old American flag and an unfinished dress pieced together with newspaper prints. Another fashioned a miniskirt out of a Louis Vuitton handbag. The most alluring piece was a dirtied “I <3 NY” shirt with ruffled poof sleeves, which poetically juxtaposed the social cachet of a mundane tourist shirt with something typically reserved for ballrooms.

Photos of Miguel Adrover's first runway Manaus-Chiapas NYC in 1999.

The collection’s overt political sentiments were a far cry from the standard fashion fare of self-awareness discarded for escapism and bliss engendered by ignorance. Adrover was not shy to acknowledge the pain suffered in the real world, a disposition he maintained throughout his career. While the subject matter in this show was intense, Adrover’s references to non-European heritage were quite refreshing for such a eurocentric industry. Though designers have always explored different cultures, it’s often rooted in a sense of “exoticism,” while Adrover maintained a certain authenticity owed to his frequent global passages.

Word spread like wildfire that there was a hot new item in fashion, but the buzz hadn’t filled Adrover’s pocket. He roamed the garment district on his bicycle at night, searching for discarded fabric bolts and scraps wherever he could find them. Ironically, he was only able to stage his second show with a $2000 reimbursement from Vogue when a few of his samples were stolen from a Conde Nast closet.

A dollar bill stamped with an invitation marked AW 00’s “Midtown.” A supremely talented pauper is a fashion editor’s wet dream, and returning to the same venue as his debut, Adrover presented to a crowd that included Anna Wintour and Grace Coddington of American Vogue. The catwalk depicted a city intersection, with street traffic and scuttling rain as ambient accents to the soundtrack of soft classical music.



The collection asserted Miguel Adrover’s presence. The looks featured a heavy dose of asymmetry that mirrored New York’s polyphonic nature. High-low hemlines and bias-cut panels were used on soft knits and raw canvas alike. The shoulders of a navy sweater were replaced with Yankees ball caps, trousers with an Hermes belt resewn at the inseam then slashed and worked into a jacket. A model walked the runway with an inside-out Burberry trench coat, a gift from friend and patternmaker Peter Hidalgo. This caught Burberry’s attention, and the designer swiftly received a copyright lawsuit that was later dismissed. The collection’s standout was a tailored Victorian coat made from the salvaged and dirtied mattress covering of his neighbor, Quentin Crisp, who’d recently passed. His possessions were donated to the curb, including this mess of a bed that gave Adrover’s team rashes in the studio. 

Quentin Crisp Coat made from Miguel Adrover's recently deceased neighbors' mattress for A/W 2000 Midtown

Items from Miguel Adrover's A/W 2000 Midtown

After his first two collections, the Spainard was a certifiable star. Adrover’s team worked to produce well-made garments that featured exceptional tailoring. Recalling Martin Margiela’s similar disregard for conventional luxury standards, Adrover was insistent in preserving the memory attached to garments. Linda Dresner, a boutique owner, told AnotherMag, “Miguel was the innovator of originality. With him, old became new again.” Following a much-needed investment from Pegasus Group, a burgeoning retail conglomerate at the turn of the century, Adrover was poised for international success. 

Yet four years later, he would be forced to close his label. 

The first leg was kicked without warning. After several visits to Egypt, the perpetual foreigner found beauty in the middle-eastern garb of sweeping, floor-length caftans, tunics, jodhpurs, and turbans. Turned off by fashion’s sexualized vanity, he looked to the modest and restrained style he discovered abroad. Both Fall 2000’s “Meet East” and Spring 2001’s “Utopia” featured these attires in direct conversation with Western clothing, hallmarked in the former by an old Coca-Cola shirt worn over a bleached and distressed pinstripe caftan that could’ve been hundreds of years old. The fabrics were some of the designer’s most muddied and aged, as if they were drawn straight from the Nile. The latter collection drew the same references, and the throughline of this “East meets West” moment was held together by a refined sense of elegance, a quality that Adrover maintained no matter how hectic his various inspirations were.


Cocacola tunic dress in AnOther Magazine from Miguel Adrover A/W 2001

Cocacola tunic dress on runway for Miguel Adrover A/W 2001

Patchwork vest in Another Magazine from Miguel Adrover S/S 2001. 

Patchwork vest runway look from Miguel Adrover S/S 2001. 

Military uniform style look by Miguel Adrover from S/S 2001 in AnOther Magazine. 

Military uniform style look by Miguel Adrover from the S/S 2001 runway

It was the worst timing imaginable. “Utopia” was shown in New York on September 8, 2001. A frenzied public, American and international alike, accused Adrover of being sympathetic towards the Taliban’s misogyny and conservatism. Thanks in part due to the economic fallout of 9/11 alongside the controversy, Pegasus Group closed his label. 

Financial setbacks set the tone for the rest of his career. Adrover returned independently a year later with his Spring 2003 collection, “Citizen of the World,” where he rediscovered the streets of New York. The notion of global citizenry was reinforced explicitly by a caftan printed with the United Nations logo. Adrover decided to show both menswear and womenswear together, a move that further illustrates his cultural savvy. The collection anticipated the streetwear that would dominate the 2000s: baggy t-shirt dresses next to tailored suits, bandanas and do-rags with long jean shorts and tank tops, a set of pinstripe vest and shorts layered over a navy sweatsuit. 

But Adrover just wasn’t turning a profit. At this point he was self-sufficient, using cash from his savings account to stage presentations. The stores that still trusted him had trouble receiving the orders on time, and when they did arrive, customers weren’t impressed. Linda Dresner, a boutique owner who believed in the talent, reckoned with the reality of it all: “But these have been difficult times, and although his clothes were always very handsome and beautifully made, they were not commercially easy. Business was at a point where we didn't feel like going out on a limb anymore.”

Miguel Adrover United Nations Logo tunic from S/S 2003. 

Another look from Miguel Adrover S/S 2003. 

By this point, Adrover was showing only once a year, with the fashion calendar proving to be overwhelming. On his last leg, Adrover delivered Spring 2005’s “The Americans.” An exhaustive 96 look collection that illustrated the “Old West,” alluding to the rich visual history of cowboys and Native Americans. Many of Adrover’s hallmarks were present: a truly diverse casting of models including meso-American children hand-in-hand, strong tailoring, and an exploration of cultural clothing. Native motifs were blended with western suede and prairie gingham prints alongside classic American prep. A series of garments featured handmade cave-paintings of hands and buffalos. When a brand presents almost 100 looks, it’s hard not to think of it as throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks. If this sense of desperation wasn’t gathered during the show, it was made quite apparent when an exuberant Adrover, hand-in-hand with friends, ran across the stage wearing a shirt that said, “anyone seen a backer?”

"Anyone seen a backer?" Miguel Adrover closes S/S 2005.

Out of money and out of spirit, Adrover said goodbye to America. “Bush was re-elected and I gave up,” he told Colleen Nika. “I didn't want to live in a country torn by war I didn't believe in anymore. And I spent all my savings.” In his struggle for an uncompromising artistic vision, the fashion industry and bottom-line won out. For Adrover, the “why” was far more important than the “how.” After 14 years in New York, “it was time to go.”

By 2012, the fashion industry had morphed into the bloated monster we know today. The internet accelerated discourse and the global conversation forced business to move at a breakneck pace. The semiotics of clothing have diluted into simplistic symbols of social status, the same logos that Adrover mocked over a decade earlier. In an interview with Byronesque, Adrover lamented, “It’s hard to be a part of the industry in the way it works today. [Everything] is related to [corporations], related to [promoting] products that are not necessary, but we cannot get enough of it. You can never get enough of what you don’t need.” When asked what needs to change, the first thing he said was for LVMH to go into bankruptcy.

Eight years after his last independent collection, Adrover returned to New York with Fall 2012’s “Out of My Mind.” To create something fresh, he lost contact with everything related to fashion, removing himself entirely from the ecosystem to explore a new vocabulary for clothing. In the same theater as his rapturous debut, he looked back to the Amazon where he imagined a tribe of natives finding a downed airplane with luggage scattered about. In a moment of complete circularity and sustainability, clothes were used just as they were: Adrover did not create any new garments, nor utilize patterns and sewing machines, sidestepping conventional construction and extracting beauty from the banality of everyday clothes. 


Miguel Adrover packs up and moves to Majorca.

With no intention to sell the collection, Adrover was freed of any notion of compromise. His total decontextualization of fashion informed the collection- much of the layering was indecipherable in brilliant manipulations and contortions of garments. As with any Miguel Adrover collection, there was an undercurrent of cultural references. Here, he drew inspiration from Western Asian costume, most notably in the knitwear and hats worn by Yemeni goat herders. Always one for humor, some of the footwear was made of hands shaped into middle fingers and devil horns. 

The return of the beloved designer was an emotional deluge for everyone involved, none more so than Adrover himself. 2012 felt like a curtain call for an artist who wanted, and needed, one last go at things. Afterwards, Adrover retreated to Majorca and settled into a hermetic lifestyle.

Years later, while exploring the surrounding countryside of his family farm, Adrover stumbled across a covering that opened to a 300-year-old snake-infested well. The former designer shifted focus to photography, using the well as a studio for its intense lighting that recalls the dramatic shadows of “Caravaggio’s light.” Much of his new work shares the same experimentation with volume and drape established in his fashion design. 

Miguel Adrover wears personal archive for self portraits.

The inspiration that led Adrover to “Out of My Mind,” that compulsion to step back from the vulgarity of society, finds itself in much of his daily life– no drugs, no sex, and no cellphone for well over a decade. Yet contemporary culture often eschews these sentiments. In retrospect, Adrover’s eccentricity was that of a frantic seer shouting warnings of the impending apocalypse at indifferent passersby. Adrover’s influence extends into much of fashion today: Demna Gvalsalia clearly follows in the pursuit of a certain high-low fusion; Adrover’s raw, unfiltered approach and muddied romanticism is evident in someone like Elena Velez, a young designer dealing with the same financial problems and backlash that faced Adrover; and Adrover’s instinctual use of diverse and inclusive modeling is now the expectation. 

In the age of conveyor belt clothing and 2-D identities, any unease with the status quo is remedied with insipid commercialism. One must accept these terms; there’s little room for those who question the spectacle. 

Fashion could not afford Miguel Adrover.


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Miguel Adrover’s abrupt career illustrates the promise and pitfalls that follow authenticity in fashion.

The Illumination of Miguel Adrover

Craig Green returned to the catwalk for the first time in two years this season, off calendar and from his studio in the outskirts of London. Following the passing of his father late last year, Green delivered a collection that conveyed the abrupt maturation that a ceaseless and indifferent world requires; it called to mind an excerpt from Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther: “And so I go my fearful way betwixt heaven and earth, and all their active forces; and all I can see is a monster, forever devouring, regurgitating, chewing and gorging.” 

Green’s work reflects a young man facing the weight of the world, scraping together a sense of security with whatever is at hand. In this collection: ponchos made of handkerchiefs and bibs printed with childish symbols of fire trucks and tractors; leather jackets pieced together with protective shooting patches; your old man’s flannel tucked away in the closet for years. In suggesting safety and comfort, these offerings are more than enough to shape an adequate perspective of menswear. But the crucial component of Green’s makeshift masculinity is uncertainty: there’s a weariness, a fear of the unknown. At any moment, the hard shell could crack open and reveal a boyish innocence. This persistent examination of masculinity, fraught with tension between youthful naivete and pragmatic maturity, is grounded in a completely novel perspective on clothing that firmly distinguishes Green from his contemporaries in menswear. 


This sense of protection is further driven by Green’s use of unconventional materials typically reserved for more functional contexts. Sometimes it’s as simple as lacing together two pieces of tarp through grommets at the shoulders and wearing it as a poncho. Other times, the decontextualization is more striking: for his Fall 2020 collection, there were sets of jackets and pants made with the rubber of life rafts and inflatable vests (seemingly functional in case of aquatic emergency), followed by tent-like structures of venetian blinds and printed sheer fabric. Another example is the vibrant ‘papel picado’ (“punched paper”) flag-like garments inspired by Mexican folk art from the Spring 2020 collection. 


Each collection from Green is based around the principles of function and protection. Despite the lofty concepts presented throughout his work, Green designs entirely functional workwear. Within this subgenre of menswear, he’s steadily developed a signature uniform: quilted chore jackets, raincoats, and straight-leg trousers are the core offerings season-to-season. The sense of community that the uniform provides is another form of shelter: in an interview with Tim Blanks, Green said, “That kind of protection aspect is something I’ve always been interested in, but I think that also kind of links back to the idea of uniforms, because they’re protective in a way that… you become part of a group when you wear a uniform. And that idea of being part of something is protective in some way.” 


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Green’s design process is informed by an approach to fashion design as a mechanic to an engine, or an architect to a home. This treatment of clothing as a mechanism allows Green to reduce menswear to smaller components and piece it back together. Structural elements like straps, ties, rope, and industrial fabrics are the nuts and bolts of his design language. References to geometry and pattern schematics appear in various collections, like the apron prints from Spring 2019 and grids from Spring 2020. Recurring abstract wooden sculptures and mechanical structures turn the human body into part of a larger, more complex machine. 

Yet Green’s true genius is his symbolic language of masculinity. As a medium, fashion is rooted in semiotics. Menswear particularly contains distinct, rigid codes compared to womenswear; the set of available symbols is far more limited. Where Green demonstrates mastery of his craft is the way he deconstructs and rearranges these symbols to create a system that, rather than make broad declarations, suggests trace notions of masculinity that reach into the collective unconscious. He forays into the nebulous realm of childhood and adolescence, when the world was illuminated by possibility and coated with the gloss of naivete, and there were knights and samurai and warriors, and the next great quest lay waiting in the woods. 


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But we age; reality sets in. Careers and relationships solidify, our parents become old, friends get married and start families. It feels like only a couple years ago that you were just entering a world where everything under the sun was within reach. Navigating this matrix requires a shell, some kind of protection against the pressures and responsibilities of the external world. And so, we craft an identity the best we can, piecing together notions of maturity and resolve. We look to the established symbols, but there’s no roadmap, no manual. 

Craig Green possesses a keen ability to convey these subtle precarities of masculinity and maturity. The architectural structures that he builds through clothing and sculpture are secure and protective, yet simultaneously delicate. At any moment, the strings that hold a quilted jacket together or ropes that bind a heavy tarp could unravel. Underneath the facade of protection, there is a fragility in Green’s clothes that reflect the uncertainty of crafted identity. The excess of functionality, like bags made in a rubber factory that makes anesthetic pumps, or giant, enveloping parkas layered with down vests, reflects the compartmentalization we use to maintain composure. 


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The collections of Craig Green feel like tribes of misfits embarking on a journey, setting out for the great unknown. If the boy from Where the Wild Things Are invited other kids to the island, they might eventually come to the same sartorial conclusions as Green. There is a boyish curiosity with mechanisms, systems, and how things work that informs a raw and instinctive use of materials in his clothing: if a tent can keep the rain away, just take it apart and make it into a raincoat. Green conjures memories of unzipping a sleeping bag and running around the woods, wearing it as a cape– memories of zip-off pants being completely novel inventions. These nostalgic sentiments of childhood are deeply personal and evoke strong emotional responses; they remind us of a time when the world was wide open, before the constrictions of societal expectations and roles dampened the soul. 

And so, the intricate symbolism of Green’s Spring 2025 collection: the raw safety of jackets reconstructed from layers and layers of leather scraps, or leather belts stacked like a corset around the waist that were later slashed and splayed, reflecting the fragility of conventional stability. There was innocence in the tablecloth shirts and ponchos with simplistic figures of fire trucks and tractors; a naive sincerity in sweaters and knits thrown on top of each other, like a boy late for school trying to dress himself for winter. The show concluded with frayed tapestries, hand-woven with vivid depictions of florals and the raw beauty of the big blue sky. Craig Green invites us to rediscover something we left behind when it was time to ‘grow up and be a man.’ The world is a scary place; but Green’s radical vision of menswear equips us with the armor to face whatever lies ahead. 


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How the British designer is building a new language of masculinity.

Why Menswear Needs Craig Green

When most people think of avant garde fashion, they think of fashion for a singular purpose or occasion; [Jordan Arthur Smith’s namesake label](https://jordanarthursmith.com/) challenges this assumption by creating garments that exist as multiple garments simultaneously, with no finality. Much like the signature curves in his designs, Smith has followed a non-traditional path on the way to founding his eponymous label. 

While most designers begin their career under a well established designer, or work at a major fashion house, Smith took a leap of faith and started his own label, despite the barriers he faced due to isolation from a major fashion market. Since 2020, Smith has worked tirelessly on collection after collection out of his apartment in the Midwest, hand-crafting garments that are closer to works of art. Smith and his label’s offerings are a product of his non-traditional background, and experimental approach to design. Growing up in a small town on the coast of California, Smith considered becoming a fashion designer in high school. After graduating, he went to a local community college and lived at home. During this period, he worked as a sailmaker, learning technical skills that later helped him as a designer. He then attended Kent State University’s fashion design program, up until the Covid-19 pandemic began and hindered in-person learning. Seeing the ensuing shutdowns as an opportunity, Jordan and his wife decided to start the label with some savings out of their apartment.


Jordan’s work in Kent State University  

Smith's formative adolescence in coastal California engendered a fascination with the natural world. From water motifs to the use of natural dyeing techniques, his designs reflect this fascination. Smith’s design process is quite self referential, resulting in works that are unlike anything else from his contemporaries. Smith and his in-house team make every piece by hand, outsourcing only a few pieces and components. Jordans unconventional work reflects his keen attention to detail and non-traditional background, and these qualities help him stand apart from his contemporaries. Smith took the time to be interviewed by ARCHIVE.pdf. In the interview we discussed Smith’s background, his eponymous label’s origins, his inspirations, and how his ideas come to life.

Jordan Arthur Smith, Prelude Editorial December 2022 


**Tell me about yourself and your journey as a designer.**

I got really into fashion in middle school and high school. I focused on researching designers, diving into the worlds they created and the history of the brands, and buying a few pieces that I really liked. After highschool I really wanted to go to fashion school but felt like it would make more sense financially to attend a local community college first. I studied fashion and photography, and graduated with a degree in both, and this college experience allowed me to explore new mediums of art such as ceramics, and quickly pick up industry experience in fabrics and construction. I've kind of always had the same vision and aesthetic that I've wanted to execute for the brand. I went into sailmaking and that taught me a lot of the technical side of things. It started with nonclothes and a lot of sewing and just technical skills. Things such as learning how to pattern make and learning how to sew. From there I went to Kent State for a little bit, and then I started my brand during the pandemic. We kind of started out of our apartment out of nothing. We didn't have anything, and …I just had this itch and this desire of, ‘this needs to happen.’ I felt that I had a unique enough voice in the space and enough passion to make things happen. I had no idea at the time if anything was going to work out. I had $3,000 left in our bank account because I worked a little bit over the summer and I just said ‘I'm just not going to school. I have to have this stuff ready and I'll have a collection out, and I'll have no money, but I can just find a job somewhere else or go back to school if need be.’ 

I just started it with nothing. Now we're here, and over time, we've just been knocking at the door– asking for us to be let into the industry, or give us recognition. I think I've also been fighting for that [industry recognition] because of where we're based. The pandemic was a little tricky because everything was online. But that was fine for me because it gave me a little bit of an advantage, because the location didn't really matter [during Covid]. Everyone was on an even playing field. And now, because of the location I'm in, the work has to speak for itself. So it's been a bit isolating, starting the brand. But I think that's been a good thing because in isolation, I've been able to focus on what we stand for and just the designs. And that's what is going to cause my brand to survive, or die.


**Tell me more about your technical background. **

I think that it's done a lot for my designs because I'm able to start things in a very different manner than most designers do. Especially with our sculptural works, starting with something that is not made for the human form, which is similar to what I was doing with sail making, and then translating that onto the body. As far as a fashion background goes, I do think that I got enough of a glimpse of that from constant self-exploration, also through fashion university and the pattern-making background, specifically in relation to clothes. It's not necessarily a nautical approach, but a lot of my designs are connected with water in one way or another. 

As far as the visuals there's always some water element. I'm sure my team kind of hates me for it, where every collection I'm like, "You have to do something with water." Whether it's shooting it in the water, or incorporating some water into it. It's always a starting point for me, and it's also very relaxing to me. I feel really at peace by the water and most of the realizations that I've had in my best moments have come near the water, whether it be an ocean or a lake. I think that that's a lot of the DNA and background in our garments.

Jordan Arthur Smith, Plexus Knit Collection 

**Tell me more about your affinity for water.**

It is a much deeper question. I think water has always been the most comforting thing for me. A lot of the designs that I work with are [about] adding comfort and protection to people. That comes from a more personal aspect of my life. Water has always been comforting and protective. The garments represent that in my life as well, in a more physical form, whether it's design elements that are very literal or something we call the ‘estuary motif.’This was inspired by the estuaries of my childhood and how those looked. We have a lot of other organic seam work and elements in our mind that remind me of water. If you look at our garments, they're constructed in a very non-traditional way. There are not really any straight seams anywhere. If there's a straight seam or a dart, I'll turn it into a curved seam, which makes things very complex and difficult to construct. When it comes to curved seams, to get those things to lay flat, the pattern work has to be perfect, and you have to rework things several times.

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[The] things that inspire my work are mistakes and the process. As a designer, I'm not very literally inspired by many things. I don't reference much history or literal references; it works from a point of experimentation and process. And so, one of the elements that informed the curved seam work, and the ‘post-human’ work I've been working on, is a mistake made during grading for our first collection. When you grade all the sizes, it's difficult with the curved panels. One of our panels had a bubble in it, and I thought, ‘this is terrible because I have orders due.’ It was a very stressful moment in my life. Early on, I was caught up on this. From there it shifted into thinking this mistake could actually be something cool, because there was some element I liked about it– if I incorporate this in a way that looks intentional and pushes the design forward, that informs the post-human sculptural work we do, where I'm actively making sculptures to create the shape of the garment I want and then translating that back to the human form. This goes back to the water elements and the protection elements of something that is protecting the body and shielding it.

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**Who is the post-human and what does the post-human look like to you?**

I think that informs a lot of the design. Maybe I'm a little focused on utopia, as opposed to the world going into something not so great. It's weird– I think it's a bit of escapism in my design. A lot right now is focused on irony and dystopia as opposed to looking forward to the future. Our brand is focused on a future that doesn't exist right now and what that could look like; whether it be the sustainable elements of our garments or just garments that have multiple ways to wear them, that's one of our big focuses. I want to make clothes for the future where someone might wear something one way now. But with time, trends shift, and [the wearer’s] ability to experiment grows. They can wear something a little more crazy and feel more comfortable. I like to think about design as a challenge: that's where we start most of our designs. One of the keys of our brand is that our garments can be worn in multiple different ways. With that challenge, it informs the shapes of the garments and the components that go into them, whether it be details, pockets, fabric type, or construction in general; it's condensing a wardrobe down to something where, if I was going to take a flight, I could pack one shirt and a pair of pants and be fine for a week, see the same people, and wear those things in different ways without them noticing. The clothes can be different colors and silhouettes daily. This turtleneck is one piece that can be worn in 20 to 30 different ways.

It's been cool to see our customers send me pictures of new ways to wear the turtleneck. Like, I never thought it could be worn that way. It allows people to experience the clothes, experiment, and create newness in their lives. These moments take me back to when I started in fashion, that feeling of newness and creation. I'm experimenting with the garments for the design, but I also want to pass that on to our customers, allowing them to experiment with the outfits, wearing a turtleneck in 15 different ways. For most people, a fashion journey starts with basic things that feel uncomfortable. A simple turtleneck could be easy for someone to pull off because it looks like a normal turtleneck,but can be worn as a dress, a halfway dress, or on one arm as a tank top with one longer sleeve. It allows people to choose how daring they want to be each day and ease into that.

**How do you interpret time? Both in relation to self and in relation to your label's clothes?**

It's funny that you bring that up, because that's also one of my main key pillars of the brand, focusing on time and the passage of time. I use that in many different ways: the way I look at our collection is a continuation of building a world, not necessarily switching to something completely different. Each garment [that] I've made experiments with a basic Western wardrobe of menswear, making those pieces unique, and building off of that while referencing old work. There's the passage of time going backwards, referencing mistakes I've made, or ideas we haven't fully brought to life; our post-human work is a good example of that. Even now, I haven't fully realized that idea. Focusing on materials is a huge thing [in the process]. That's one reason why I focus on the natural undyed color of things: it's a passage of time because when people wear it, it will get dirty and show the markings. Another focus is on hardware. Many of our garments have hand-painted elements for the hardware, so as people wear them, the paint will come off, revealing the brass underneath.

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I try to design things so far in the future that they almost become timeless. I reference objects that I view that way, whether it be the pyramids or nature in general, because nature is very timeless. A frog has been around for a long time and isn't going anywhere. It isn't going to necessarily morph into something and isn't going to pass with trends. Another thing I focus on, as far as the visuals and our brand in general, is things that aren't set in a specific period. I reference enough from the past and push enough to the future, with a tiny sprinkle of the present, to create something timeless. 

I don't want our clothes to be seen in the present, future, or past. I'm particular about the visuals. I avoid buildings, cars, street signs, or anything that would date a photo, like that would show if it was from 2019, 2020, or now, based on the technology or other details. I focus on things that could be put in a time capsule and sent back to ancient times or the future, and people could wear them that way as well. I don't want to date things with a timestamp. Focusing on materials that age with time is important. For our first collection, I worked with only natural dyes—indigo, an algae dye paste with acorns, tea, iron, and walnut hulls.And so, those things fade over time. As the wearer uses them, they'll naturally fade, similar to jeans and raw denim. I am drawn to garments and objects in my life that will intentionally age and become personal. Incorporating nature or natural elements into the clothes so they develop a personal relationship between the wearer and nature.


**How has the design process been different for the last collection?**

With the last collection, we had different outcomes in mind because we focused on a specific dye process. It came from the more practical standpoint of which designs will look best with that dye process, and we let that process sing. With the Erode collection, we deconstructed the pieces into several panels. Some of the jackets had over 50 pattern pieces or more to make one jacket. With that, the seam work became a distraction to the dyeing process and it was too busy for me. So we stripped things down and made them more minimal to incorporate the dye process and printing process we used, [and] let the garments and the process stand out. 

We printed clothes on top of clothes. One example is the sweaters with an estuary motif, or as we call it, the ‘plexus,’ similar to a poncho; The sheer element was printed on the base layers, which informed the design. This collection's design comes from our focus on the print process and incorporating pieces that worked with that.I always have to outdo myself each time, making something crazier than last time. Whether it's a piece that can transform into more ways to wear it or a statement piece, we always aim to create something extraordinary for the next collection.

Nash Hill

Writer

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The Illumination of Miguel Adrover

Why Menswear Needs Craig Green