Fashion is resistance.
That is the statement. Here is the question: Why do we keep asking if it can be?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. The real issue isn’t fashion itself. It’s the machine behind it. The media, the PR firms, the gatekeepers who decide what counts, what gets covered, and what quietly disappears. That’s what frustrates me. That’s what needs to be challenged.

So let’s take a step back. What is fashion, really?

It’s not just what we wear. It’s a language. It’s how we carry memory, make space, show pride. It’s how people who’ve been pushed to the margins say, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.

But if no one tells those stories—if the media only uplifts one version of fashion—then that resistance gets buried.

And that brings me to this country.

When people talk about “American fashion,” what do they really mean?

Usually: New York. Maybe Los Angeles. Sometimes Miami.
But this country has fifty states. Multiple regions. So where are the voices from the Midwest? The Deep South? The Pacific Northwest? The Southwest? Appalachia?

Who decided American fashion was just a handful of East Coast designers and editors?

Here’s what I’ve been looking at:

• Northeast (NY, Boston, Philly): the traditional fashion epicenter.

• South: rich in Black elegance, church suits, and handmade heritage—rarely platformed.

• Midwest: rooted in durability, workwear, and authenticity. Detroit alone speaks volumes.

• West Coast: relaxed, experimental, street-driven—but often boxed into stereotype.

• Southwest/Indigenous regions: rising through refusal to wait for permission.

• Everywhere else: still waiting to be seen.

So when I hear talk about fashion’s power to “resist,” I nod—but I also ask: resistance for whom?

Who’s allowed to be visible? 

As someone working outside the traditional lanes of fashion—yet deeply within the purpose of it—I don’t take this lightly. Fashion has always been political. Always been personal. But if we only see it through the lens of a few cities, a few editors, a few brands, then we’re missing the real power of it.

That’s where I’ll leave it—for now.

But know this:
I’m not interested in fitting into a system that wasn’t built for us. I’m here to write new rules, sew new seams, and center the voices that were never meant to be background.

We’ll talk more next time about what that looks like—in schools, on students, and in the heart of Dearborn.

Until then,
Nawal