Rick Owens Wasn’t Always Cool. But He Was Always Right.

I remember the racks clearly.

Stacks of DRKSHDW pieces - longline tanks, waxed denim, cropped bombers, those signature tongues that felt like a sculpture for your ankle. All of it sitting untouched in a Miami showroom in 2015. The average buyer didn’t get it. They couldn’t understand the cuts. They weren’t sure if they were supposed to wear it oversized, fitted, or at all.

I had partnered with Rick Owens' direct distro back then. We had a massive wholesale catalog and a lot of belief. But belief doesn’t always move units.

At the time, most people still associated luxury with traditional silhouettes. They wanted Givenchy rottweilers and Saint Laurent skinnies. Rick felt like something from another planet. Beautiful, yes - but to many, unreachable. Unfamiliar.

It was hard to explain why this brand mattered.
Now it’s hard to explain how anyone ever missed it.

Rick Built a Religion Before Anyone Was Worshipping

There are designers, and then there are worldbuilders. Rick Owens has always been the latter. He doesn’t just cut fabric - he builds systems. You don’t wear Rick to be seen. You wear it to become.

Long before Playboi Carti was screaming “Vamp” into arenas, Rick was creating monastic silhouettes that felt like they belonged in some post-apocalyptic temple. Cloaks, tunics, leather boots with architecture in the heel - these weren’t pieces made for a season. They were designed to be worn into legend.

He wasn’t mimicking trends. He was sculpting identity. He still is.

A Brand for the Outliers

Rick has always serviced a very specific tribe. The people who walk into a room and don’t want to be seen first - but when they are, they’re unforgettable. The ones who see fashion not as costume or uniform, but as code.

That’s why the artists who wear Rick tend to be the ones who break rules. Playboi Carti turned Owens into part of the Opium uniform. Ken Carson, Destroy Lonely, and Yeat all followed suit. Their looks aren’t polished - they’re ceremonial. Every draped tank, every oversized jacket, every stacked pant feels like a layer in some larger ritual.

Lil Uzi Vert wore full Rick in Paris. Kanye took notes for years. Even A$AP Rocky, who has always been a fashion chameleon, stayed loyal to Rick’s sharper silhouettes throughout.

What I’ve always appreciated about Rick’s work is that it gives people a framework to build mythology. It’s not about flexing wealth. It’s about showing people what world you live in - and who you are inside it.

Fashion Finally Caught Up

Back in 2015, trying to explain Rick Owens to a conventional buyer felt like speaking a different language. But slowly, the industry started learning how to listen.

Fashion got darker. Shapes got more exaggerated. Utility started looking spiritual. And culture at large began gravitating toward the kind of presence Rick had always offered. The line between high fashion and underground taste started to blur.

Now Rick shows up everywhere.

Kendall Jenner has worn full Rick in editorial shoots. Julia Fox walked through Milan in Geobaskets like they were standard-issue. Models off-duty, stylists on TikTok, and every fashion-forward kid with a Depop cart knows what a Rick drape means.

But none of that came from a hype campaign. Rick didn’t chase algorithms. He didn’t need celebrity endorsements to go viral. He stayed aligned with his vision - and eventually, the world bent toward it.

That 2025 Interview

In a recent interview with Steff Yotka on RickOwens.eu, Rick said something that stuck with me:
“I like the idea of people building their own mythologies.”

That’s the whole thing right there. That’s why Rick matters more now than ever.

We’re in an age where personal branding has replaced personality. Where most people dress for the algorithm, not for themselves. Rick’s work reminds us what it feels like to wear something that comes from within - not for likes, but for legacy.

What Rick Represents Now

Rick Owens isn’t just a designer. He’s a blueprint.

His brand represents longevity in a world that constantly resets. It represents craft in a time dominated by AI design tools. It represents discipline in a culture obsessed with convenience.

If you wear Rick, you’re not looking for validation. You’re sending a signal. One that says you care about silhouette, not silhouette trends. You care about material, not resale. You care about the message you leave behind.

Final Thought: We Needed This All Along

Sometimes I think about those early DRKSHDW pieces I sat on.
And now I watch younger designers reference them like sacred texts.
Rick didn’t wait to be understood. He just stayed true. That’s legacy.

His universe is still open. And for those of us who knew what it was before the world caught on - there’s something sacred in watching it rise.

So if you’re wearing Rick right now, know that you’re not just wearing fashion.
You’re wearing intention.

And if you’re still trying to figure out why it matters - maybe Rick wasn’t made for you.

But if you feel it - truly feel it - then welcome.
You’re already part of the mythology.