Reading time: 7 minutes

30.10.2025

If we stop looking only at the surface of giant names and look into the past, it turns out that every loud name once sounded quiet.

Chanel sold hats. Westwood sewed punk costumes in a basement. Kawakubo searched for beauty where others saw none.

Back then, they were simply doing what they believed in. Today, they define the style of an era. They all started as local brands — small, niche, almost invisible.

What does that mean for us?

What if the next Chanel is already sewing her first collection — but afraid to show it to the world?

Fashion history says: all giants started as “nobodies.”

The only difference is who endured the journey.

Years later, the “little black dress” becomes a symbol of elegance.

But that stubbornness — to remove the excess and leave only the essential — makes her the first to hear the rhythm of a new era.

Coco Chanel opens a small hat shop and dreams of freedom — though the world isn’t ready for a female entrepreneur. She’s accused of being too simple, of making “poor fashion,” and the press mocks the jersey she uses.

Paris, 1910s. Women are entering the workforce en masse for the first time, but their clothes still restrict their bodies.

When the Sex Pistols become the face of protest, Westwood transforms from a “crazy seamstress” into the voice of an era.

The crisis of the 1970s — protest, empty streets.

Vivienne sews in the basement of King’s Road in London while the economy collapses around her. Her shop is shut down several times for "immorality." Lawsuits, debts, mockery — no one yet sees punk as art.

But she doesn’t give up: she keeps sewing, turning a generation’s rage into a new aesthetic.

Florence, 1920s. Postwar Italy is impoverished, and Guccio Gucci makes luggage for the rich — who have almost vanished.

He works by hand, saving on everything, and even uses the leather shortage to his advantage, creating woven bamboo handles for bags.

When his sons open a boutique in New York, the family endures conflicts, lawsuits, and even murder. But the brand survives because quality is a belief, not decoration.

His sons save the company — starting again from scratch: a few machines, loans, doubts.

They bet not on the power of authority, but on the strength of character — creating a suit that makes a man look confident even when he’s in turmoil inside.

Thus, the brand traveled the path from disgrace to reinvention.

In 1920, Hugo Boss opens a workshop and later receives orders to make uniforms for the SS army. After the war, he is found guilty by a military court — losing not only his business and reputation but also his civil rights, and he goes to prison.

But he decides to start a brand under his own name. Money runs out, the press is skeptical, and his collections are alternately praised and buried.

He portrays women as strong in his collections, when society expects the opposite — submission. The women’s tuxedo was a scandal. Yet years later, it becomes a symbol of emancipation.

Paris, 1960s. A young designer from Algeria, Dior’s protégé, loses his job at 25 and suffers a nervous breakdown. Newspapers call him “out of the game.”

It doesn’t stop him. His runways feature models with piercings, wrinkles, and diverse bodies. Today, this inspires admiration, but back then — only scandal and misunderstanding.

Yet that’s what made him the voice of a new era. Everything changes when Madonna wears his corset — the world sees that provocation isn’t aggression but freedom.

The world called him fashion’s enfant terrible — the “terrible child.”

1980s. Gaultier works as an assistant to Pierre Cardin, the legendary French designer, but dreams of his own brand. He has no investors — only ideas and persistence.

His early shows are failures: “too eccentric, too vulgar.”

She doesn’t explain, doesn’t justify — just keeps sewing.

Years later, Comme des Garçons becomes a symbol of intellectual fashion.

Tokyo, 1970s. A young philosophy graduate sews clothes without any formal fashion education. Her designs are called “ripped,” “ugly,” and her first Paris show is booed by the press.

His first Paris shows are awkward, the cuts imperfect, but critics are lenient.

When the Le Chiquito bag appears, it’s mocked for its size, yet becomes a symbol of new lightness and adored by celebrities, making it a hit.

He stubbornly builds a world where sun, simplicity, and the body are not banal, but valuable.

Southern France, 2009. Simon loses his mother — and creates his first collection in her memory. No team, no budget, no PR.

Their spray-on dress on Bella Hadid goes viral — but behind it are years of experiments, failed prototypes, and industry skepticism.

Paris, 2013. Two young designers, fired from Courrèges, start from scratch. Their first seasons — no shows, no money, only the idea: technology can also create beauty.

One strong idea. Chanel — comfort, Westwood — rebellion, Kawakubo — thought over form.

Intuition of the times. They all felt the era before it arrived.

Devotion to craft. Quality not as “luxury,” but as self-respect.

Time to mature. From first steps to recognition — 5 to 15 years.

Resilience. They didn’t wait for approval; they endured silence and criticism.

None of these brands got “lucky.” Each went through failure, misunderstanding, and fear — yet kept moving.

And still, there are common traits we can turn into practice:

The path upward is never easy. Saint Laurent battled depression, Westwood — debts, Kawakubo — misunderstanding.

But they all did one thing — they kept going despite everything.

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