Not So Basic: The Leather Jacket
Rebellion, memory, and the scent of 90s cool.
Vanessa Paradis had it. So did Madonna. In the 90s, their Perfectos weren’t just jackets—they were declarations. Vanessa, tousled hair and Levi’s 501s, in that sultry whisper of a music video; Madonna, electrifying in that Desperately Seeking Susan era, when the Perfecto was practically her second skin, leather thrown over lace and layered attitude. And Michael Jackson? That red masterpiece in Beat It was practically stitched into my subconscious. I didn’t just admire them—I wanted to be them. Not famous. Just... effortlessly cool.
I remember it vividly: a grey Sunday at the Puces de Saint-Ouen with my parents, sometime in the late '80s. I was 15 and on a mission. Not for records or posters, but for a leather jacket that could carry the weight of my teenage dreams. That could turn up the volume on who I was—quiet, observant, a little invisible—and help me step into a version of myself I hadn’t quite grown into yet. That jacket, I believed, would say everything I didn’t know how to say out loud.
A Jacket with a Past Life
Before it became a style totem, the leather jacket was all function. A Second Skin for pilots in World War I, then recut and standardized by the U.S. Army Air Force in the 1930s. The A-2 flight jacket. The B-3 Bombardier. These weren’t fashion pieces—they were survival gear, protecting bodies from wind, cold, and altitude.
Then Hollywood happened. Marlon Brando in The Wild One. James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause. These men didn’t just wear jackets—they wore angst, masculinity, vulnerability. Leather became the uniform of those who didn’t quite fit in. And suddenly, a military relic became a vessel for identity, rebellion, and everything in between.
Leather as Language
By the late 50s, leather had already crossed the Atlantic and anchored itself in the shoulders of French youth: the blousons noirs. In the US, it danced with rock 'n' roll. Onstage, Elvis and Gene Vincent looked like gods in leather. By the 70s and 80s, it had fully morphed into a cultural symbol—equal parts punk, pop, and power.
The jacket became political. Personal. Madonna rewrote its script with a whip-smart femininity. The punk movement tore it up and remade it. And in my own mythology? Kelly McGillis in Top Gun (the real reason I ever noticed bomber jackets), Winona Ryder in anything, Demi Moore with her cropped, brooding beauty. Gwyneth and Brad. Kate and Johnny. Those couples didn’t just wear jackets. They inhabited them.
Design, Disrupted
Leather eventually made its way to the front row. Yves Saint Laurent was the first to bring it to haute couture, with his crocodile leather blouson Chicago—bold, black, unapologetic. Claude Montana followed in the 80s with sculpted shoulders and power lines. More recently, Khaite has brought leather into a quieter revolution: minimalism with edge, luxury that doesn’t scream but hums.
I love what Khaite does with leather. It’s sculptural and emotional all at once—like memory pressed into fabric. Their pieces feel lived in, even when brand new. Saint Laurent, especially in its Spring/Summer 2025 collection, continues to walk that delicious line between the masculine and the sensual, the sharp and the fluid.
My Own Leather Story
I only own one leather jacket. A fitted Perfecto by Acne Studios. It’s not oversized or on-trend. It’s nostalgic. Tactile. Intentional. I waited to find the one—a piece that would hold all the echoes of the images that shaped me. The 80s and 90s weren’t just about fashion; they were about figuring yourself out through what you wore.
Before buying into a more experimental cut, I needed that one. The one that said: “I remember who I wanted to be.” And I still do.
Of course, I’ve been eyeing the new wave. Leather jackets with a future-facing silhouette. Courrèges does it with clean minimalism. Christopher Esber sculpts the unexpected. Rick Owens redefines drama. Sacai plays with fusion. Lemaire leans into quiet strength. Khaite (again) makes you feel. Simone Rocha adds poetry. Tibi, Y3, Junya Watanabe—all remixing the past with the language of now.
The Second Skin That Never Leaves You
A leather jacket is never neutral. It absorbs your stories. It remembers the bus rides, the concerts, the breakups, the days you felt invincible, and the ones you didn’t. It stretches with you, creases in the places your life bends.
It’s not just about being cool—it’s about protection, transformation, reinvention. Sometimes it’s armor. Sometimes it’s home.
So no, it’s not basic. And for me, it never was.
And maybe that’s the whole point of this series. To remind us that the things we call "basic" are often anything but. They’re essential. They’re loaded. They’re personal. And when worn with intention, they become part of us.
That’s what the leather jacket does. And that’s why I’ll never stop loving it.
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