Hip-hop Fashion Hits the Suburbs
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from the October 22, 2003 edition -
http://www.csmonitor.com/2003/1022/p14s01-lihc.html
Hip-hop fashion hits the suburbs
By Jeffrey Meyer | Special to The Christian Science Monitor
NEW YORK - Jersey Gardens is a suburban mall with an urban
twist.
Thousands of Garden State teenagers descend on the cavernous
shopping center in Elizabeth, N.J., each
weekend in search of bargains at Old Navy and Polo Jeans.
But many teens are increasingly eschewing khakis and plaid
shirts for roomy and colorful clothing made by
Sean John and Rocawear, two of the bestselling rap-inspired
clothing labels.
Christian Osorno, a high school student from suburban Union,
N.J., is among them. On a recent Saturday
afternoon as he cruised the mall with three friends, he
sported a blue-and-white basketball jersey that fell
below his knees, a matching cap tilted 45 degrees to the
right, and baggy bluejeans that hung below his
hips.
Christian describes the outfit as "loose" and "ghetto."
Loose, ghetto, and coming to a mall near you.
Teens living on cul-de-sacs and in small towns are
increasingly taking fashion cues from rap music videos.
Sales of hip-hop fashion, estimated by the NPD Group, a
market information company, to be $2 billion in
2001, are considered one of the fastest growing segments of
the apparel industry. That's mostly thanks to
mall stores such as Sears, Nordstrom, and Target stocking
more urban brands.
Rap artists-turned-fashion designers are responding by
expanding the scope and reach of the clothing labels
they launched in the 1990s. "Having these brands is about
having the bad-boy image," says Marshall
Cohen, chief industry analyst at NPD. "Suburban kids are now
thinking 'I don't have to live in nowhere-ville
anymore,' "
This commercialization of cutting-edge fashion raises the
question: Does urban fashion lose its authenticity
- or street credibility - when it goes suburban?
Hip-hop culture began its journey from underground to
mainstream in the mid-1970s in the Bronx section of
New York City. Hip-hop pioneers were primarily young
African-American men. They would express
themselves by making and trading rap mix tapes,
spray-painting graffiti on buildings and subway platforms,
and break dancing.
As hip-hop evolved into a lifestyle, a style of dress
emerged. "Hip-hop started with fashion sense," says
Nelson George, author of "Hip-Hop America." "It's always
been very visually orientated."
For two decades hip-hop enthusiasts appropriated items from
mainstream fashion, says Mr. George.
Sometimes they would wear accessories in unique ways -
Adidas sneakers or Timberland boots with the
laces untied. Other times they would lay claim to upmarket
brands such as Tommy Hilfiger and Polo Ralph
Lauren.
Black designers began launching labels in the early 1990s.
One of the first successful brands was FUBU,
which stands for "For Us By Us." The surging popularity of
rap music prompted artists Sean "P. Diddy"
Combs and Jay-Z, as well as Russell Simmons, the founder of
Def Jam Records, to introduce clothing lines:
Sean John, Rocawear, and Phat Farm.
Today, the freshest street fashions emanate from the Jamaica
section of New York's Queens borough.
Fashion enthusiasts here say the latest look is clean,
colorful, and loose. "Gotta be like no other person.
Gotta look good," says Allen Elder, a college freshman who
lives in the area.
Mr. Elder says that hip-hop clothing is a dress code among
his friends: "You're going to be looked at funny if
you come out here with torn-up jeans or khakis. Everyone
wears baggy jeans, sneakers, fitted hats, doo
rags, bandannas, anything with a name brand."
The reactions of urban teenagers to their suburban peers
co-opting their style range from pride to
indifference to caution. "It makes you know that your
fashion has gone far," says Elder's cousin, Patrick
Lipcomb, also a college freshman. "It [also] gives you a
sense of pride, like: 'Yeah, we started that.' "
Marty Grams, a college sophomore wearing a loose-fitting
Rocawear denim jacket and jeans combination,
brushes off the concern. "You're doing you, I'm doing me.
I've got too much to worry about doing me."
It's not always easy for suburban students to match the
authentic hip-hop look, though, Mr. Grams
acknowledges. "When you switch it up they can't do it like
you do." To this end, he says he owns 37 pairs
of sneakers, and alternates between wearing linen, velour,
and denim suits.
But fashion-conscious folks in Jamaica are having to switch
their styles faster if they want to stay ahead of
the pack. In many cases, there is now little lag time before
a new design pops up at department stores such
as Macy's, Bloomingdale's, and Nordstrom.
Retailers are scurrying to cash in on the urban fashion
trend. Later this month, Sears will launch prototype
"urban-inspired clothing" sections in 50 stores. The company
says it is catering to African-Americans and
Latinos by stocking the hottest urban brands in bigger sizes
and brighter colors.
But "it's not just city people buying these clothes," says
Willy Medina, a Sears spokesman. "Suburban kids
are flocking [in] as well." Sales of urban apparel at a
Schaumburg, Ill., store outside Chicago are among the
company's strongest, Mr. Medina adds.
The allure of hip-hop clothing in the mall and on the street
are in many ways similar. In both places, young
people want to look cool and look different. But for many
suburban teens, wearing the same clothes as
rappers spouting violent and profane lyrics on television is
a sign of rebelliousness.
"Many white kids feel as locked out of the mainstream as
black kids," says Bakari Kitwana, author of "The
Hip Hop Generation: Young Blacks and the Crisis in African
American Culture" and the forthcoming "Why
White Kids Love Hip Hop." "They want to get away from bland
and boring American mainstream culture."
Some suburban teens dress in street attire to express a
connection with the glamorous and exciting
lifestyles depicted in rap videos. But they can "sometimes
go to the extreme of fashion," says Sergio
Rivera, a teenager from suburban Bergenfield, N.J. Some
students at his school "drop $200 or $300 at a
time on clothes."
Analysts say that some items - such as doo rags and velour
suits - are more difficult for white kids to pull
off. But the hip-hop movement has thrived by including
different races and nationalities. "It's a big-tent kind of
culture," says George.
The success of designer Marc Ecko testifies to the size of
this tent. "Marc is a suburban white guy from
Lakeland, N.J., ... who grew up a hip-hop fan," says Rob
Weinstein, vice president of marketing for Ecko
Unlimited. Mr. Ecko parlayed his passions for painting
graffiti and listening to hip-hop music into a $300
million-a-year business.
He began a decade ago hawking bundles of mix tapes and
T-shirts with graffiti designs for about $20 each to
shops along the New Jersey shore. Today, Ecko Unlimited
sells men's, women's, and children's clothes.
And its rhino logo can be seen embossed on sweaters in
Macy's stores across the United States.
Ecko is embracing mainstream consumers in its goal to become
a brand like Polo Ralph Lauren. "The
company believes it can strike a balance between selling to
the masses and maintaining its credibility with
the street," says Mr. Weinstein. "As long as we continue to
be innovative, we're going to stay popular."
If this is true, Ecko and other urban fashion labels may be
here for a long time. Analysts say that as hip-hop
culture becomes more ingrained in popular culture, where
you're from and what you look like become less
relevant.
Adds Allen Elder, the New York college student: "You don't
need to be black or white to get a fresh pair of
clothes."
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