THE FORMULA FOR SUCCESS—for building a
brand that lasts for 25 years—sounds simple
enough: Create a high-quality product that
will last a long time, sell it for an accessible
price, and make people desperately want to
buy it. But executing such a plan is far trick-
ier. And in figuring out how to thrive accord-
ing to strict adherence to its own highly
specific principles and logic, Supreme has,
deliberately or not, re-arranged the align-
ment of the entire fashion industry.
“It’s a fashion leader,” says Alastair
McKimm, a longtime fan who has styled
for the brand and was recently appointed
editor in chief of i-D magazine. “The reason
that it’s so successful and the reason that it’s
so influential is the fact that it’s been there,
growing slowly, being very, very well man-
aged from day one.” He says Supreme has led
the charge in the new consumerism: “small
collections, making things very limited, mak-
ing things very exciting when you actually get
your hands on them.”
Limiting quantities has become
Supreme’s M.O. and one of its most import-
ant innovations. It’s part of why the brand
has so many loyal fans—and why it has left
so many hopeful shoppers frustrated and
bitter. But the strategy evolved naturally
out of the early days, when the shop was
nearly empty. Short runs were produced
out of necessity because Jebbia lacked the
resources to keep a steady assortment of
goods in stock. “We’d make some tees, some
sweats; if they don’t sell, we’re going to be
stuck with them,” he says. The solution was
to produce less. And if something sold well,
instead of manufacturing more of that thing,
he’d often make something di≠erent. “It
wasn’t a shop full of basics, where you could
get the same product month after month.
What we were doing had to have some
excitement to it.”
Naturally, gauging what might be success-
ful was harder to do in an age before things
like Instagram. Jebbia never knew what was
going to move. Of course, just about every-
thing did: “We’d actually have some seasons
where we were sold out of the summer prod-
uct at the end of March. We’d have nothing
to sell in April, May, June, July. People would
come in and be like, ‘This shop is shit. Why
are people talking about this?’ And what are
we gonna say? ‘If you’d have come in two
weeks ago, it looked really good’?”
Jebbia’s solution to his inventory problem
was a simple, but radical, one: He found a
way to replenish his supply weekly. Whilemany shoppers now hold out until end-of-
season sales to buy, Supreme has created a
considerable sense of urgency that has made
every Thursday—“drop day,” in the parlance
of Supreme fans—a major event.
And indeed, the concept has lately pro-
liferated. Thanks to Supreme, the “drop”
has become a fashion buzzword—much
like what happened with the terms “street-
wear” and “collaboration.” Celine’s creative
director, Hedi Slimane, made news recently
by reportedly planning a major business
overhaul to create a “fluid delivery cycle.”
Meaning: There will be drops. Balenciaga,
Burberry, Moncler, and others have been
using the model in hopes of adding some
heat to their collaborations and limited
runs. Gucci’s buzzy drops come frequently
and sell fast, including Supreme-esque
capsule collections made in collaboration
with the New York Yankees and the Spanish
artist Coco Capitán. This tactic is seen as
a way for big legacy brands to connect
with younger shoppers. It’s also a work-
around for competing in a retail system
upended by Supreme.AS THE BRAND GREW and began to expand—
it opened its first outpost in Japan in 1996—
Jebbia started thinking beyond hoodies, tees,
and caps. But that doesn’t mean he stopped
thinking about hoodies, tees, and caps.
Craig Atkinson, the CEO of CYC Designs,
which owns the brands Wings & Horns
and Reigning Champ, began working with
Supreme around this time. Jebbia had come
across some sweatshirts that the company
was making and was impressed. Before long,
CYC was producing almost all of the sweats
Supreme was sending to market. Atkinson
was struck by Jebbia’s personal obsession
with the sweatshirts. “He was maniacally
passionate in terms of the quality, whether
it’s the color, or the fit, or the materials that
we would develop for them,” Atkinson says.
He recalls interactions sometimes getting
heated. Long arguments over the particular
merits of a shade of navy weren’t uncommon.
“James just had a very high expectation,”
Atkinson says. “And I’d say he has a very high
taste level as well.”
Brands like A Bathing Ape and
Neighborhood—Jebbia’s new neighbors in
Harajuku—had already established large
fan bases. He was drawing inspiration. But
Japanese brands and their customers were
not the only things Jebbia had his eye on in
the late ’90s and early ’00s. “We weren’t blind
to Helmut Lang. We weren’t blind to FUBU,
either,” Jebbia says. “There was an awareness
of a lot of what was going on out there, being
in New York. But there wasn’t as many big
fashion brands then. There just wasn’t. But
I’ve got to say: Helmut Lang at that time was
really important, personally.”Velour tracksuit,
fall-winter 2017.