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Where Did These Hip-Hop Clothing Labels Go?
From FUBU to Phat Farm, Rocawear to Sean John, here's what happened to these once-hot early aughts brands.
NIA PORTER Jan 11, 2016, 11:00a
Scott Gries/Getty
LL Cool J was always seen in FUBU, Jay-Z had a closet filled with RocaWear, and everyone from Usher to Beyoncé wore Sean John. Truth is, if you closely identified with hip-hop and the urban community in the ‘90s and early aughts, you did too. You kept your Phat Farm polos starched and made sure your labels were consistently on display. Fast-forward more than 20 years and these clothing lines have all but vanished from the public consciousness.
For decades, rap music has served as the arbiter of what is in and hip for the urban community, especially when it comes to style. The 2015 documentary Fresh Dressed details fashion’s significance as a form of identity for hip-hop artists and the fans who look up to them. "Being fresh is more important than having money," said Kanye West at the opening of the documentary. "The entire time I grew up, it was like I only wanted money so I could be fresh." Being able to afford the Salvatore Ferragamo and the John Galliano Cam’ron name-dropped in his songs became equivalent with success.
Young kids and hip-hop heads alike embraced high-end labels because it was something to aspire to. The Notorious B.I.G. and Puff Daddy pretty much put Versace on the map for young black kids. Aaliyah made Tommy Hilfiger a household name in black households after posing in heavily rotated commercials and advertisements for the brand in the ‘90s. However, many of these unabashed signs of affection often went unreciprocated.
Image: Kevin Mazur/Getty
Urban apparel lines became hip-hop’s answer to the corporate white world that wanted so desperately to shut them out. The ‘90s and early 2000’s witnessed the rise of the "for us, by us" mentality, an era of innovation and entrepreneurship within the hip-hop community. By staking a claim in the fashion world and turning their labels into multi-million dollar companies, black business owners and rappers rivaled the Ralph Laurens and Tommy Hilfigers of the world by creating label-based clothing their urban customers could relate to.
But somewhere down the line the baggy jeans, oversized sweatshirts, and label-ridden clothing fell off the fashion radar and out of the minds and shopping carts of their customers. Somewhere down the line, rappers stopped donning FUBU hats and started looking back to Paris and Milan, to a legacy that was not created with them in mind.
Here, we take a look at the rise, fall, and current whereabouts of Fubu, Phat Farm, Rocawear, and Sean John today.
FUBU
Image: Robin Platzer/Twin Images/Getty
Like most urban clothing lines, FUBU was a homegrown venture with modest beginnings. Daymond John was just a kid from Queens, New York with his sights set on hitting it big in the urban apparel market. His first taste of success came in 1989 after making $800 in one day with a batch of wool hats he had a friend sew up for him.
John noticed the cultural relevance of screen-printed T-shirts, and shortly thereafter whipped up a few in response to the Rodney King riots and the arrest of Mike Tyson for rape in 1992. In an interview with The Washington Post, John admitted that the shirts set off a lightbulb in his young entrepreneur-driven mind. "It showed me something about the reason people buy clothes — that when there’s an emotional connection, products sell quicker. That’s when I started thinking about the concept of ‘for us, by us.’"
To expand the line’s reach, the designer teamed up with three of his childhood friends from Queens, J. Alexander Martin, Keith Perrin, and Carl Brown. They moved operations to John’s mother’s house and took a second mortgage on the home to turn it into a makeshift factory, sewing labels onto its signature baseball caps and football jerseys.
Image: Jeff Kravitz/Getty
Their first celebrity endorser turned devoted FUBU ambassador was the rapper LL Cool J in 1993. FUBU took off after that. By 1997 the line was raking in nearly $40 million; by 1998, over $350 million. LL even wore a FUBU hat in a Gap commercial — unbeknownst to the executives at the family-centric store. Mainstream stores like Macy’s and Nordstrom started selling FUBU.
The brand went on to rack up a handful of awards, including accolades from the NAACP Awards, the Congressional Awards, and the first Essence award ever awarded to a company. But things started to go south when John and his team bit off more than they could chew in terms of production. Soon, excess inventory made its way to outlets and discount stores.
John acquired a handful of brands, including Coogi, Drunk’n Munkey, and Heatherette — all but Coogi have since failed. He relaunched FUBU as FB Legacy in 2010 using rappers like Soulja Boy, Roscoe Dash, and Slim Thug to attract customers. Today, the brand’s website is under construction, allowing potential customers to sign up for updates on future collections and John’s newest venture, FUBUTV.
PHAT FARM
Image: Barry Brecheisen/Getty
From FUBU to Phat Farm, Rocawear to Sean John, here's what happened to these once-hot early aughts brands.
NIA PORTER Jan 11, 2016, 11:00a
Scott Gries/Getty
LL Cool J was always seen in FUBU, Jay-Z had a closet filled with RocaWear, and everyone from Usher to Beyoncé wore Sean John. Truth is, if you closely identified with hip-hop and the urban community in the ‘90s and early aughts, you did too. You kept your Phat Farm polos starched and made sure your labels were consistently on display. Fast-forward more than 20 years and these clothing lines have all but vanished from the public consciousness.
For decades, rap music has served as the arbiter of what is in and hip for the urban community, especially when it comes to style. The 2015 documentary Fresh Dressed details fashion’s significance as a form of identity for hip-hop artists and the fans who look up to them. "Being fresh is more important than having money," said Kanye West at the opening of the documentary. "The entire time I grew up, it was like I only wanted money so I could be fresh." Being able to afford the Salvatore Ferragamo and the John Galliano Cam’ron name-dropped in his songs became equivalent with success.
Young kids and hip-hop heads alike embraced high-end labels because it was something to aspire to. The Notorious B.I.G. and Puff Daddy pretty much put Versace on the map for young black kids. Aaliyah made Tommy Hilfiger a household name in black households after posing in heavily rotated commercials and advertisements for the brand in the ‘90s. However, many of these unabashed signs of affection often went unreciprocated.
Image: Kevin Mazur/Getty
Urban apparel lines became hip-hop’s answer to the corporate white world that wanted so desperately to shut them out. The ‘90s and early 2000’s witnessed the rise of the "for us, by us" mentality, an era of innovation and entrepreneurship within the hip-hop community. By staking a claim in the fashion world and turning their labels into multi-million dollar companies, black business owners and rappers rivaled the Ralph Laurens and Tommy Hilfigers of the world by creating label-based clothing their urban customers could relate to.
But somewhere down the line the baggy jeans, oversized sweatshirts, and label-ridden clothing fell off the fashion radar and out of the minds and shopping carts of their customers. Somewhere down the line, rappers stopped donning FUBU hats and started looking back to Paris and Milan, to a legacy that was not created with them in mind.
Here, we take a look at the rise, fall, and current whereabouts of Fubu, Phat Farm, Rocawear, and Sean John today.
FUBU
Image: Robin Platzer/Twin Images/Getty
Like most urban clothing lines, FUBU was a homegrown venture with modest beginnings. Daymond John was just a kid from Queens, New York with his sights set on hitting it big in the urban apparel market. His first taste of success came in 1989 after making $800 in one day with a batch of wool hats he had a friend sew up for him.
John noticed the cultural relevance of screen-printed T-shirts, and shortly thereafter whipped up a few in response to the Rodney King riots and the arrest of Mike Tyson for rape in 1992. In an interview with The Washington Post, John admitted that the shirts set off a lightbulb in his young entrepreneur-driven mind. "It showed me something about the reason people buy clothes — that when there’s an emotional connection, products sell quicker. That’s when I started thinking about the concept of ‘for us, by us.’"
To expand the line’s reach, the designer teamed up with three of his childhood friends from Queens, J. Alexander Martin, Keith Perrin, and Carl Brown. They moved operations to John’s mother’s house and took a second mortgage on the home to turn it into a makeshift factory, sewing labels onto its signature baseball caps and football jerseys.
Image: Jeff Kravitz/Getty
Their first celebrity endorser turned devoted FUBU ambassador was the rapper LL Cool J in 1993. FUBU took off after that. By 1997 the line was raking in nearly $40 million; by 1998, over $350 million. LL even wore a FUBU hat in a Gap commercial — unbeknownst to the executives at the family-centric store. Mainstream stores like Macy’s and Nordstrom started selling FUBU.
The brand went on to rack up a handful of awards, including accolades from the NAACP Awards, the Congressional Awards, and the first Essence award ever awarded to a company. But things started to go south when John and his team bit off more than they could chew in terms of production. Soon, excess inventory made its way to outlets and discount stores.
John acquired a handful of brands, including Coogi, Drunk’n Munkey, and Heatherette — all but Coogi have since failed. He relaunched FUBU as FB Legacy in 2010 using rappers like Soulja Boy, Roscoe Dash, and Slim Thug to attract customers. Today, the brand’s website is under construction, allowing potential customers to sign up for updates on future collections and John’s newest venture, FUBUTV.
PHAT FARM
Image: Barry Brecheisen/Getty
TH was already popular.
at the history revisionism when it comes to Aaliyah in general.