Subscribe to the 1 Granary newsletter to read more hot takes like this!
Founded by Yohan Serfaty and Gilles Elalouf in 2010, Y/Project saw its greatest success under the tenure of Glenn Martens, who took over as creative director after Serfaty’s untimely death in 2013. In June 2024, Elalouf also passed, which was followed by Martens’ resignation in September. Suddenly, the brand had found itself bereft of its founding fathers and without its superstar designer, leading to a search for a new owner in October and, eventually, its closure in January, marking the end of a legendary 14-year existence.
One of the most surprising aspects of Y/Project’s closure was that very fact – it actually all ended. The brand had still been an immensely popular fixture on the Paris Fashion Week schedule and its runways were still receiving worldwide coverage. Crucially, Y/Project didn’t falter or implode. Its closure conveyed a sentiment not often seen in this industry – that it’s perfectly okay for brands to call it a day.
Would it not be beneficial for the graceful exit to be more embraced by the industry? How long have we witnessed the revolving door of creative directors who have shuffled in to try to save obviously dying brands? Or how many times have we seen brands that are so intrinsically linked to their founders that, after their departure, the succession of a new designer feels less like a fresh vision and more like an awkward attempt at prolonging a legacy? I don’t need to name names here; you probably already have several brands in mind.
I wonder how much it actually costs to keep these brands, so distant from their original visions, alive? What is the actual toll of pretending that all is well? That this new designer just needs a couple of seasons to settle in? It sort of reminds me of The Substance. That idea of doing anything, anything, in your power to maintain the illusion of vitality. For many young designers, of course, you’d jump at the chance to helm a house in need of fresh blood. But when the job description basically matches that of a caretaker – or worse, a graveyard sexton – isn’t that just an immense waste of talent? If more brands were afforded the option of throwing in the towel, gracefully bowing out before they destroyed their legacies, wouldn’t that actually benefit fashion itself? Brands should be able to end things on a high.
Take Saks Potts, for example. The Scandi womenswear brand made headlines last November when it, too, announced that the business was being wrapped up. In the ten years since its founding, it had become one of the most notable brands of Copenhagen Fashion Week, being christened “Copenhagen’s fashion darling” by The Cut. Yet, in the announcement of its closure on Instagram, the brand’s founders Cathrine Saks and Barbara Potts were quick to clarify that the decision wasn’t down to financial hardship. In fact, they had never been more in the green. The brand had enjoyed consistent growth of over 25% annually and 2024 was projected to be its strongest year yet. Saks Potts wasn’t struggling, it was thriving. But why shut the whole thing down? As the founders approached their thirties, they simply wanted to explore other creative avenues. In an industry where longevity is often desired over everything else, isn’t that totally refreshing?
The conclusion of a brand’s journey is just as critical as its inception, fuelling a continuously vibrant, competitive, and evolving fashion marketplace.
What both Saks Potts and Y/Project can take pride in is the fact that nobody will remember them as brands that failed or faded away. By going out on top, they are in full control of their own narratives. Their stories end on a happy note. And isn’t the ability to walk away just as admirable as prolonged success? Of course, you have to counteract this argument with the fact that there have been many floundering brands that did experience a couple of embarrassing years, only to be saved by structural changes at the top. If Maison Margiela had shut down after Martin’s departure in 2009, we would have never witnessed the Galliano years, arguably one of the most innovative and influential tenures in recent fashion. Loewe needed a full reboot near the end of Stuart Vevers’ directorship, leading LVMH to take a punt on the young Irish designer Jonathan Anderson, who utterly reinvigorated the brand. The same can be said for Bottega Veneta under Daniel Lee and Issey Miyake under Satoshi Kondo. So, yes, a dying brand can be brought back to life. But, what each one of these designers has in common is a hunger for evolution. They all transformed their brands under their own vision, oftentimes completely disregarding what came before. It’s bold, but the focus always needs to be on evolution, not survival.
The notion that every brand should – or even could – persist indefinitely isn’t just unrealistic; it’s fundamentally problematic. Brands, much like companies in any dynamic industry, have life cycles marked by periods of growth, peak relevance, and eventually decline or strategic exits. This natural turnover isn’t merely inevitable – it’s essential. When brands emerge, they introduce fresh ideas, novel aesthetics, and innovative business models, revitalising the industry and re-engaging consumers who crave new experiences. Conversely, when established brands consciously decide to step aside, especially at the height of their influence, they create valuable space for the next generation of creative minds. This deliberate turnover prevents stagnation and market saturation, avoiding the fatigue and disinterest that arise from repetitious offerings. Ultimately, the conclusion of a brand’s journey is just as critical as its inception, fuelling a continuously vibrant, competitive, and evolving fashion marketplace.
Think about what happened with Marvel. At the beginning, the MCU was like an exciting new brand bringing a fresh and bombastic energy to things. Lots of money was pumped in and, in return, the films made billions. But a decade in, that same formula collapsed. Cinemagoers became bored of the same thing over and over and these behemoth films began to flop. Everything that was exciting about them at the beginning became tropes. The MCU did begin to scale itself back, realising that viewers were burnt out. Fashion conglomerates haven’t attempted this part yet.
Let Y/Project’s legacy be its fabulously unconventional approach to design. Those insane denim silhouettes, the thigh-high Ugg boots, and the creative genius of Glenn Martens, who is readying his first collection for Maison Margiela. But let its influence be its exit. Yes, it happened with more of a bang than a whimper, but we all already have a sweet nostalgia for the brand, something rarely achieved by an actively fading label. In an industry where survival is more important than reinvention, Y/Project’s decision to bow out at its peak felt earth-shattering. But it served as a reminder that sometimes, the most admirable trait is knowing the exact moment to leave a party.
