The tyranny of references and the never-ending battle against plagiarism in the fashion industry

Amidst the vast sea of endless, bloated collections, the proportion of references, homages or even outright copies is on the rise, betraying the dictatorship of the ‘reference’, which has become an indispensable support for a designer’s ideas. Consequently, the ‘fashion police’ are becoming increasingly obsessed with exposing those guilty of plagiarism (when it is not legitimised by the brand’s heritage), with consumers and social media influencers constantly on the lookout, ever vigilant and ready to expose: from the ‘I did it first’ claims of well-known figures to the ‘he/she did it first’ assertions of fans who are the guardians of their idols. We do not wish to delve into the merits of counterfeiting (governed by complex and detailed regulations in which, unfortunately, creative issues are always difficult to accommodate), but rather into the awareness of what we draw upon as a source of inspiration and how, as designers, we are sometimes victims of our own myths and go too far in our eagerness to emulate, albeit in good faith: pressured by sales departments that focus on a handful of successful names, admiration and recognition of others’ genius can backfire. In 2018, a slogan on a Gucci cotton T-shirt read ‘Copies of copies of ideas’: as well as being an example of Alessandro Michele’s irony (the Dapper Dan jacket affair, though it ended amicably, had taken place just the year before), it remains a perfect encapsulation of the enduring appeal of reinterpretation – that instantly recognisable reference which generates nostalgic affection and a willingness to buy. Reissues and reboots, with a continuity reminiscent of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (the trend for revival is widespread everywhere), overshadow the use of homage, adding a certain nobility to fashion culture that is all too often expressed through the most immediate and easily identifiable stylistic elements. Attention thus shifts to the specific detail to be ‘singled out’ – the design of a neckline, for instance – rather than the overall vision of a project: the finger rather than the moon that guides all nostalgic impulses devoted to the retrospective. All that aside, it is difficult to seriously consider laying claim to the design of a neckline or the shape of a pocket. After all, the old manuals for fashion illustrators (true treasures for collectors) listed endless types of collars, sleeves, cuffs… a shared stylistic alphabet that we have absorbed in order to compose and express our own ideas of clothing, but which very rarely becomes a distinctive and exclusive hallmark.

Are you thinking of those red-soled pumps? For Christian Louboutin, red is a symbol – of passion, audacity, strength – but in the lawsuit he brought against Zara (a long-running saga dating back to 2012), he had to accept that it is impossible to claim exclusive rights to a colour. The issue of stolen ideas, in fact, is far from new; feuds between couturiers and industrial espionage over collection previews date back to the dawn of fashion shows, and as early as 1963 they inspired a romantic comedy starring Joanne Woodward and Paul Newman, "My Love for Samantha", about a New York fashion designer on the hunt for the secrets of French designers (incidentally, inspired by the true story of Elizabeth Hawes): the film’s light-hearted and playful atmosphere would still be a good antidote to the censorial seriousness of social media. Contrary to what appears in the reports of the outraged, today the issue of ‘plagiarism’ is not limited to the similarity of a trouser leg, but rather lies in a system whereby designers almost automatically slot themselves into trends created by others, either now or many years ago. This, combined with the long-standing but ever-pressing problem of extremely tight deadlines, seems to offer no alternative to the ‘reference supermarket’ and creates minor misunderstandings that lead to unnecessary cries of scandal over a decontextualised element. In reality, we all live immersed in cultural worlds that are as varied as they are specific, in which references chase one another, and it seems natural to seek out paths already trodden. Perhaps we should stop watching all the fashion shows compulsively: gathering information is necessary, but it cannot be processed on the spot; stepping back from it is needed to kick-start a creative process without running the risk of embarrassing debts, whether real or imagined. As Star Wars teaches us (and Freud before that, to be honest), at a certain point we must metaphorically kill our fathers; this applies to emerging designers (it’s impossible to find a student who doesn’t mention Cristóbal Balenciaga), and not only to them. Instagram’s algorithm, whilst updating me on Olivier Rousteing’s career, brought back to my attention one of his famous faux pas: the white Balmain jacket that was almost identical to an earlier design by Alexander McQueen for Givenchy. Years on, it comes across as a disarming naivety – something to be overcome rather than condemned. And this applies to everyone.

Back when we could have a laugh. A jumper from Alessandro Michele’s 2018 Gucci collection. It’s now available on eBay and other vintage websites for 500–600 euros