Reese Cooper, Digital Hometown Hero
The best runway shows have the ability to suspend belief, to transport you to a place of the designer’s choosing with all the accoutrements and details and world-building they can dream of. Greeted by the methodical breathing of an experienced trail runner and the expansive views of the East Fork Bridge hiking trail in Azusa, California, it’s easy to forget that you’re watching a Parisian fashion film instead of a National Geographic documentary. The narrative structure of the film, too, is so far from anything we’ve seen, and wouldn’t fit cleanly within the confines of the runway.
This then leads into the first look we’re shown; a first person point-of-view of the hiker’s [ultra-marathoner Gordon Clark] outfit, including the new Reese Cooper x Merril 1 TRL collab. We don’t actually see the full look until 4:40, when it is alluded to via a switch from the panning runway camera to the still-attached body camera revisiting the early POV look. We then follow Clark into the tumultuous nature of the pre-show Reese Cooper camp, where we find out he’s actually one of the models. In this sense, the way Cooper takes you through the chaos of a runway show whilst simultaneously throwing said runway show is in the vein of early Margiela. Margiela welcomed attendants of his first runway show with audio captured by live microphones stationed backstage to incorporate everyone into the environment and peel back the curtain in real time. Cooper’s filming style for Fresh Air is a digital, socially distanced way of achieving this same concept.
Diving into the specifics of the collection, the colors are the first thing you notice when you take your eyes off the mountains and scenery. When you look at each garment individually, you’re able to see the stellar work Cooper accomplishes in dyeing, but it takes each wide-scale pan of the camera to really highlight how well each color fits together. The colors are so incredibly lush; the reds of poinsettia flowers, the greens of a Northern California forest, the blues of a high pressure system sky, all grouped together and quartered off the way an expert gardener handles their flowers. The procession of greens form an incredible color palette, ranging from chlorophyll to pistachio to pine, but all slightly muted as if to be sun faded, capturing the theme of creating well-worn, storied clothing you would dream of finding in a thrift store but never will. Perhaps most importantly of all, though, is the way the gathering of each look allows your Instagram feed to be so intricately color coordinated, as pictured in the second and third slide above.
Throughout the show, there’s a combination of drape and rigidity that brings a balance to each combination of looks, in much the same way the color pops stand out against the muted tones of the forest and pavement serving as the backdrop. Waxed canvas chore coats stand in contrast with the effortless flow of ankle-length a-frame skirts and baggy trousers. As the breeze blows across the site, it’s as if Cooper is reminding us of the two ways of reacting to nature; building something that stands steadfast in its tenacity, or adapt and move with the environment itself.
There’s much to learn from Cooper in the world of world building. So many brands focus on selling a “lifestyle” more so than just clothing, to varying degrees of success. Industry acquaintances Aime Leon Dore sells a Neo-Ralph Lauren lifestyle out of their boutique/coffee shop in Soho; Noah made a skate video and constantly involves itself in social issues; and Brain Dead has a movie studio. A lot of brands focus on the tangible piece of brand extensions rather than extending the brand in a conversational way. Not that what Aime or Brain Dead are bad — I personally look up to both brands and their ways of curating fanaticism — it’s just that RCI’s feels so much deeper and more personal.
Cooper explains this mindset in “Looking Down and Forward;” “My favorite piece of advice I was given was that you have to focus on the smaller group of people who actually are going to take the time to watch this shit [Fresh Air]. The people who are just going to flip through a magazine and see a photo, why even bother trying to have a dialogue with them? The focus is always on the people actually interested in the story being told … cater to the people who actually are going to notice those details.” His shows are conversational, and his extensions — such as an interview with Gordon that spends significantly more time discussing trail running than anything related to fashion — evolve from the brand the way and track the way a conversation moves.
Cooper has also transitioned admirably well from the influencer space to bona fide designer, perhaps in a way only Mary Kate and Ashley Olson have done with The Row, albeit with very different clientele. Many of the things we admire about The Row are also worth noting in Reese Cooper. Both block out the noise of the fashion world and instead place an emphasis on the simplicity, wearability, and tastefulness of the garment, creating an end product that isn’t necessarily boundary pushing but is undeniably tasteful. And while Reese isn’t quite on the level of The Row, the two do occupy parallel niches within their respective sub-industries.
A pessimist may look at Fresh Air and say it’s just workwear from a designer-influencer, or that it’s a borderline rehashing of RCI’s A/W 19 show Hitchhiking. Such a reductive view of this show completely misses the way Cooper has kept his name relevant past his initial 15 seconds of fame; the dyeing techniques that seemingly inject nature straight into the garments, the carrot-on-a-stick cutting and styling techniques that make each piece seem like something you might be able to stumble upon in a thrift store but never will, and the way he makes each viewer a part of the experience.
One of the small positives of the pandemic and a socially distanced Paris Fashion Week is that it allowed smaller brands who otherwise wouldn't be able to participate in the festivities to submit films. This was a rare moment in time where Reese was able to stay true to the brand’s California hiking ethos while still reaching for the recognition and capital F Fashion legitimacy that he so craves. I’m curious to see what comes next, especially because the return of in person runway shows doesn’t necessarily require the end of the digital fashion film. Cooper himself even mentions that there is a possibility of finding a middle ground between the two, with a strong emphasis on capturing the energy of shows with the flexibility that comes from recordings.
When lockdown first began, every fashion house was faced with the same problem of maintaining brand visibility without being able to operate physical stores or perform traditional runway shows. The best brands took the pandemic in stride, and handled it with a sense of personality and genuineness, that truly did make you feel as if you were both in it together. This openness is exactly what made Cooper successful in the first place, and it served him well when the pandemic hit. A prime example is his choice to sell cut fabric pieces as a chore coat assembly kit. Stuck with cut fabric and no factory to assemble it, Cooper pivoted and sold it as an assembly kit alongside an instructional video. It felt like such an obvious solution, yet the only other brand who did anything remotely similar was JW Anderson, who released a set of instructions to create their color block knit jumper, popularized by Harry Styles. Maybe part of it comes from running a small brand that shares a name with its creator, or the mentality of punching up against an industry and carving out your own niche, like a more polite version of Robin Hood and his Merry Men. All of this breeds the sort of fanaticism and zeal akin to the support of a small town Texas high school football player who makes it to the NFL; Reese Cooper is my digital hometown hero.