16 Things That Changed Streetwear Forever

The term "streetwear" is derided as often as it's praised. For most people, it doesn't exist. It's a label applied by people who don't "get it" or by corny corporations and business-types looking to cash in. For many though, it's associated with the underground companies and designers who made clothes that reflected the shit they were into. For brands like Stussy, that meant reggae, punk, and Chanel. Erik Brunetti's obsession with pop culture symbols like Jaws and Powell-Peralta's Bones Brigade is evident in a lot of FUCT product. In a world where people with enough Instagram followers are self-proclaimed "influencers," it can be hard to discern who's actually left an imprint on the culture.

The people and moments reflected in this list are indicative of cultural shifts and level of access—two things that have always played a part in what we define as "streetwear." That is, clothing meant to reflect the climate of subculture at the time, and how accessible it was to the average consumer. After all, once something goes mainstream, it's no longer "underground." We looked at the culture's roots, spread, and visible influence on brands today. From visionary stores and brands to technological breakthroughs, these important milestones shaped street culture. Here are 16 Things That Changed Streetwear Forever.

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When it happened: 1980s
Lasting effect: The graphic tee becomes a fashion statement.

The hot rod culture of the '50s and '60s saw artists like Ed "Big Daddy" Roth translate grotesque cartoons of characters like Rat Fink onto airbrushed "Weirdo T-shirts." Artists like Rob Roskopp and Jimbo Phillips of Santa Cruz were clearly influenced by that California subculture and took it with them to the next wave of rebellion: skateboarding.

Santa Cruz became known for its decks and T-shirts emblazoned with muscled arms busting through targets, screaming hands, and incredibly stressed blue faces. Powell Peralta's Vernon Courtlandt Johnson helped the brand stand out because of his skeleton-based "Bones Brigade" tees, which captured the minds and torsos of many California youth. It was the first time that artists, brands, and customers saw the T-shirt as a symbol of youth culture—you needed a license and a stretch of road to drive a hot rod, but all it takes is a board and balls to go skate.

When it happened: 1988
Lasting effect: Sets the stage for a global streetwear scene.

Surfboard shaper Shawn Stussy started out making tees to supplement his boards, and when he and Frank Sinatra Jr. turned it into a full-on line, their subtly colored black, brown, and navy goods were in far contrast to the super-bright surf apparel of the time. But as more people started singing Stussy's praises, that afforded a young Shawn Stussy with the opportunity to travel around the world and meet like-minded people.

Among them were Luca Benini in Italy, who became Stussy's European licensee, and Hiroshi Fujiwara, who was influenced by the brand to start his own line—GOODENOUGH—in 1989. Benini would go on to found Slam Jam, one of Italy's coolest streetwear shops, and Fujiwara's lasting influence on streetwear culture can still be seen in every Nike HTM shoe as well as anything that comes out of Fragment Design.

When It happened: 1990
Lasting effect: SoHo becomes a shopping destination for streetwear heads.

SoHo has roots as an artsy area before gentrification made it the de facto shopping mall of Manhattan. While shops like agnes b. have been there for a long time, former Union owner James Jebbia saw the neighborhood as the ideal spot for Stussy's first flagship store. With a rich cultural history, Jean-Michel Basquiat ended his SAMO project here, the last thing anyone thought SoHo would become is a shopping destination.

Once Stussy opened its doors in 1990, so did the floodgates. People couldn't get enough of the brand's gear—especially their baseball caps, which went from sporting good to fashion staple. The athletic hat underwent a transformation from a way to rep your team to just another way to look cool.

When It happened: 1990s
Lasting effect: The link between streetwear and skateboard culture is solidified.

East Coast skateboarders like Jahmal Williams and Harold Hunter listened to rap, but for a long, long time rappers didn't skate. Videos like Alien Workshop's Memory Screen and Zoo York's infamous Mixtape six years later featured cool kids doing cool shit while looking awesome.

For many kids, seeing this type of gully shit during their formative years introduced them not only to the culture, but also the unofficial uniform: flannel shirts, twill pants, baggy tees, and of course—things like Zoo York hoodies and Supreme caps. It was an inadvertent way of building brand awareness, that of course, like most pure things, got corrupted by commercialism over time. But that's another story entirely.

When it happened: 1993
Lasting effect: Becomes the nucleus of streetwear trends and culture in the new millenium.

Nigo's nickname stems from his self-perceived secondary status to Hiroshi Fujiwara ("Nigo" means "number two"). When he started his brand in 1993, he opened up a shop called Nowhere to coincide with it. While many rappers, producers, and other cultural figures co-signed it, it wasn't until Pharrell became a total BAPE stan that the brand gained a footing in the U.S. Thanks to the super producer and musician, by 2005 kids were draping themselves in all-over print hoodies, shark hoodies that zipped all the way up, and Japanese re-interpretations of the Air Force 1 styled after comic book superheroes.

If Stussy accidentally invented streetwear, A Bathing Ape's dominance is a signifier of the point where the Japanese unique reverence for street culture took over and perfected the industry. Sure, brands like visvim, NEIGHBORHOOD, and WTAPS have succeeded BAPE as the new tastemakers and the stuff cool guys covet, but BAPE seared into the minds of burgeoning hypebeasts that Japan is where all the good shit was coming from.

When it happened: 1994
Lasting effect: Camouflage becomes a design trope in streetwear's repertoire.

Before Maharishi came along, your best bet at finding camo clothes was at a thrift store. Hardy Blechman, a dedicated enthusiast of "disruptive pattern material," readily implemented it into Maharishi's goods, even overseeing the design of its first in-house camo, "Cannaflage," by Andrew Rutland and Robbie Hammad. In 2004, Blechman literally wrote the book on camo.

Long before Mankey designed BAPE's famous take on duck camo in 2000, Maharishi had been putting out camo gear for years, not only reinterpreting classic patterns, but also collaborating with artists like Futura. As camo expert Nick Wooster tells it: "maharishi took the idea of camo and ran with it in such a way, that in the late '90s, it was the perfect thing at the perfect time."

When it happened: 1994
Lasting effect: Inadvertently establishes the basic business model of modern streetwear brands.

Supreme came around in 1994 and revolutionized what a skate shop could be. Prior to the Lafayette shop, most skate shops didn't have a vision at the time, and were mostly just a means to an end—and that end was get the customer out and skating. James Jebbia saw things differently, he wanted to create a space that was inviting to the culture, with the air of a club meant for people who got it. Subversive campaigns like putting stickers on Kate Moss Calvin Klein ads drew some ire from the fashion world, but kids ate it up.

Limited production runs, dropping gear throughout a season instead of all at once, graphic tees with photos on them, and the unimistakable box logo are all things that have been often imitated, but never truly duplicated. Shawn Stussy himself admitted that "James [Jebbia] has done a great job and done it the right way." Supreme's brand-driven identity and self-made success is the stuff plenty of its contemporaries literally dream about.

When it happened: 1995
Lasting effect: People start buying gear simply to resell it for a higher price.

When eBay was founded in the mid-90s, some saw it as a quick way to sell off unwanted junk. Ironically, Craigslist was also founded that year. Funnily enough, the first thing sold on eBay's first iteration, AuctionWeb, was a broken laser pointer that went for about $15. Nearly a decade later, eBay found itself flooded not just with the old tchotchkes and Precious Moments figurines of grandmas everywhere, but limited-edition T-shirts and sneakers at inflated prices.

By creating a secondary market, eBay made people realize that they could re-sell hot-ticket items because people who missed out on a Kermit Supreme tee would gladly pay three times the price for it. Of course, down the line the demand for such products would be exacerbated by sites like Hypebeast (we'll get to them), which drove up prices even more. As a result, people started lining up outside stores not just to resell shit, but because that was the only way to pay the retail price for stuff you actually wanted.

Meanwhile, online forums like SuperFuture, NikeTalk, and StrictlySupreme established their own online marketplaces where users could buy, sell, and trade goods with each other. Many resellers flocked to these niche sites, where the established, informed fan base perceived more value in these "hyped" items.

When it happened: 2000
Lasting effect: Streetwear goes corporate, mass-market, and hits the mall.

The moment Karmaloop went online, literally millions of kids who didn't have access to brands like 10.DEEP, Acapulco Gold, and Crooks & Castles suddenly found themselves in a modern candy shop rife with caps, graphic tees, and all manner of streetwear. The house that Greg Selkoe built brought streetwear to the Internet, and for better or for worse, made it super accessible.

On the mall front, brands like Zumiez competed with smaller, independent skate shops, picking up brands like Stussy and The Hundreds, and making them readily available at malls. For many brands, this meant sacrificing some street cred for a bigger piece of the pie. For independent skate shops and smaller stores—competing with Zumiez usually meant going out of business. While many founders and designers found themselves with a nice cushion from the resulting fallout, many of the culture's diehards looked around and saw the slow death of what was once a vibrant, subversive culture rooted in anti-authority.

When it happened: 2000
Lasting effect: The sneakerhead is born.

Stussy's Michael Koppelman had an affinity for Nike trainers, specifically the Huarache of his youth. When he hit up Nike's Fraser Cooke about a co-branded version, they started an ongoing tradition that evolved into something much bigger. The 2001 Dunk collaboration marked the beginning of the full-fledged "sneakerhead." People began lining up outside Stussy chapter stores trying to get a pair.

A year later, Nike had finally gotten a foothold in a skateboarding culture that had long resisted corporate intervention. The Nike SB program was largely successful because of guys like Robbie Jeffers who got legit dudes like Gino Ianucci and Eric Koston to co-sign the brand. They also debuted the Nike SB Dunk in 2002—and followed up by collaborating with brands like Supreme and Diamond Supply Co., two skate heavyweights in their own right. Mixing basketball nostalgia with irresistible colorways, limited runs, and collabs with serious street cred led to the sneaker craze that characterized the early 2000s footwear scene. Eager kicks enthusiasts scrambled to find gear that perfectly matched their shoes, and plenty of streetwear brands were there to make money hand over feet.

When it happened: 2002
Lasting effect: The points where streetwear, sneakers, and hip-hop culture intersect are dissected for the masses.

Not to toot our own horn here, but Complex's debut marked a point where a culture that had long been underground got a voice in mainstream media. Inspired by product-focused Japanese magazines, Marc Ecko's buyer's guide for men expanded its coverage of the coolest gear out juxtaposed with celebrities and musicians who were about to blow up—as much as we get shit for being Kanye West stans, we've been fucking with him musically for over ten years.

Despite criticism and competition, Complex was one of the first publications out there highlighting streetwear, sneakers, and the points where fashion, style, and hip-hop intersect. And we're still here.

When It happened: 2003
Lasting effect: Japanese street culture gets filtered through the mind of streetwear's biggest celebrity.

Pharrell's style has evolved over the years, but long before Kanye wore a skirt, and Andre 3000 was shilling Gillette products, Skateboard P literally put streetwear on his back. His skate-inspired style (trucker hats, Shortys T-shirts) turned into an affinity for Japanese brands like A Bathing Ape, and his friendship and professional relationship with Nigo turned into what is arguably the most successful rapper clothing label out.

Billionaire Boys Club recently celebrated ten years in the game. It touted Japanese-made garments and the all-over print hoodie trend that was prevalent in the mid-2000s. Respected figures like SK8THING were behind many of the brand's designs, and the Japanese streetwear scene continued its overseas dominance. More recently, Pharrell enlisted lauded menswear designer to oversee the more tailored Bee Line collection, a move that legitmized the link between streetwear and the burgeoning interest in proper menswear.

When it happened: mid-2000s
Lasting effect: People are able to find out exactly what celebs are wearing and buy it immediately.

Before the Internet, finding out what a celebrity was wearing was tough. Big designers like Versace and Polo got a love of love (see Raekwon's Snow Beach anorak), but the biggest push a small brand got was LL Cool J's FUBU shout-out in a Gap commercial. Then, once forum culture started buzzing, finding out that Kanye wore an LRG "Dead Serious" hoodie went from trivia to common knowledge, and people started buying them immediately.

Now all it takes to find a rapper's streetwear co-signs is a quick Internet search. Dressing like Kanye West or any other celeb is easy. Everything from identifying Pharrell's BAPE gear from 2005 to Curren$y's Diamond Supply Co. tees isn't just possible, it's purchasable. Some rappers like Tyler, The Creator regret the influence they've had on their fans' shopping habits, others like Lil Wayne start their own labels to make even more money, and A$AP Rocky simply acknowledges that "all these motherfuckers wanna dress like me" in his music.

When it happened: 2005
Lasting effect: Establishes the archetype for every successful online magazine devoted to cool gear.

Forums like NikeTalk, SuperFuture, and StyleForum have long been a place for dudes to talk about sneakers and clothes, but they weren't very easy to read, or particularly welcoming to total n00bs. When Hypebeast came out in 2005, eager consumers who wanted to be up on the latest thing now had a source to keep them on top of upcoming releases and drops.

The fact that "hypebeast" became a pejorative for overeager consumers who want to spend their money on what other people tell them is the "next big thing" is a testament to the site's influence on the culture. Whether that's positive or negative, no one can hate on the house Kevin Ma built. It's expanded its reach without losing its original intent to find the coolest shit out there, and to Hypebeast's credit, has managed to launch two different print publications and an e-commerce store.

The beast has evolved from essential source of information into a one-stop shop for its readers. If Tyler Brule's Monocle is the menswear dude's worst nightmare, then Hypebeast is the monster the Internet's subcultural participants created.

When it happened: 2006
Lasting effect: Building a brand becomes easier than ever.

Social media allowed people to network without having to leave the house—or take their eyes off their phones. Twitter and Instagram lets struggle designers show off upcoming product without ever having to set foot in a showroom or meet with one buyer. Brands were able to engage with their customers on a different level than "here's some shit we're selling." They developed voices, they took photos of "the lifestyle" to display on Instagram. The real game changer? Tumblr.

The newfangled social media platform attracted streetwear's most important demographic: kids. Since streetwear is primarily influenced by youth culture, it makes sense that some of today's most popular brands see a healthy helping of reblogs a. 40 oz. Van built an empire of snapbacks off the popularity of his NSFW Tumblr. Been Trill rode that wave from a Tumblr to a Stussy collab and an iPhone app.

When it happened: late-2000s
Lasting effect: Decreases the need for physical stores to sell limited-edition gear.

Contrary to the hackneyed saying, the revolution wasn't televised—it was uploaded. E-commerce platforms like Big Cartel and Etsy made starting an online store much easier. While you could always peddle shit on eBay, newer platforms allowed brands to fully customize the design, giving site visitors a more immersive experience. The online community is a boon to independent brands, some of which eschew getting placement in stores and sell their gear strictly online.

The so-called "new DIY" is a global phenomenon, not just limited to cool guy pockets in New York and London, but inspiring kids everywhere that all it takes to fake it 'til you make it in the modern streetwear industry is a good enough idea, some blank T-shirts, and an Instagram account.