The First Fashion Influencers I Looked Up To Were Dancers
Supreme jackets. Nike Dunks. Stüssy tees. Kid Super sneakers. Bikini tops. Vetemants hoodies. Yankee Hats. Camo prints. Baggy pants. Gold Hoops. Endless layers. Through the art of dance, I met fashion.
Attending weekly dance classes in the heart of New York City, it became evident to me at an early age that the city had a unique ability to mold anyone into a brazen nonconformist devoted to their freedom of expression. No matter their age, race, or gender, I found myself surrounded by fascinating individuals, each bringing a one-of-a-kind flair that shone through their rhythmic movements and distinctive personal style. The fusion of urban culture and dance, particularly commercial hip-hop creates a captivating artistic synergy that I’m still obsessed with to this day. In this relationship, clothing is an extension of all movement, a vessel that helps to amplify performances and enrich the narratives of dancers.
At first, I didn’t really get it. I didn’t get why people would show up to an hour-and-a-half class with a bunch of layers on. I didn’t get why they would come in their “best dressed” just to sweat all over it. I didn’t get why they’d dance with one arm out of their hoodie or keep one sweatpant leg pulled up to the knee while the other draped down to the ankle. In class, I’d see girls rocking Yankee hats, bikini tops, SSENSE-worthy baggy pants, and Jeremy Scott Adidas; guys decked out in KITH on top, Stüssy on the bottom, and the latest Virgil Abloh sneakers. I’d watch them with a mix of genuine wonder mainly because I had never heard of these brands or designers before, but also because I felt an inexplicable sense of affinity. To me, it was just a dance class ー I was there to learn the dance, not to be stylish. But as I began to search for my own identity, I found myself viewing fashion through the lens of dance, and suddenly, that connection finally made sense.
Dance is profoundly fluid ーa ruleless practice that forces you to take up space while showcasing the story intended by the choreographer. Similarly, fashion is also fluid and unbound by rules, offering a canvas for individuals to showcase their own intended narratives. Rooted in personal experience and self-expression, dance has no dress code; what you wear is a reflection of who you are and how you choose to move. The stylistic choices that resonated with these dancers I grew up with were not just for show, but a reflection of who each of them was off the dance floor and who they aspired to be as they became one with the choreography.
Experimenting with layers and statement pieces paired with functionality completely transformed my attitude as both a dancer and an individual. Dressing in a way that reflected how I wanted to feel during performances gave me power through this self-developed “alter ego”. I no longer felt confided to the simple white t-shirt and black sweatpants; instead, my style became more playful, featuring things like my Sean Wotherspoon Super Earth Adidas, red checkered beanie, and statement sweater emblazoned with ‘Girls Don’t Cry’ on the back. With dance already being a spiritual and freeing experience for me, embracing the “show up and show out” mantra demonstrated through the relationship between dance culture and fashion in New York City brought me even closer to my authentic self, both in and out of the studio, while also introducing me to the vibrant realms of high-fashion, streetwear, and influential designers.
I did not have TikTok or Instagram fashion influencers at the time, but I did have my friends - dancers around me - who were my real-life style icons, helping me step out of my artistic comfort zone and explore all worlds of creativity to the fullest.
P.S. If you want to see a perfect example of who does it best watch videos of dancer and choreographer, Ysabelle Caps!
