Oversized hoodies, baggy jeans, and chunky sneakers have taken over streets, stores, and closets worldwide. And one key figure behind this transformation is designer Demna.
In the last decade, it was almost impossible to miss this brand. Balenciaga not only dictated what people wear but how they think about fashion. What started as a provocation on the Paris runways turned up on the streets within a few years.
Beginnings in a Chinese Restaurant
The entire story of Georgian designer Demna Gvasalia started in the '90s when his family fled the war in Abkhazia. They left the then-Soviet Union. Young Demna studied at the famous Antwerp Academy and went on to work at well-known places like Louis Vuitton and Maison Margiela. It wasn't until 2014 that he launched his first significant project—his brand, Vetements. The name, which means simply “clothing” in French.
Vetements, which Demna developed with his brother and friends, was more of an experiment than a classic fashion house from the start. It wasn't just about clothing but about how fashion is presented and understood. Vetements questioned the very rules of the fashion world—from the format of shows to the concept of the designer as an untouchable authority.
Their first show took place off the official fashion week schedule—in a Chinese restaurant in Paris. Later, there were other unconventional locations: the basement of a gay club, a boardroom, the interior of a church. Actresses, DJs, or stylists themselves appeared as models. Fashion suddenly didn't seem like an unreachable abstraction but a world we know. And one that someone had suddenly altered.
From the beginning, it was evident that Vetements wouldn't operate like a traditional brand. It was more of a free platform using fashion as commentary on the world around. It didn't try to build identity through a clear visual style like Chanel or Gucci. It was more about the approach. One collection consisted solely of collaborations—with Levi's, Reebok, Dr. Martens. What initially seemed like a prank turned out to be surprisingly clear vision. Taking the familiar, cheap, and everyday—and showing that it, too, can be luxury. Or more precisely, that luxury and taste are primarily matters of perspective.
What initially seemed like a prank turned out to be a surprisingly clear vision. Taking the familiar, cheap, and everyday—and showing that it, too, can be luxury. Or more precisely, that luxury and taste are primarily matters of perspective.
This is also shown by Demna's idea of himself as a designer, describing himself with the words: “I'm not a fashion designer. I see myself more as a conceptualist. Clothing is my medium.” And in another interview, he put it even more precisely: “Sometimes I feel like I'm doing exhibitions instead of clothing.” He openly admitted that he is more interested in conception—the meaning clothing gains when it appears in an unexpected place, unexpected combination, on an unexpected figure.
And when, after just three collections, the offer to head Balenciaga came, it sounded like a shock. In hindsight, it all made sense. Because Vetements was not a mistake. It was a strategy—that could fully expand at Balenciaga. And influence a whole generation's style.
At First Glance, a Mistake
At Balenciaga, Demna found everything Vetements didn’t have. An established fashion house with history, manufacturing facilities, global marketing, and a budget he could only dream of before. It was no longer a punk project of a group of friends but a luxury factory that had to operate. It was a huge challenge—but also an opportunity to reach the whole world.
He opened his era at Balenciaga with a move that we may not understand today, but back then looked like a mistake. The first campaign for fall/winter 2016 was shot by British photographer Mark Borthwick on the street—without studio lighting, without a clean styling, without striving for perfection. Models almost disappeared from frame, some faces were blurred, clothing often indecipherable. It wasn't a mistake, but a further negation of the rules. This antipresentation wasn't introducing the collection but something more important—a new atmosphere. It didn't look like an ad but like real moments captured by a passerby with a camera.
But that was just the beginning. Demna soon showed that his shows wouldn't just present new models but strong events. Reflections of the times. In fall 2019, he prepared a collection where the runway was flooded—models walked on a black surface lit only from beneath, as if wading through a half-empty pool. Everywhere were just oppressive reflections, shadows, and moisture. The collection felt like it was out of a post-apocalyptic film. And the name? End of the world.
In March 2022, a collection in a snowstorm followed. The entire show took place in an artificially created blizzard—wind, snow, and frost. Models seemed to be walking through a winter city during a disaster. The show happened shortly after the beginning of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, and Demna, himself a Georgian refugee, dedicated the collection to those affected by the war. In the front row were letters in Ukrainian. Silhouettes were light, not particularly layered, often just with plastic wraps or covers reminiscent of emergency solutions. Politics wasn't a supplement here—it was the form.
Luxury Everyone Has at Home
Demna's obsession with deconstruction was not limited to clothing—he was equally radical with accessories. In 2017, he introduced a bag that looked like the iconic blue IKEA shopping bag—only made of luxury leather, priced over $2000. Media and socials caught on immediately. And that was the goal: to show that value isn't just in the material and craftsmanship but in the context. When a trash bag appears on the Paris runway, it becomes a symbol.
In subsequent collections, similar pieces followed—bags resembling Lay’s chip bags or Tesco plastic bags. They were also reworked from quality materials but looked worthless. A fashion piece became both a joke and a fetish.
Role Instead of Personality
At a show in 2021, after the final parade, a short film was shown to guests: a ten-minute episode of The Simpsons, where Marge, Homer, and other characters wore looks from the new collection. It wasn't about promotion or a boutique product. Demna embraced humor and reflection of the cult that had formed around the brand over the years. He sent Balenciaga into the animated Springfield—and showed that even a global brand can parody itself before someone else does.
Balenciaga extended into the real world not only through clothing but through the characters wearing it. It wasn't about traditional models, but figures with their own expression. Demna continued to shatter the idea of the universal runway model. The casting of his shows resembled a catalog of various types of people: Balenciaga employees, unknowns from the street, actors, and older women. Alongside them appeared global stars—Naomi Campbell, Bella Hadid, or Kim Kardashian. On the runway, they didn’t appear as celebrities but as characters from another world. Demna didn’t just give people clothes but roles they could play.
Inspiration didn't come only from the pinnacle of pop culture. One unexpected source was Slavik, a homeless man from Lviv, Ukraine, who became an internet sensation around 2012. Photographer Yurko Dyachyshyn created a portrait series with him, where Slavik posed in his own outfits composed of found clothing pieces, changing several times a day. His layering and spontaneous styling intrigued Demna. It wasn't about mockery or romanticizing, but another shift of the boundary between high and low in fashion.
Demna's Balenciaga wasn’t just an aesthetic, but a way of thinking. One moment the brand could feel like sports merch, another like a scene from a dystopian film or a parody of luxury.
Demna's Balenciaga wasn’t just an aesthetic, but a way of thinking. One moment the brand could feel like sports merch, another like a scene from a dystopian film or a parody of luxury. Each collection was more a gesture than just a clothing design—a way to find out what fashion can say about the world around it.
Oversize No Longer Interests Me
In 2025, the Balenciaga chapter closed. Demna left the brand after ten years. But it wasn’t a sudden break. The direction that had defined the brand had spread throughout the entire fashion industry. Exaggerated silhouettes, luxury-experimenting with the everyday no longer felt like a provocation. They became the norm.
Demna himself talks about this. “Oversized clothing has become part of mainstream fashion—but not in a good way. I'm actually no longer interested in it. But that doesn’t mean I want to go back to skinny jeans,” he said in an interview for the German newspaper Die Zeit. In the moment when oversized became standard, it lost its original rebellious edge according to him.
Gucci Gang
Demna opened a new chapter in 2025 at Gucci. His first presentation wasn’t a classic show but a short film. Characters in it resembled archetypes of Italian style—the wealthy sciura in fur, a man in a perfect suit, a club girl in a miniskirt. Luxury here wasn’t just an aesthetic but a role. Gucci looked at itself with a gentle irony.
A few months later, the first major runway show followed. A long path among guests, with models slowly passing by. Nearly everything that historically defined Gucci appeared on the runway: leather coats, tight dresses, high heels, monograms, and simple jeans. Not as nostalgia, but as an attempt to reconstruct the brand's identity.
What exactly Demna will create at Gucci remains unclear. The first shows more hint at a direction than a finished style. They mix the brand's past, current reality, and the irony that has accompanied his work since Vetements.
One thing is certain. When Demna arrived at Balenciaga a decade ago, few expected oversized silhouettes, ugly sneakers, or luxury versions of ordinary things to fill the entire fashion industry within a few years.
