Minimalist Fashion: A Return To The Essentials

Clean lines, sharp cuts, and sober colors — formerly at its height in the 1990s, recent shows indicate that understatement is entering a new golden age. While it seems today that brands will do almost anything to attract social media's attention, a hint of circumspection remains a central value for many designers. From early acolytes of minimalism like Jil Sander, to those more recently converted to the aesthetic —Victoria Beckhamou or Emilia Wickstead — the goal is clear. By concentrating on a piece's cut and its choice of materials, ostentation is avoided, and the role of the garment is done justice — and it's got nothing to do with drawing attention. Such a position is particularly appealing given Instagram's influence, where flashy clothes have become one method amongst others to soak up likes. The strategy is especially favored by supermodels and influencers.

A true architect of fashion, mastering the art of the surgical cut, Cristóbal Balenciaga was one of the first to focus almost entirely on the sharpness of his lines. From the 1950s onwards, his creations were infused with a delicate minimalism, as demonstrated by his 1967 wedding dress. Nonetheless a lover of logos, to such a point that they'd be used in all-over prints on highly Instagrammable creations, successor Demna Gvasalia paid tribute to this purified vision with the house's Spring-Summer 2020 show, and then again for Winter 2020-21. Having made discretion the order of the day on social media (the account is followed by nearly 60,000 people and hasn't a single post), the Georgian designer revealed collections drenched in black that bespoke a rupture with past work — a marked return to the austerity and even severity associated with the Spanish couturier and founder. Free from embellishment, these clothes necessitated sharp attention to cut, offering the space to experiment with volume and tailoring, especially around the waist and shoulders, enlarging some and tightening others.

This cutting-edge aesthetic axed on notions of blueprint reached its climax in the 90s, the golden era of minimalism that came as a reaction to the 80s' ambient exuberance. The supreme incarnation of this subdued look were labels like Helmut Lang and Jil Sander, who still today maintain the sobriety and discretion that characterized their early style. Directed since 2017 by duo Lucie and Luke Meier, Jil Sander continues to apply architect Mies van der Rohe's famous adage "Less is more," eschewing the superfluous and opting for radical simplicity. Accordingly, the two designers advocate a return to authenticity and a certain spareness, one that's anything but synonymous with boring or unoriginal. Season after season, the pair — who remains relatively tight-lipped on social media — proves time and time again that a limited repertoire can be reinvented endlessly. Emanating a sense of comfort, their neutral-toned garments are always rendered in fabric of breathtaking quality and feel tailor-made more for the person wearing them than for the other's gaze. Of course, this doesn't mean there's no fun to be had. Presented in Milan last September, the Women's Summer 2020 collection was indeed stripped-down, but still presented delightful pieces playing with original materials like raphia, whereas at the men's show cotton fringes brushed the floor.

Subtle and above all concerned with detail rather than a mess of logos or shiny trinkets, luxury has taken a step back and returned to notions of elegance and refinement. Seeking to get closer to the essential parts of life, reminiscent of painter Kasimir Malevitch's quest at the end of the 19th century, which led him to mark art history with his re-imagining of the norms of figuration — such a process consists in adopting a certain asceticism and examining the basis of form, texture, and movement, constituting a kind of rebellion against contemporary overkill. Opposing the maximalist aesthetics of houses like Balmain and Moschino discretion and pragmatism manifest differently from season to season at labels like Victoria Beckham and Tibi, A.W.A.K.E. Mode or at Emilia Wickstead. Oriented towards clients who are increasingly interested in objects that last, more sober fashions have long been the order of the day at Bottega Veneta, considered the industry standard on understated luxury. Entirely devoid of logos, the Venetian house made its famous intrecciato (a method of leather braiding) one of the quietest symbols of ultra-luxurious fashion. Today, they remain beacons in stylish simplicity.

Going beyond the garment and its form, Martin Margiela undoubtedly deserves a place in any discussion of subtle sophistication. The couturier from Anvers always refused media attention and made a point of his personal privacy. From the beginning, anonymity was of utmost importance — he prevented the development of any cult of personality around him and encouraged the industry to focus on his creations. Indeed, it wasn't uncommon for him to go so far as to cover his model's faces. The label's image, today managed by John Galliano, embodies this approach. Simply held together by four white stitches, easy to untie and thus return the garment to its anonymity, the clothes are essentially tag-less. In response to the tyranny of the logo, the piece for the "Défilé" collection is totally white, each item is stamped with a barcode associated with one of the label's lines — from accessories to clothes through to fragrances, each circled number corresponds to the item's category.

This cerebral yet conceptual approach, born of a deep questioning of the garment, has been criticized for primarily addressing itself to the already-initiated; those already sufficiently in-the-know to take a pass on the revolving door of seasonal trends. Paradoxically, despite its subtlety in the face of loud logo-printed luxury items, understated styles can still be seen as elitist. Denoting a certain reserve and refusing to clearly show its value, it's a reminder that luxury isn't necessarily a synonym for ostentation. If minimalism's birth in the 90s was a reaction to tackiness-overwhelm, following the stock market crash of 1987 and the Gulf War, this return to basics that we're witnessing today also seems to be a sign of the times. As the climate gains ground in our political discussions, fashion seems ready to leave flashiness behind — as if to demonstrate to the world that overconsumption and constant reinvention are perhaps not sustainable objectives after all.