SSENSE always felt like the internet’s coolest mall. Not the glossy kind with a Zara and a Starbucks, but the strange one at the edge of town half abandoned, half utopia, with one store that sold Margiela tabi boots next to an essay about Arca’s favourite VHS tapes. Scrolling through it was culture, not just commerce. And now? The shutters are down. The neon’s buzzing out. We’re locked outside with nothing but our wishlists.
The news dropped like a bad text: SSENSE filed for bankruptcy protection. Screenshots, memes, the ritual “RIP to my cart” posts filled the timeline. Funny on the surface, but you could feel the panic vibrating underneath. Because SSENSE wasn’t just a website. For young designers it was oxygen, a cosign, proof you weren’t just stitching in the void.
The thing about SSENSE was it didn’t play it safe. Net-a-Porter is like your mum’s credit card. Farfetch is a sterile luxury graveyard. SSENSE was chaos in a good way Aaron Esh’s shredded tailoring next to futuristic Korean techwear, a Loewe bag slouched over a Raf hoodie. It was Tumblr moodboards turned into a shop window, selling irony and aspiration in the same breath.
Ask Gabe Gordon, who got picked up by SSENSE straight out of RISD. That digital nod told the world he belonged. He sunk his savings into the order, a bet on a dream. The next season, no order came. “It gave me legitimacy,” he says, “but it also nearly killed me.” Charles Jeffrey, the London club kid turned designer, saw the cracks coming. His survival guide sounds more like nightlife philosophy: diversify or die. Make merch, throw parties, do consulting gigs, never trust one glossy retailer with your rent money.
The fall wasn’t just fashion’s bad karma. SSENSE grew too big too fast seven hundred brands, endless discounts, an editorial arm that sometimes read like an indie mag trapped inside a shopping cart. Then came the tariffs, the death of cheap US shipping, a luxury market cooling faster than last night’s espresso martini. Sales tanked. Creditors circled. The party ended.
What made SSENSE different the blur. Where else could you buy a $2,000 coat and, on the same page, read Chloë Sevigny talking about cinema? It had that unserious tone, that sly internet fluency. Shopping as culture, culture as shopping. Losing it feels like more than a dead link. It feels like the collapse of cool itself. Matches, Farfetch, now SSENSE; multi-brand empires falling one by one. The big houses pulling everything back in, whispering: “direct-to-consumer or nothing.” The smaller designers left stranded, doors closing, lifelines cut.
So what now? Maybe more pop-ups in derelict warehouses. Maybe Discord turns into the new Dover Street Market. Maybe SSENSE gets resurrected, maybe not. But right now the feed feels quieter. The fashion ecosystem poorer. SSENSE always felt like the internet’s coolest mall. Not the glossy kind with a Zara and a Starbucks, but the strange one at the edge of town half abandoned, half utopia, with one store that sold Margiela tabi boots next to an essay about Arca’s favourite VHS tapes. Scrolling through it was culture, not just commerce. And now? The shutters are down. The neon’s buzzing out. We’re locked outside with nothing but our wishlists.
The news dropped like a bad text: SSENSE filed for bankruptcy protection. Screenshots, memes, the ritual “RIP to my cart” posts filled the timeline. Funny on the surface, but you could feel the panic vibrating underneath. Because SSENSE wasn’t just a website. For young designers it was oxygen, a cosign, proof you weren’t just stitching in the void.
The thing about SSENSE was it didn’t play it safe. Net-a-Porter is like your mum’s credit card. Farfetch is a sterile luxury graveyard. SSENSE was chaos in a good way Aaron Esh’s shredded tailoring next to futuristic Korean techwear, a Loewe bag slouched over a Raf hoodie. It was Tumblr moodboards turned into a shop window, selling irony and aspiration in the same breath.
Ask Gabe Gordon, who got picked up by SSENSE straight out of RISD. That digital nod told the world he belonged. He sunk his savings into the order, a bet on a dream. The next season, no order came. “It gave me legitimacy,” he says, “but it also nearly killed me.” Charles Jeffrey, the London club kid turned designer, saw the cracks coming. His survival guide sounds more like nightlife philosophy: diversify or die. Make merch, throw parties, do consulting gigs, never trust one glossy retailer with your rent money.
The fall wasn’t just fashion’s bad karma. SSENSE grew too big too fast seven hundred brands, endless discounts, an editorial arm that sometimes read like an indie mag trapped inside a shopping cart. Then came the tariffs, the death of cheap US shipping, a luxury market cooling faster than last night’s espresso martini. Sales tanked. Creditors circled. The party ended.
What made SSENSE different wasn’t just the clothes, it was the blur. Where else could you buy a $2,000 coat and, on the same page, read Chloë Sevigny talking about cinema? It had that unserious tone, that sly internet fluency. Shopping as culture, culture as shopping. Losing it feels like more than a dead link. It feels like the collapse of cool itself. Matches, Farfetch, now SSENSE multi-brand empires falling one by one. The big houses pulling everything back in, whispering: “direct-to-consumer or nothing.” The smaller designers left stranded, doors closing, lifelines cut.
So what now? Maybe more pop-ups in derelict warehouses. Maybe Discord turns into the new Dover Street Market. Maybe SSENSE gets resurrected, maybe not. But right now the feed feels quieter. The fashion ecosystem poorer.
