Much can be said about Rei Kawakubo’s referencing; this is a whole space of study, to be honest. Rei Kawakubo’s Fall ’97 Adult Punk collection for Comme des Garçons took referencing into more chaotic terrain. Vogue described the models as “alien sprites” with mohawks and full theatrical makeup; while the collection played with decay and disorder, evoking a kind of deconstructed Victoriana — what Vogue memorably called “Miss Havisham’s couture atelier”, a referencing to the eerie Charrles Dickens character from ‘Great Expectations’. Underneath the aesthetic lay a deeper referencing mechanism: a challenge to the notion of coherence itself in fashion. The collection seems to be equal parts a nod to Victorian England and Japan’s Imperial age, all tempered by Kawakubo’s ability to ground her work in punk aesthetics. Kawakubo is one of the most preeminent leaders in citing punk as an attitude, and her unsettling designs were at the time interpreted as destructive. In this way, Kawakubo’s referencing is self-weaponised to say precisely what she wants to about fashion, beyond the societal discourse; often leaving viewers guessing about her true intentions.
Few designers are referenced as frequently – or as reverently – as Martin Margiela. You’ll be hard pressed to find a designer today who hasn’t, in some way, been inspired by Margiela’s work; long before there was Demna’s antagonist ‘enfants terrible’, there was Martin. In the 1990s, he rewrote the rules of fashion by deconstructing and upcycling before it was ever cool or even seen as interesting, and his influence continues to haunt runways today, especially in Japanese fashion, alongside designers like Rei Kawakubo and Yohji Yamamoto who shared a similar appetites for abstraction and rebellion. They too referenced tradition (kimono shapes, ancient textiles) only to distort it. Together, this school of referencing rejects commercial glamour in favour of philosophical depth; ultimately, it’s referencing as a way to dismantle norms and reconstruct meaning from the ruins.
In contrast, Thebe Magugu continues to offer a deeply local and politically resonant approach to referencing. His collections draw from South Africa’s archives – familial histories, apartheid-era documents, traditional dress, and protest movements. Magugu’s referencing locates global fashion in specific South African narratives, challenging Eurocentric assumptions about who gets to be in the archive. In his hands, referencing has become a method of cultural preservation and a political act. I’d argue, too, that Thebe’s work poses a kind of transmutation or healing by centering the past as something integrated into our current, creative conversations.
Understanding fashion references sharpens your visual literacy, and it’s the difference between seeing a garment and reading it. Referencing teaches you how designers think and how they place themselves within a lineage, what they borrow, and how they build on it. For aspiring designers, this is crucial – albeit, exhausting to hone in on, I’d imagine; when life bears so much depth and complexity to draw from. Referencing helps one situate their work in context, and it shows that we are aware, intentional, and in conversation with history. For critics or consumers, it’s equally essential: it enables us to appreciate the depth behind a collection, to spot cultural references, and to interrogate questions of authorship and originality. Ultimately, it allows us to engender a deeper appreciation for fashion. Referencing, to me, is what makes fashion as interesting to think about, as it is to look at it.
Indeed, referencing also opens up ethical terrain. When is it homage, and when is it theft? How does one draw from another culture respectfully? These are not easy questions, but they are the right ones to ask. Take, for instance, Martin Margiela’s seeming monopoly on the Japanese Tabi. There’s a rhetoric today that Tabis not made by Margiela are somehow ‘dupes’—a notion that’s laughable when you remember the split-toe shoe has existed in Japan for centuries, long before the Maison ever elevated it to fashion’s avant-garde pedestal.
Ultimately, referencing is a way for designers to participate in fashion’s larger, ongoing story. That awareness is what gives those ideas resonance and strength, as fashion functions as a living archive: a record of who we have been and who we are in the process of becoming. When designers reference the past, they are translating it, bending it into new forms, inverting its meanings, and reinventing its possibilities. In doing so, they remind us that fashion is an ongoing dialogue that spans generations, geographies, and ideologies.
The next time you encounter a collection, it is worth looking a little closer. Instead of asking only what is new, can we consider what is being remembered, reinterpreted, or reasserted?
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