Marc Jacobs doesn’t follow trends. He obliterates them, rebuilds them, and occasionally sets them on fire just to see what happens next. From getting fired for going full grunge to later making Louis Vuitton the most covetable brand on Earth, Jacobs has never done what was expected. Why would he? He’s too busy bending time, taste, and Tumblr-core nostalgia into something cooler than fashion should legally be allowed to be.
This is the story of how a downtown New York misfit became the most influential designer of the past three decades — without ever playing it safe.
Stockboy. Sketchpad. Disruptor.
Marc Jacobs started out folding sweaters at Charivari, the legendary NYC boutique that dressed the city’s weirdest and best. At 15, he was closer to club kid than couture king, but by 21 he was already turning heads at Parsons. Later enter Pierre Cardin for intern.
By the time he dropped his own label with Robert Duffy in 1987, he had already won the CFDA’s Perry Ellis Award. One year later: boom — youngest-ever recipient. But it was the 1993 Perry Ellis grunge collection that lit the match.
The Collection That Got Him Fired (And Made Him a Legend)
Plaid flannels, sheer slips, combat boots — the ‘93 Perry Ellis show looked like it crawled out of a Nirvana music video. Critics didn’t appreciate it. Fashion media clutched their pearls. Perry Ellis fired him. And Jacobs? He became a prophet of cool.
The show rewired 90s fashion. What was once “unwearable” became the uniform of a generation. Ripped knits, thrift-core layers, high-low messiness — all Marc. The culture caught up. It always does.
LV and the Cultural Phenomena
In 1997, Marc did the unthinkable: he took over Louis Vuitton. Yes, the French classic luggage brand. Yes, the one with the dusty monogram. By 1998, he had turned it into a new universe.
Marc gave Vuitton its first-ever ready-to-wear collection. Then he brought in graffiti (Stephen Sprouse), anime-core cherry blossoms (Takashi Murakami), polka dots on acid (Yayoi Kusama). He paired five-grand bags with beat-up sneakers and punk tees like it was no big deal — because to him, it wasn’t. And the collaboration became a cultural phenomena.
Heaven Is a Place on Instagram
Since leaving LV in 2013, Jacobs has been on his own trip — part nostalgia, part glitch-core fever dream. In 2020, he dropped Heaven, a Gen Z-beloved, irony-laced side project that feels like your teenage diary and your Depop wishlist had a baby.It’s punk. It’s kawaii.
Even his main line keeps hitting: the Spring 2020 show was a grunge revival for the post-WiFi world. Think exaggerated silhouettes, sequins, and soft chaos.
The Cult of Marc
He’s 61. He posts selfies like a Gen Z thirst trap. He’s spiritually unbothered, and still designing like he’s got something to prove. Marc Jacobs made it okay to love fashion and make fun of it. He gave us permission to be maximalist when the world got minimalist. He fused irony with luxury before anyone else even had the vocabulary for it. And through it all, he never lost the plot: fashion should be fun. Fashion should be freaky. Fashion should be you.