8/11/25

In its origin, Balenciaga had every right and intention of becoming a brand existing within the definitions of "classic," "groundbreaking," and "timeless". Founded by Cristobal Balenciaga, the brand's influence and, much more, impact on the fashion industry and avant-garde styling was undeniable. However, in 2015, the co-founder of Vetements, Demna, who had done previous work for Louis Vuitton and Maison Margiela, officially became the creative director of Balenciaga, and remained as such for the preceding 10 years. Demna was known and praised largely for his ambitious take on fashion, striving to push boundaries and reinvent the way in which high fashion was perceived. And while this sentiment is crucial in making an impact, fashion enthusiasts quickly began noting that Demna's personal take on breaking boundaries may not be as suitable for such a long-standing and historical brand. Demna's initial runways transformed Balenciaga, for better or worse, turning the previously elegant brand into something ironic and satirical. As Demna became aware of the culture he was creating, he grew more comfortable doing no more than that. His attempts to divert from the norm became predictable, and more so an obvious act of defiance than any kind of interesting statement being made. As a non-consumer and not much of a fan of Balenciaga, Demna's work grew increasingly boring - tired prints and repetitive shoe silhouttes; in the comfort Demna garnered from his success, he simply stopped attempting to maintain it. 

I've written before about this idea of "comfort". Things that make us feel safe, seen, and warm. Comfort is an object that we all strive for in some way. It is your own bed vs your friend's couch after a night out; it is your favorite meal vs one you think you might like; it is the friend you can sit and do nothing with vs the friend whose silence grows awkward the longer it lasts. Comfort is something founded, something kept within you that no matter what tense occurrences may come, you can always return to and feel safe and sound once again. However, comfort can also be a slippery slope. You hear the phrase "get out of your comfort zone" so frequently because being comfortable can also be accompanied by being too comfortable. You stop leaving your house as much because you have everything you're comfortable with at home; you stop making new recipes because you already know what you like; you stop trying to make new friends because you've already made your best one; you stop trying. Finding comfort is a difficult thing to do, and is a beautiful feeling once achieved, but living within it prevents us from striving for more, and in some cases, prevents us from maintaining what we already have. 

There is a dilemma I have witnessed multiple times throughout my life. I see it in fashion, where the attention garnered from creating something in a certain way outshines one's ability to do so authentically. They lean into the mediocre reactions, rather than continuing to prioritize doing something truly outstanding, because when the positive reactions begin to shine brightest, they begin to grow accustomed to it. They find a sweet spot in which they don't have to try as hard as anyone else because they already have an audience that they trust will not sway. I see it in the places we choose to live. We lay roots in one place, we know the restaurants we like, and the friends we have there. We know the road signs and the coolest picnic spots. And as we grow older, it becomes more difficult to live anywhere else. We have a comfortable life, with comfortable people and comfortable surroundings, and we give in to such a sensation, whether because of this very sensation, or the fear of experiencing something else. But most pointedly, I see it in relationships. 

Like most things, relationships require work. They take care and attention, and an unshakeable desire to make it work. In any given relationship, there is what has commonly come to be known as the "honeymoon phase", a period in the first few months of a relationship where the excitement of having it outweighs any other questions. It doesn't matter if you live far away from one another or if your schedules are completely opposite. It doesn't matter if your friends like them or if they have differing morals from your own. You're in love. And for those first few blissful months, that love is the only thing that crosses your mind; before reality strikes, and all of those questions that were previously afterthoughts to the amount of passion you felt for one another rear their ugly faces once again, and become a now or never make or break causality. However, in some rare cases, a relationship can make it through such a period, and what comes at the end is comfort. It is the kind of comfort that feels earned, as though you traversed through the fear of trying to get to know them and their intentions, and what you are left with is a relationship that can only yield comfort. But comfort itself is an equally difficult creature to conquer. Like relationships, finding it also requires work, but more so, its maintenance is crucial in the maintenance of the relationship itself. 

I see this aforementioned dilemma in this period of relationships. For the first few months, though love and lust play at the forefront of the mind when discovering one another, there is a good amount of proof that must be provided at the same time. Proof that you are going to work together, that you both provide the necessary qualities of a long-term partner. You spend those first few months playing a pros and cons game, finding what elements you like, what elements you don't like, what things need to be worked through, and what your non-negotiables are. You buy each other dinners, drinks, flowers, and gifts. You reassure each other that you are both feeling the same way, and that the honeymoon phase is not just a phase, but an opening chapter to a long and loving relationship. Once we get through, the comfort gained at the end should be the end-all be-all, no more questions to be asked, no more games to be played. But in many cases, with the comfort comes a relaxation into it. Good mornings grow later into the day, the flowers once bought are now wilted and in need of a replacement that won't come until a birthday or anniversary. They get tired of proving their care, and once comfortable, live on the assumption that it is there. But like any other way of life, love is never a given. I've seen it firsthand and experienced it even more. The relationships in which, slowly, as the excitement settles and the love becomes something said, stepping out the door rather than something felt, the floors get swept less often, dinner is not a date to be shared, but an inquiry asked about after an eight-hour shift. The things they did to prove their love get replaced by the commitment they share with one another, and reassurance becomes something one has to do themselves, rather than ask for from their partner.

Farting in front of your partner is what comfort looks like to me. It's the lack of restriction, no longer needing to hold things back or keep things inside out of fear for what might happen. It's being bothered by something and feeling safe to express it, or getting excited about something only you are interested in, and wanting to share it. Comfort is something I don't come by easily. It takes time and continuous effort, because at the end of the day, nothing can ever ensure that it will last forever. You have to construct it yourself and feed it to keep it alive, just like any other thing. 

I wrote this blog because this idea has been weighing on my mind for quite some time. How we desire comfort, react to it, nurture it, and treat it when found is something I can't wrap my head around. We all have different experiences with what it feels like, and the way that we think is best to keep it alive. I think it is often taken for granted, the amount of effort required to come to that point with anything. You want it so badly, and would do anything to attain it, yet once found, the frequent reaction is to stop, leave it alone, it's there and it exists, so the hard part is over. And in many ways, I can understand that; I need the discomfort. I need something pushing me to strive for myself. In my career, I need a place to go, I need work to be done, a finish line in sight yet out of reach. In my home, I need the change, I need new scenery, new options, new road signs and cafes, new people. As well as in my relationships. I never want to get to a point in any of my relationships where I think I can stop trying simply because we have the relationship we both wanted. It is my opinion that there are and always will be new places to go. New accomplishments to make, new relationships to tend to, new roadblocks to overcome. And that is what I cannot comprehend. The belief that, when true, unyielding, well-earned comfort is possible, the only reaction is a steady trajectory. Because that is not the case. There are ways to get better, ways to love each other more, ways to get more money, or improve your craft, ways to do a runway without relying on shock factor or "satire". I crave comfort in the way of steadiness, of reassurance and the lack of anxious thinking. But what I dont want is comfort in the way of relaxation, or the lack of trying, or concrete positioning. I want the excitement and the fear, in fashion, in my career, in the place I live, in my relationships. I need to know that, at the age of 22, I am not stuck in my ways; that there will always be new things to see, experience, and love