When Recognition Evades Craft

In fashion, I have always believed that respect for the craft comes first. When I began reviving HYDE in 2017, a 386-year-old Belizean heritage brand, I knew that if I was to call myself a designer, I had to learn every part of the discipline. Like Pattern making, Sewing, and Construction. Not just sketching or moodboarding. For me, tailoring was never a theme or a trend. It was the foundation. That is why when I presented Superfine Tailoring this year in 2025, it was not a gimmick. It was an affirmation of the DNA of this house, rooted in a craft that much of the industry had long abandoned.

And yet, craft alone has never been enough.

Over the years, I have observed how many collections in fashion are built not from deep study or discipline, but from cutting and pasting references out of magazines. A hodgepodge of ideas with no soul, no hand, no true originality. That lack of rigor is excused when certain names are attached, but when it comes to independent designers, especially Black designers, the standards are merciless. Creating is the easy part. Surviving as a business is the hard part.

Fashion is one of the largest industries in the world, worth billions upon billions globally, and yet it remains one of the most hostile for small and medium-sized designers seeking capital. Investors deem us high-risk. Media deems us low-priority. And let’s talk about when the rare few do manage to gain access to capital, media, or celebrity, what is too often missing is respect for craft itself. That is why the industry feels stagnant. That is why so much of it looks recycled.

I have lived this tension firsthand.

The Stylists Who Hold the Keys

When I first became aware of Colin Carter, it was not through the gloss of fashion magazines. My ex had interned for him, so I had heard stories about that world. Later, after our separation, I was invited by another creative friend to a small gathering in my neighborhood. It was a casual house hangout for people in the fashion and entertainment space.

That is when Colin walked in. My friend leaned over and said, “That’s Colin Carter.” Suddenly, the name I had heard about now had a face. We introduced ourselves, maybe exchanged socials, but nothing more. Later, when we connected on Instagram, the way he engaged with me was not what I had anticipated. My intention was clear: I was building a brand and was seeking mentorship, collaboration, the kind of dialogue between stylist and designer that has historically changed careers. Think of Alexander McQueen and Isabella Blow, a relationship that shaped a generation of fashion.

Instead, the energy blurred boundaries in ways I was not interested in. I made that clear. And yet, he continued to follow me for years, watching my stories, seeing the sketches and the tailoring work that defined HYDE. He saw the vision.

Looking back, I am left to assume that Colin may have taken grievance because I did not respond to him in the way he expected. Perhaps he thought that because of who he is, it should have been obvious that I would simply overlook morals or circumstance. But my relationship at that time, though off and on, still mattered. I had values. I do not blur lines in that way. I do not “shit where I eat.” You would think that kind of stance would earn respect, but instead, I found otherwise.

That is why it was especially shocking when I reached out to him again for the 2025 Met Gala. The theme was Superfine Tailoring, Black Style, a concept rooted in the very DNA of this house. I sent him a detailed proposal by email and followed up on Instagram. His response was rude, a sharp contrast to the energy he displayed when he once pursued me personally. That is what stings. I thought this was supposed to be business. I thought this was his business. How do you dismiss a Black-owned heritage brand while following its growth for years? That is not mentorship. That is not professionalism. That is a weirdo dynamic, one that reveals how even within our own community, too often, people only engage when it serves their own clout and or interest.

The Community That Isn’t One

I reached out to other stylists too, Law Roach among them. I sent emails, DMs, even public comments inquiring about possibilities for the Met Gala. These were not random asks. They were strategic, business-minded proposals from a Black-owned heritage brand. But again, silence.

It is not lost on me that these same stylists are quick to funnel energy, money, and access into European brands. They will champion LVMH when Pharrell is named creative director. They will entertain buying Italian houses. But when it comes to designers from their own community, to heritage brands like mine that carry centuries of cultural legacy, the answer is neglect.

What that reveals is painful. For too many in positions of influence, it is not about building a community or supporting independent craft. It is about clout. About self. About attaching oneself to whatever already has power.

The Cost of Being Different

They say everything in fashion has already been done. But some of us know different. Some of us still strive to create work that is original, deeply personal, and reflective of traditions that most of the industry has abandoned. That kind of work is not the easy path. It demands years of study. It demands giving parts of yourself away that will never return.

And yet, the people who do this, the ones who actually advance the language of fashion, are too often overlooked. Because we are not chasing virality. Because we are not attached to the right names. Because we are not in the right rooms.

This is why fashion feels boring. Why it feels recycled. The true creatives are not given oxygen to scale. We are cut out of capital. Cut out of networks. Cut out of access.

And still, we create.

Toward a Black Luxury Conglomerate

If Black stylists or investors are truly committed to reshaping fashion, here is a thought. Instead of chasing headlines around European houses, why not acquire Off-White? This was Virgil Abloh’s cultural statement, a label that bridged streetwear and art, rooted in diasporic expression. Yet today, it is owned by Bluestar Alliance, a brand management company known more for licensing than for nurturing design legacies.

Imagine what could be preserved if Off-White were reclaimed under Black ownership, not just as a trophy, but as part of a larger vision. Imagine if instead of scattering our efforts, Black investors came together not only to reclaim brands, but to build an ecosystem of our own.

That is where HYDE comes in.

Unlike any other house, HYDE carries nearly four centuries of heritage, 386 years of Belizean history, artistry, and resilience. It is not a mythology crafted for marketing campaigns. It is lived culture, revived in modern form. Paired with my own proven ability to create novelty in design, to push tailoring forward while respecting tradition, the foundation is already there. What is needed now is investment, structure, and vision.

If Black investors want to build something lasting, this is the opportunity: to form a luxury conglomerate under HYDE’s umbrella, one that acquires brands like Off-White and nurtures others, creating space for cross-collaboration among Black and American designers alike. This is not just about individual success. This is about community, about legacy, about building an ecosystem that the diaspora can own and be proud of.

That is real heritage. That is real power.

Why This Matters

When I look at this industry today, I see its contradictions clearly. Fashion is vast, powerful, and influential. But at its heart, it is brittle because it does not nourish the very people who carry its lifeblood: designers who respect the craft.

I do not share these reflections as gossip or grievance. I share them because they reveal the real conditions of fashion today. For every Black-owned heritage brand like mine, there are dozens of others fighting to survive, not because the work is lacking, but because the system is built to overlook us.

And unless the industry begins to reckon with that truth, unless it begins to reward craft over clout and interest, fashion will remain what it has too often become: a beautiful surface, hollow beneath.

Sylvian J. Hyde is the founder and creative director of HYDE, a luxury heritage institution rooted in 386 years of Belizean history.