Lifestyle
The reuse revolution: Your guide to upcycled and sustainable fashion brands
This story is part of Image’s November Lost & Found issue, exploring the many lives our clothes and objects have, the many stories that are still waiting to be unearthed.
When Swedish brand Hodakova won the LVMH prize this year, it felt extra significant. The finalists for the most sought-after prize in fashion — awarded annually — are meant to foreshadow the future of the industry, and not since Paris-based label Marine Serre won in 2017 has a brand centering reuse and upcycling taken the title. Shortly after the LVMH awards, lauded Japanese designer Junya Watanabe presented looks that repurposed techwear, tires and foam blocks in his Summer/Spring ’25 womenswear show at Paris Fashion Week. It all feels different this time, like we’re finally entering the upcycling era.
While the establishment is just starting to adapt, there’s a whole wave of young designers for whom this ethos has been baked into the business from the very beginning, rather than clumsily implemented later on due to (in many cases) increasing pressure for transparency and responsible production. The truth is, reuse has been the foundation for emerging designers for decades (see: cult ’90s and early-2000s New York labels like Susan Cianciolo and Imitation of Christ), offering a chance to participate in an otherwise exclusive industry. Last year a Vogue India article’s headline read, pointedly: “Owning a one-of-a-kind upcycled garment is the new wardrobe flex.” But maybe it’s always been?
Jester wears Compost vest and bottoms, Eytys shoes.
Sky wears Sami Miro dress, Hugo Kreit earrings, Blumarine shoes, VidaKush anklet, model’s own necklaces.
“It’s a fascinating challenge to see how designers incorporate their own codes into the technique of upcycling,” says Faith Robinson, head of content at Global Fashion Agenda, a Copenhagen-based nonprofit dedicated to creating a net-positive fashion industry through research publications, events and policy engagement. “When it comes to garment production, the storytelling side of upcycling is unmatched. Take the spoon dress from Hodakova. Where did those spoons come from? How were they collected? Why? Or Buzigahill, the Uganda-based upcycling label that makes amazing pieces but also tells the story of textile waste.”
When it comes to reuse, scaling up and sourcing are issues yet to be solved, but emerging designers are willing and excited to get creative to reimagine the current system — they just need more support. “We don’t see the process of our clothes being made, so a lot of people don’t realize that the design choices completely define the sustainability credentials of our clothes,” Robinson tells me.
Young retailers like APOC store, Japan’s Season, NYC’s Tangerine and L.A.’s Maimoun focus on independent and emerging designers, with a growing selection of exciting brands from around the world that prove the appeal and potential of upcycling and reuse. In New York, there are brands like Giovanna Flores, Everyone’s Mother, SC103, Collina Strada and La Réunion Studio. In Europe, there’s Conner Ives, Rave Review, Ponte, (Di)vision and Marine Serre. New Delhi has Rkive City and L.A. has Suay Shop, Bobby Cabbagestalk and Rio Sport. Rather than remaining segmented from fashion at large, relegated to novelty or niche, the following brands (and many more) show why upcycling and reuse can, and should, be the new normal.
April wears Sentimiento top, Object From Nothing bottoms, Tecovas boots, Maria Tash earrings, jewelry by Spinelli Kilcollin, Emma Walton, Other People’s Property.
Hodakova
2024 is the year of Hodakova. Motivated by sustainability, Ellen Hodakova Larsson, 32, grew up on a farm an hour outside of Stockholm, and credits her parents’ ingenuity and resourcefulness as a major inspiration for her designs. This is clear in her use of unconventional materials like spoons, rosette prize ribbons, belts and silver plates — everyday items that she recontextualizes to stunning effect in dresses, skirts, and tops. Here’s hoping that under Larsson’s eye, her converted-goods philosophy will take hold of the industry at large.
Ellen Poppy Hill
“I’m kind of a scavenger,” U.K.-based designer Ellen Poppy Hill says of her approach to secondhand fabric sourcing. “I never know what I like but I really know what I don’t like. My fingertips squeal when they don’t like the fabric. It’s a bit of a magpie process.” Hill grew up in Southeast London in an eclectic and playful household with a set designer mother and an actor father. Her first collection, “Constant State of Repair,” debuted this year and was born from her patternless, freehand design method. An Ellen Poppy Hill garment tells a story, like the long black dress covered in lifelike mice figures; the cap with sewing ephemera, buttons and toggles attached by pins; the upcycled dress that appears to be taped together at the seams; or the recycled wool blankets turned into bomber jackets with exaggerated zipper-shaped cutouts. Collections come from time, Hill tells me, to research, draw, think and read. “A lot of the time it’s about listening to the fabrics first,” she says. “I’m focused on finding fabrics that tell a story about why I’m attached to them, why they make me feel a certain way.”
Jester wears Sentimiento top, FreddieFrances bottoms, Rock Town Hollywood belt, Eytys shoes, Zucca bracelet.
Hood Baby
Hood Baby founder Anny Saray Martinez grew up at the swap meets of L.A. “My mom was a vendor at swap meets and I would go to work with her,” Martinez tells me. “When I got older I started to frequent the other fabric vendors and purchase their leftovers from them.” Motivated by sustainability, a love for ’90s and early-2000s fashion and Latina pop stars like Selena, it’s no surprise that Martinez has been embraced by prominent young pop stars like Tinashe and Tyla. Her body-conscious designs range from feminine upcycled miniskirts to sporty football jersey reworks. “I’ve loved fashion my whole life and have definitely done the homework,” says Martinez.
Sky wears Hood Baby top, Sami Miro bottoms, Ancuta Sarca shoes.
All-In
All-In is the life of the party. Founding duo Benjamin Barron and Bror August Vestbø initially bonded over their love of reuse, enamored with the idea that with the right technique, you could create something covetable from nothing. Since presenting their first collection in 2019, their fashion shows have become a must-see, where models like Colin Jones bring the downtown-meets-uptown attitude of the brand to life in redesigned dresses of denim and polka dot chiffon. Charli XCX and Rihanna are also All-In girls.
Nicklas Skovgaard
Copenhagen’s Nicklas Skovgaard found his way to fashion design through weaving. He taught himself on a small loom, creating intricate swatches of fabric, before expanding into ready-to-wear and formally launching his brand in 2020. Often credited as sparking an ’80s revival in fashion, his voluminous, one-of-a-kind party dresses come to life through a combination of contrasting thrifted fabrics like denim, taffeta, chiffon, leather and lace. Sequins and florals also feature heavily. The potential of upcycling absolutely shines with Skovgaard’s tough yet elegant touch.
Jester wears Hood Baby top, Object From Nothing bottoms, Vaquera hat, Kiko Kostadinov shoes, Zucca bracelet.
April wears Sentimiento dress, Givenchy shoes, Maria Tash earrings, jewelry by Spinelli Kilcollin, Emma Walton, Other People’s Property.
Object From Nothing
Partners and founders of Object From Nothing, Meridith Shook and Jacob Schlater met at the University of Cincinnati while studying architectural engineering and product design, respectively. OFN came to life after their move to a studio space in L.A. last year.
“The No. 1 driver for us is dispelling the myth that reuse is just DIY or lower quality than ‘new’ fashion,” says Schlater from his studio. “When fashion content is shared on Instagram, there’s very little focus on the quality, construction and longevity of pieces. Instead, the focus is on the value of the image that you can get with a piece. It doesn’t matter how the garment actually feels to wear, it matters how it looks like it feels to wear.” Adding value to forgotten materials and reimagining them into exceptional everyday pieces, Shook and Schlater embrace extreme resourcefulness, incorporating everything from metal washers they find on the street to deer antler buttons sourced by Schlater’s mom at a garage sale in his hometown of Hillsborough, Ohio. Inspired by designers like John Alexander Skelton and Paul Harnden, OFN treats even the most unassuming blue striped button-up — made from an upcycled vintage cot cover, no less — with the utmost consideration, transformed by their hands into a wearable artifact.
Compost
Tomo Givhan started exploring fashion design in 2021 after a formative trip to Japan, where he discovered traditional Japanese hand-stitching methods like boro and sashiko. Inspired by Japanese brand Kapital as well as antiques and indigo dyeing and distressing techniques, he set out to put his own spin on these traditional methods, resulting in soulful and layered patchwork creations made from carefully sourced vintage materials. “It’s kind of like painting for me,” Givhan says. “I’ve always gravitated toward vintage. I think the quality is better, the silhouettes are timeless and it’s accessible. There’s so much waste [in fashion] and I don’t want to be a part of that.” Based in L.A., Givhan plans to continue to grow the brand as organically as possible, recontextualizing the history of old garments and funneling them through the Compost lens.
Sky wears Nicklas Skovgaard dress, Hugo Kreit earrings, Margiela Tabi shoes.
Buzigahill
In 2018, designer Bobby Kolade, armed with a masters in fashion design from the Academy of Arts Berlin Weissensee and experience at both Margiela and Balenciaga, returned to his native Uganda with the goal to invest in the local fashion economy. After some trial and error, Kolade began sourcing and redesigning clothing from the secondhand market in Uganda, a system that is sustained (and burdened) by excess clothing outsourced from the Global North. Handwoven baskets are adorned with fringe made from strips cut from multicolor T-shirts, and patchwork hoodies feature the brand’s signature triangle motif. “We’re sending the clothes back to where they came from,” Kolade told Vogue Business in 2022, “but we’ve imbued a Ugandan identity onto these pieces.”
Duran Lantink
One of Business of Fashion’s top 10 shows of the Spring/Summer 2025 season, and the recipient of the 2024 Karl Lagerfeld prize issued by LVMH, Duran Lantink had a phenomenal year. The Amsterdam- and Paris-based label offers surreal and seductive fashion that merges three-dimensional sculpting techniques with traditional handiwork, all made from a mix of recycled textiles, deadstock and new sustainable materials. Lantink’s inflated silhouettes — think Pokémon-esque, puffy cropped bomber jackets and button-ups, and spherical skirts that look like an inner-tube pool float — are a favorite of stylists and celebrities, appearing on the covers of magazines like POP, Interview, HommeGirls and Re-Edition.
Sky wears Sami Miro dress, Hugo Kreit earrings, Blumarine shoes, VidaKush anklet, model’s own necklaces.
Les Fleurs Studio
Paris-based Les Fleurs Studio is a self-described upcycling project by creative director and stylist Maria Bernad. Steeped in Gothic and Renaissance-era references, Bernad’s romantic designs feature almost exclusively antique lace and crochet in shades of cream and ivory, and sometimes black or the softest pink. Her intricate designs are very bridal-ready, and both Beyoncé and Jared Leto are fans.
Prototypes
In June of this year, the show on everyone’s radar — including Kanye West, who reportedly went out of his way to attend — was Prototypes. An upcycling and repurposing project by designers Laura Beham and Callum Pidgeon, Prototypes has a dark, direct energy in its balaclavas and black and red color scheme, conjuring Balenciaga, but upcycled. “Out with the new, in with the old” is part of their motto, and according to their website, they want to pave the way toward individual expression and sustainability-focused design, with their customers by their side.
Sami Miro Vintage
When Image staff writer Julissa James spoke to Sami Miró back in 2021, Miró was clear about her commitment to sourcing eco-friendly fabrics. “There’s really no other way,” she told James. “I don’t care if I could find the exact same fabric that’s a fourth of the price; I would still choose this.” Since then, Miró has stayed true to her values while making it to the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund finals, and showing her first upcycled runway collection at New York Fashion Week in 2023. Her self-taught and intuitive design method remains sought after beyond her home base of L.A., and we’ll be watching to see where her scissors take her next.
Production: Mere Studios
Models: Jester Bulnes, April Kosky, Sky Michelle
Makeup: Valerie Vonprisk
Hair: Jocelyn Vega
Photo assistant: Saul Barrera
Styling assistant: Ron Ben
Photo intern: Khalil Bowens
Location: Projkt LA
Romany Williams is a writer, editor and stylist based on Vancouver Island, Canada. Her collaborators include SSENSE, Atmos, L.A. Times Image and more.
Students walk on the Stanford University campus on March 14, 2019, in Stanford, Calif.
Ben Margot/AP
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Ben Margot/AP
When Theo Baker arrived at Stanford University a few years ago, he joined the student newspaper, following the path of his journalist parents, Peter Baker, a White House correspondent for The New York Times, and Susan Glasser, a writer for The New Yorker.
Through his reporting as a student journalist, he eventually broke a story about manipulated data in Stanford President Marc Tessier-Lavigne’s neuroscience research that helped lead to the university president’s resignation.
Theo Baker’s book, How to Rule the World: An Education in Power at Stanford University was released May 19. In it, Baker describes Stanford as a place where proximity to Silicon Valley gives rise to a parallel system of influence, recruitment and money, with investors looking to identify promising students almost as soon as they arrive on campus.
He told Morning Edition host Steve Inskeep there was “a sort of Stanford inside Stanford,” where elite students are drawn into an “alternate reality” of excess and access to cut corners.
In the interview, he discusses how Stanford is not just a university but also a pipeline where status and power can matter as much as ideas.
We reached out to Stanford University for comment and have not heard back.
Listen to the interview by clicking play on the blue box above.
The scoreboard shows the results of the women’s singles final match between Iga Swiatek of Poland and Amanda Anisimova of the U.S. at the Wimbledon Tennis Championships in London, Saturday, July 12, 2025.
Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
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Kirsty Wigglesworth/AP
Fifteen points in tennis? Nice. Thirty, 40 — even better. Advantage — that sounds good. “Love” — that also must be great, right? Well, not quite.
As the French Open rolls on and Serena Williams has announced her return to the sport, maybe you’ve been paying a little more attention to tennis. The sport’s scoring system is notably distinct, and can sometimes be hard to grasp for newcomers. But even tennis aficionados might not know why, or how, “love” became the unmistakable callout for zero points. For this installment of NPR’s Word of the Week, we’re exploring how a word that signifies trailing behind got such a sweet name.
“Love” comes from the heart — or an egg?
It’s hard to pinpoint when the first tennis ball went over the net. Tennis is a derivative of lots of other sports, such as “jeu de paume,” a handball game played in France, said JT Buzanga, the collections manager at the International Tennis Hall of Fame museum.
But tennis became a patented, official sport in 1874, said Steve Flink, a journalist whose tennis coverage got him inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. It has retained its unique, mysterious scoring system ever since.
“By and large, the original system has held up almost entirely,” Flink said.
The use of “love” goes back to the late 18th century, said Jesse Sheidlower, a lexicographer. But it was used earlier than that in card games such as whist and bridge. Before the term made its way to tennis, the sport favored plain old “nothing,” or “nil,” he said.
Why love in the first place, though? Historians don’t really know for sure, but there are a few theories.
The French could have something to do with it. Some historians believe “love” derives from “l’oeuf,” which means “the egg” in French. Because eggs are shaped like zeros, terms such as “goose egg” and “duck’s egg” have been used in other contexts to mean zero, Sheidlower said.
It’s also possible English speakers mispronounced l’oeuf as “love.” But Sheidlower isn’t convinced that’s the answer.
“It’s the French equivalent of an English expression. But since that expression doesn’t appear in French, the French word wouldn’t have been used,” he said.
To be sure, France has had a lot of influence on tennis culture, Buzanga said. For example, “deuce” or a game tied at 40 points, comes from the French word for “two”: “deux.” But he prefers another prominent theory: that “love” comes from the idiom “for the love of the game.” Even if a player hasn’t scored, it doesn’t matter, because their heart is in it. It’s the theory Sheidlower said is the most plausible, because the idiom was used by the English before tennis was popularized.
Another variation of the “love of the game” theory is that the word could have come from the Dutch “lof,” or “honor” — or the Latin “amare,” meaning “to love,” Flink said.
But if tennis’ “love” doesn’t come from a French word, the theory at least has a French sensibility.
“I think the ‘for the love of the game’ is kind of romantic,” Buzanga said.
“Love” probably isn’t going anywhere
Tennis used to be a sport of leisure. The style of play has changed a lot over the years; players are more athletic and competitive, for instance, Flink said. But the rules of the sport are more steadfast, he said.
“There’s this incredible, enduring respect for tradition in tennis,” he said. “Changes are not made easily.”
There has been one major change in modern history: the tie-break. Matches can go on and on because players have to score two consecutive points to break a deuce, or by two games to break a tied set. But the onset of television meant matches would have to get shorter if the sport wanted to capture a larger audience, Flink said.
Change even came for “love.” An alternative sprouted up in the 1970s, and is still used today: “bagel,” named for its zero shape, Sheidlower said. Novices may say “zero,” and insiders will understand what they mean, but they “will needle them about it,” Flink said.
But “love” still prevails.
“People kind of like it,” Flink said. “It’s different. Why say zero when you can say love?”
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