Before We Begin
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I’m Not A Hater, But I Am A Hater: The Current State of Menswear Discourse & Fashion Bros
Fabric First, Silhouette Second: An Interview with William McNicol
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Basic Clothes
*This one’s too long for email due to photos, so I recommend reading it through the app.
Christ — I thought my original post was enough.
But seeing the number of comments left on The Style Turner’s video left me thinking, and ultimately in the mood to write about one of many problems we’re seeing in menswear, or fashion in general.
It’s been both shocking and surprising how the brands I love — Comoli, Auralee — have become such heated topics recently due to their minimal design, or expensive price tag. Which is ironic, considering how many of the same voices were drooling over virtually anything by The Row or Lemaire up until recently, happily shelling out serious money for regular cotton — or, at times, polyester — pieces, as long as the right co-sign was attached.
Now, no shade to Turner at all. I follow him and do like his work — he’s able to go in-depth across multiple fronts in fashion and offers thoughtful, insightful commentary compared to much of what’s circulating right now. That said, I do have a few thoughts on the “basic” label being tossed around, and the comments under his post.
So, let’s talk about the why behind my appreciation for the brands currently flooding your feeds.
i <3 comoli
I haven’t talked about this much, but there’s a reason I dress the way I do.
I was soft-spoken and quiet as a kid, often choosing to stay home to play Maplestory or RuneScape than joining extracurricular clubs. Being flashy, or drawing attention to myself in any setting, made me anxious — and in many ways still does.
When I first got into fashion, brands like Comme des Garçons, Raf Simons, and Yohji Yamamoto became my entry point via Tumblr. Brands that announce themselves — through silhouette, proportion, or deliberate absence of colour. Wearing them felt liberating, like stepping outside my comfort zone and into a version of myself I wanted to become.
That liberation didn’t last.
Many of these so-called “non-basic” brands were ill-fitting for my body, and often relied heavily on synthetic fabrics while still commanding luxury prices. While the attention was nice, I didn’t feel like myself — instead I felt like a caricature than anything else, chasing validation by dressing in ways that didn’t feel genuine to who I am.
Eventually, I had to ask myself:
Why am I spending this much on something I’m not genuinely connected to?
Why am I paying luxury prices for plastic?
That shift led me toward brands like Comoli at first, later Sono, ssstein, and Niceness, and recently brands like Mark. S and Wright + Doyle. If I’m paying a premium, it should be for construction, fabric, and longevity. After years of trial, error, and some genuinely hellish fits, I’ve developed a uniform that makes sense for who I am — one that prioritizes comfort, versatility, breathability, and pieces I’ll actually wear for years.
Over time, I realized I didn’t need to dress loudly to be confident. I became comfortable accepting who I am — quiet, honest (a little too honest some days), yet spicy when appropriate. I wanted clothes that didn’t need to declare anything, or signal that I belonged to a particular camp. Ironically, many of the loudest critics of brands like Auralee or Comoli — while positioning themselves as “honest” or “forward-thinking” — are still dressing to fit a camp of their own.
This isn’t about signaling status or performing some fashion-elitist persona. It’s about wearing clothes I genuinely enjoy, from brands I believe in, that fit me — emotionally and physically. If that means paying a little more, so be it. The problem is that this heightened sensitivity around fashion has flattened the conversation, discouraging people from trusting their own instincts and making decisions for themselves.
What’s also interesting is how the very same fashion bros are now pointing fingers at other fashion bros — accusing them of personality-adopting and status-chasing through these brands — while committing the exact same crime themselves. It’s Rapp Snitches Knishes in real time.
If anything, it highlights the growing divide in fashion — and how few people are actually willing to spend time understanding why things cost what they do, or what they’re even wearing in the first place. “Fashion bros are putting these brands on pedestals” very quickly turns into, “but I wanna wear that.”
It’s the same issue I touched on in my last post about fashion bros: when money enters the picture, opinions tend to disappear. If you were handed a juicy bag by Zara, would you promote their fast-fashion agenda without hesitation? And once that money’s in your account, are you still shopping at Gap and Abercrombie — or are you finally buying the *Sheep Leather Standing Collar Jacket by ssstein you actually wanted?
*I want it, which is why I brought it up.
Pricing, Effort, and Access
Are there crazy markups tied to these brands in the US and Canada? Oh, absolutely — but it’s hardly an end-all. There are alternative ways to access these garments if you’re willing to put in even a small amount of effort — shopping Japanese retailers (which we often list here), using auctions, or going through proxy services.
Take Auralee’s hand-finished, Garment-Dyed Duck Blouson as an example. It retails for around $1.6KCAD at Lost & Found, yet the same piece can be purchased through Coverchord for roughly $800CAD, plus duties. Or, you can find it for less on sites like Mercari or Buyee. And if proxying feels intimidating, Leland has a straightforward guide that breaks the process down step by step.
Hell — make a friend out there and have them hook you up.
The issue is effort — or rather, the lack of it. That absence has become increasingly visible within North American influencer culture, where the easiest options are pushed first and recycled endlessly, with little interest in growth, exploration, or evolution. But why bother, when likes and validation roll in just fine off bootleg cashmere from Gap — sorry, CashSoft — or the latest dopamine-hit haul from whatever fast-fashion megacorp is trending this week?
Maybe tweaking your algorithm — or actually speaking to level-headed people in fashion — would reveal that these brands have been circulating for years, worn by people who’ve long been invested in them because of their quality, construction, etc. If your feed is dictated by trends, you’ll inevitably be served the same handful of fashion bros that are just now picking them up, which is usually where the resentment kicks in — especially when price enters the chat. It gives FOMO, if I can be honest, when it really shouldn’t.
I’m all for critique — especially since we need more bite in an otherwise soft industry — but there’s a divide in North America that’s becoming increasingly obvious as shops like Neighbour and Ven Space become household names.
Whether people like it or not, these retailers are disrupting the space by prioritizing quality over quantity, longevity over the temporary, and intention over excess — often offering better value than the so-called luxury names dominating Vogue spreads or whatever high-fashion journalist happens to be flooding your feed that week.
True enlightenment in this space is being able to appreciate something for what it is, even if you can’t afford it. I love Taiga Takahashi, but their price points are often higher than I’m comfortable with right now, and the fit runs a bit small for my body type. Are some of their designs simple? Sure — but the time, research, and textile sourcing behind them help justify the cost.
These are garments built to last — thoughtfully made, with the wearer considered throughout the creative process. For some, that level of care and quality will always matter. But if your interest in fashion stops at surface-level validation, then this kind of work is naturally going to irritate you — even if that frustration is ultimately aimed at the wrong people.
Cultural Disconnect
Authenticity, intention, and purpose are foundational to Japanese fashion culture — and they’re things that feel increasingly absent in North American menswear. Here, the loudest voices tend to be the ones who will die for brands like J. Crew or Buck Mason, or spend money meant for date night on a pair of 501s and call it good taste.
There’s a familiar Western superiority baked into a lot of the criticism aimed at Japanese brands — calling them “boring” or “overpriced,” while happily pushing near-identical uniform dressing on Instagram, TikTok, or ShopMy. Beige fits, white tees, 100% cotton everything — framed as timeless when it comes from the right places, but suddenly laughable when it doesn’t.
That’s the double standard.
Japanese brands are dismissed as boring or inaccessible, while Western minimalism — often just as plain, just as repetitive — is praised as essential. At a certain point, it stops being about clothing and starts becoming a question of who we allow to define taste in the first place.
There’s no shortage of inflated egos online — especially among Western influencers — and it’s nearly impossible to shift their perspective when “good taste” begins and ends with brands like Thom Browne or Prada. These labels get positioned as proof of authority, as if picking something up from either one automatically crowns you an grandmaster of taste.
I love Tanner, but saying “they’re not gonna like this one” while repping Thom Browne — a brand selling a simple cashmere sweater for two grand, four-bar cashmere cardigan for two and a half, or a wool pullover for a grand and a half — and presenting that as some bold statement on taste misses the point entirely. At that point, it reads less like critique and more like bandwagoning — critiquing “expensive” and “boring” while repping something even pricier, and just as simple in design. The four bars are tacky too — hate to say it.
On the other side of that coin, in Japan, you’ll find countless subcultures spread across different pockets of the city — each rooted in genuine interest, obsession, and care. People aren’t dressing to signal neutrality or chase virality, they’re dressing because they’re deeply invested in what they’re wearing and what it represents.
That passion extends to the brands themselves. The goal isn’t to create something that reads well at a glance, but to make garments that serve a purpose in your life — and if not immediately, then thoughtfully enough to ensure they’ll live with you for a long, durable time. For people conditioned to treat everything as disposable — clothing, content, even attention — that way of thinking often doesn’t translate.
*Also, pet peeve — influencers asking their audience to put them onto small brands. It’s a shortcut to looking informed without doing any of the work.
Comments & Luxury
There were a few comments under that video that really stuck with me:
“Love this amazing analysis that explains why this is boring and expensive.”
“If I’m ever spending $2,000 on a single item, I’m buying from a luxury heritage brand — Loewe, Prada, Lanvin — not a brand that was founded 5–10 years ago.”
What’s frustrating about both is the lack of actual thought behind them.
In the first case — and I don’t mean this to be harsh — it’s hard to take someone seriously when they’re calling Auralee “boring” or “overpriced,” while their ShopMy is stacked with Todd Snyder, Banana Republic, Buck Mason, and Abercrombie & Fitch, all in a colour palette that looks like a raw chicken breast.
Their last post was a how-to on dressing for the opposite sex, delivered in too-short Hollister jeans — Love Island contestant energy, somehow worse — and a striped Uniqlo polyester blend that felt cheap but gets a free pass because it has lines on it.
A tie was added, a teacher fantasy was mentioned. It went from bad to worse, and something genuinely uncomfortable.
As for the second comment, it’s disappointing to see the chokehold legacy “luxury” brands still have on people — masking the reality that brand history doesn’t automatically equal quality. We’ve all seen it — pieces that look convincing on a hanger, only to fall apart the first time you interact with them, all while charging a premium that construction simply doesn’t justify.
It is funny that these brands are being punished by people either chasing validation through luxury logos that disintegrate after a few wears — or by those opting for a $35 shirt produced through exploitative labour, mass production, and outright design theft from the very independent labels they’re quick to dismiss. Again, it gives “I want it, but I can’t have it — so I’m going to cry foul.”
The easiest piece of advice? Buy smarter. Be more conscious of what you’re picking up, and spend less time watching the same lifeless, sell-out creators on Instagram or TikTok. You don’t need to purchase a whole ass haul every time the algorithm tells you to prove your interest — or, truthfully, your lack of interest — in fashion.
You don’t have to jump straight to Auralee or Comoli — there are brands offering equally strong garments at a lower entry point, especially smaller labels like Bisown (similar to Auralee) or Barbell Object (similar to Comoli). Or, if you want to be put on some game, subscribe to Duchump.
It’ll cost you — just not nearly as much as pretending you know better while buying worse.
Fashion That Isn’t Content
Take Graphpaper as an example.
Founder Takayuki Minami has openly shared that some collections take anywhere from six months to two years to develop. Not because they’re indecisive — but because fabric sourcing, mill relationships, testing, and refinement take time. That labour isn’t meant to create something that dazzles at first glance or functions as a showstopper. The goal isn’t novelty — it’s longevity.
This is where Japanese fashion excels. The intention is to create clothes that serve a purpose in your life — not to demand attention or exist solely as content for 10-second reels. These are pieces meant to reward the wearer, evolving materially and emotionally over time. It’s not that we’re “in on something” — we’re simply paying closer attention to how clothes sit, feel, and actually work on the body.
That perspective is often lost in North America, where fashion is increasingly treated as a tool for engagement — a means to grow an audience, sell an image, or maintain relevance. The emphasis shifts from curiosity and care to simulation: looking the part without doing the work.
What’s interesting is that in Japan, fashion enthusiasts frequently look outward — toward American Ivy, hip-hop, or workwear — as sources of inspiration. Here, though, there’s a not-so-quiet “America-first” mentality that limits growth, giving rise to brands that mistake manufactured demand for genuine interest, often propped up by engagement loops rather than real communities.
And that difference matters.
If it’s “basic” to invest in durable, well-made clothes that fit properly and age with you, then fine — call me basic. I’d rather get real cost-per-wear out of a Comoli cashmere sweater than keep funnelling money into legacy brands churning out weaker versions of what they used to be. What’s funny is that some of these so-called boring clothes actually become more interesting over time, developing character and new life the more you wear them — like James Coward’s Heavy Linen Replica Jacket, which fades and shifts in colour with wear.
Meanwhile, that white Oxford from Gap — the one you’re buying for the third time — will fall apart just in time for you to replace it again. At least it’s almost Christmas.
Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to watch a video about a guy unboxing an unused Sega Dreamcast in 2022.
*And to the one guy who said Auralee should introduce more colour — it takes two seconds to Google the brand. It’s free, painless, and your limbs will remain fully intact, I promise.
Thanks for making it to the end — I genuinely appreciate it.
If you’d like to chat about anything covered here, or swap thoughts on past pieces, I’m always open. And if this resonated with you, consider sharing Duchump with someone who might enjoy it too.
- Chris
i think a lot of the discourse can be boiled down to people don’t want to shop smart - they want to buy right away and be perceived as cool right away. combine that with influencers just engagement baiting with hot takes every video and the nuance is just completely lost
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