IYKYK brand namechecks are hip-hop’s chicest flex

Since the turn of the millennium, rappers have been namechecking behemoth brands like they were going out of fashion. In fact, at one point, you couldn’t put on your headphones without being inundated by unpaid mentions of Louis Vuitton, Dior or Burberry. Hell, even the song titles were branded: Jay-Z had “Tom Ford”, Migos had “Versace”, and Gucci Mane… you get the point. In practice, it was a win-win for each party, organically boosting the rapper and brand’s clout without the #ad disclaimers. So far, so Gucci.

But change is afoot. Now, rappers flex their sartorial nous with a little more nuance. Gone are the days of shouting out department store mainstays. From here on out, the real fashion killers opt for something a little more IYKYK.

For further proof, just compare the music. Once upon a time, we were lip-syncing the immortal words of Cardi B: “I like those Balenciagas, the ones that look like socks.” Now, we’re bumping Baby Keem and Kendrick Lamar’s The Hillbillies, taking style notes throughout. “All I’m wearing is Wales Bonner / Wear Martine [Rose] when I board jets,” Kendrick raps.

Of course, look closer and you’ll see this love affair between the esoteric, independent fashion label and hip-hop’s biggest heroes has been bubbling away for some time. Aside from Kendrick picking up a Grammy in his heeled Martine Rose Nike Shox or Drake cameoing in Martine’s SS21 digital presentation, there’s been myriad rap and rap-adjacent crossovers with fashion’s cult brands in the near past. Chopova Lowena co-signed by A$AP Rocky; Bad Gal RiRi papped in Mowalola? Check. Skepta binning his “LV” for his own Nasir Mazhar tracksuit, aired on the SS15 runway? Double-check.

It’s little wonder, too. At this stage, rap and luxury fashion are but synonymous, making big brand shoutouts a little easy. Where the lofty label was once the reserve of landed gentry and supermodels, carefully meted out in salon-style shows, today, it’s a live-streamed, Instagram-ed and TikTok-ed beast with major clothing and major rappers gracing the catwalk.

Just look at Louis Vuitton’s SS24 show. Not only did Rihanna, Rocky and Skepta join the FROW, replete in the new collection, but Jay-Z and creative director Pharrell delivered a surprise performance on the Pont Neuf that went immediately viral. All of this comes in the wake of countless luxury-rap crossovers, spanning Travis Scott’s collaboration for Dior Men SS22 to Virgil Abloh’s Louis Vuitton, which ticked off soundtracks from Tyler, the Creator (AW22), Wu-Tang Clan’s GZA and Lupe Fiasco (SS22).

Put simply, the luxury fashion landscape has changed. Announcing your affiliation with it is no longer showboating, but rather a hats-off to peers like Pharrell or Nigo that cut their teeth on hip-hop and streetwear. Conversely, in the halcyon days of rapper shoutouts, proclaiming your love of luxury fashion was a statement of style and importantly status, letting people know you’d made it. Now, there’s less of a chase. If anything, it’s become cliché to namedrop the Fendis and Chanels.

With more and more rappers looking further afield, the competition to remain relevant as both a style and music icon is hotter than ever before. Differentiating yourself or developing a personal brand means replacing the nouveau riche getup. And no, this doesn’t mean bore-core. Sure, you’ve come a long way, but to quote Drake, you “started from the bottom,” so keeping it splashy is a must. Enter: The Drip 2.0, a look built on fashion labels known less for their associations with the upper echelons and more their subcultural capital. As Beyoncé instructs, “This Telfar bag imported; Birkins, them shits in storage.”

Just as fashion aristocrats like Isabella Blow rushed to patron the next star-in-waiting, rappers and their contemporaries are starting to adopt a similar approach. Aside from marking themselves as in the know, this ears-to-the-ground method is also complementary to a musician’s identity. Beyoncé’s Renaissance album and tour, for example, was notable for referencing queer history of ballroom – a space protected by kinship and creativity, as opposed to wealth. As such, her accompanying wardrobe was worlds away from the silk scarves of Hermès, earning its distinction instead by insider knowledge while remaining commercially democratic. Telfar, a label adopted by many contemporary voguers, including the House of Telfar, was naturally a better fit. Elsewhere, A$AP Rocky was doing dresses long before Planet Mode had even heard of gender neutrality, making ERL’s trailing technicolour quilt the perfect match for his 2021 Met Gala moment.

It’s worlds away from the days when lyrics like Rocky’s “Please don’t touch my Raf” marked the intersection of rap and independent fashion design. But if Bianca Saunders is dressing Donald Glover, Megan Thee Stallion is a de facto Sinead Gorey ambassador, and Rae Sremmurd is hitting Coachella in custom No Sesso, then the underdog designer’s rap renaissance has clearly got legs. Ours is an interesting time – Future is booked as guest creative director for Lanvin and rappers dominate the FROWs – but foils like this are especially welcome. Remember: full-look Gucci ain’t it. Throw on some Martine, though, and all will be rosy.