Fashion Killa

Beyond music, A$AP Rocky has redefined what it means to be a rapper in the 21st century, becoming a key figure in contemporary fashion and challenging the aesthetic codes of hip-hop, from Harlem to the runway.

A$AP Rocky in the “RIOT (Rowdy Pipe’n)” music video. Photographed by Brandon Faith / @Baggen.Photos. Available via Baggen.Photos. © All rights belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

A$AP Rocky has long been one of the most unique figures in the US rap scene. A Harlem-born rapper, masculine, attractive, charismatic, with all the classic ingredients for success, and yet, he's always pushed beyond expectations, embracing fashion and conceptual experimentation as central parts of his identity.

In a world like hip-hop, where a tough aesthetic has historically ruled — all bravado, hyper-masculinity, and rigid visual codes — Rocky breezes in like fresh air. He might want to be liked, but he’s never cared much about fitting in.

Before becoming the “best-dressed rapper in the world,” before the runway shows, magazine covers, and designer clothes, A$AP Rocky was just Rakim Mayers, a kid from Harlem with a sensibility that didn’t quite match his surroundings.
Harlem is the hood, the streets, the history — but it’s also shine, swagger, and posture. That’s where Rocky grew up, surrounded by contrast and references, in a place where image always mattered.

It was in that environment that the A$AP Mob was born — a creative collective of rappers, stylists, producers, photographers, and models that worked together and supported one another. Rocky was the first of the Mob to break into international stardom with his 2011 mixtape Live. Love. A$AP, which broke all kinds of moulds: carefully curated visuals, and references that came not just from the streets, but from fashion blogs and runway shows.

Around that same time — the early 2010s — Hood By Air (HBA) emerged, a brand that would change the game. Designed by Shayne Oliver, HBA pulled from queer NYC club culture, BDSM, industrial fonts, and a raw, confrontational attitude.

Rocky was one of the first mainstream rappers to wear HBA publicly. And that mattered. Not just as a style statement — but as a cultural one. In a world where rappers were expected to look tough, he showed up in androgynous, futuristic, provocative clothes.

He wasn’t the first to blend fashion and rap — Kanye, Pharrell, André 3000 were already doing it — but he was the first to do it with a truly hybrid aesthetic, with references stretching from Helmut Lang to Harlem, from Rick Owens to Harlem, from contemporary art to Harlem.
Harlem is always there.

Fashion as Language

In A$AP Rocky’s world, fashion doesn’t follow the music — it is the music. The beginning, the journey, and sometimes the climax. There are plenty of moments that prove it.

This song and its music video feel like a love letter to women, to fashion. Rocky appears alongside Rihanna (before they were officially a couple), in a kind of roleplay: trying on clothes, strolling through empty stores like they were museums.

“Her jeans is Helmut Lang
Shoes is Alexander Wang
And her shirt the newest Donna Karan
Wearin’ all the Cartier frames
Jean Paul Gaultiers ’cause they match with her persona”

He mentions clothing as if it were soft erotica or empowerment. It’s about how they wear it, not just what they wear — and it’s about the way they desire each other.

Met Gala 2021

Another moment that makes this crystal clear is the 2021 Met Gala. Rocky showed up — literally — wrapped in a giant patchwork quilt by ERL (Eli Russell Linnetz’s brand), while Rihanna wore Balenciaga.

People laughed. Said he looked like he rolled out of bed. But then it came out: the quilt was real vintage, handmade by an anonymous American woman and found in a thrift store. Linnetz reinterpreted it. Rocky wore it.

It was like saying: I’m wrapping myself in the forgotten history of the domestic, the ordinary, the American. You might love it or hate it, but it was iconic.

The Power of a Scarf

Then there was that day A$AP Rocky showed up with a silk scarf tied around his head.

A simple gesture, but headscarves mean different things depending on who wears them.
On Russian grandmothers: humility and care.
On African American women: a history of resistance.
On rich white girls in the ’60s: convertible-top glamour.
On Grace Jones: queer power.
In religion: reverence.
In the 2000s: wealth — Paris Hilton, Versace, that whole moment.

There’s something intimate about watching someone cover their head. It’s like a ritual. A retreat. A way of making oneself small — or sacred. And on Rocky, it’s delicate but full of performative arrogance. He knows he looks good. He knows we’re watching. And he plays with that.

He doesn’t wear it because he “can get away with it” — though he can — he wears it because he’s interested in what it does. In the tension it creates. And that’s what great fashion does: it unsettles, surprises, without having to shout.

Revolutionary or Just Rich?

The constant crossing of status, luxury, vulnerability, and ambiguity raises questions.

Yes — he has money and access. Yes — he has the looks and the connections to wear a thousand-euro Rick Owens piece without blinking. So at the end of the day…
Is Rocky revolutionary — or just a privileged curator with good taste?

Maybe both.

Because even with all the resources at his disposal, he chooses to take risks. And that’s rare.

He could play it safe. He could walk around in head-to-toe Balenciaga and call it a day. He could repeat the uniform of success.
But he doesn’t. He provokes. He plays. He stretches what a rapper can be — and was willing to risk his own credibility to do that.

Maybe that doesn’t make him an activist. But I do think it makes him a rare kind of artist — someone with a distinct, personal vision. And more importantly: I believe him. There’s something real in what he does, and that honesty is powerful. He’s doing things his own way. And to me, that’s always worth something. Even if he’s not taking the same risks today, A$AP Rocky gave us a new way to be an artist — one that blends sound, image, and identity in ways that still feel bold. A Black man, rich and famous, yes — but also willing to play with femininity, with beauty, with softness, with strangeness. He’s luxury. He’s ego. But he’s also vulnerability. And that complexity is exactly why he matters.