The Deification of Designers

When does creative genius become cult?

By: Dakota D. Duran

The fashion industry loves its heroines. But somewhere along the line, designers stopped being celebrated for their work alone and began to be worshiped as cultural deities. Figures like Karl Lagerfeld, Alessandro Michele, and Virgil Abloh have transcended the role of designer to become mythic personalities. Their creative genius is undeniable, yet admiration for their work can sometimes cross into idolization. This deification of designers highlights fashion’s obsession with heroes and reflects deeper truths about us as consumers.

Let’s start with Karl Lagerfeld, the quintessential example of a designer elevated to godlike status. At Chanel, he wasn’t just a creative director; he was the house incarnate, single handedly reviving its relevance for a new generation. His personal style—a powdered ponytail, black sunglasses, and starched white collars—became as iconic as his collections. Lagerfeld's creative output was staggering, yet he was often revered more for his persona than for any single design. The Chanel tweed suit may have been a house staple, but under Lagerfeld, it became a symbol of the designer himself, updated season after season as a nod to his genius. When he passed away in 2019, the fashion world treated it like the end of an era, mourning not just a man but a cultural figurehead. Even his controversies—his scathing remarks about models, weight, and the #MeToo movement—seemed to bounce off his pedestal, barely denting his legacy.

Then there’s Alessandro Michele, who transformed Gucci into a maximalist wonderland during his tenure. His work was less about clothing and more about building a universe—one filled with eclectic prints, gender fluidity, and a heavy dose of nostalgia. Michele didn’t just design collections; he created a visual language that reshaped Gucci into a brand of freedom and self-expression. Fans didn’t just love Gucci; they worshiped it, and by extension, him. The hashtag #AlessandroMichele amassed millions of posts, featuring everything from his campaigns to TikTokers recreating his looks. Yet, as with all icons, the weight of worship can be suffocating. When Gucci’s financial performance started to falter, the narrative around Michele shifted from brilliance to stagnation, leading to his departure in 2022.

Virgil Abloh’s rise and impact further illuminate this phenomenon. As the first Black artistic director at Louis Vuitton and the founder of Off-White, Abloh was celebrated not just as a designer but as a cultural disruptor. His work bridged the gap between streetwear and luxury, democratizing high fashion in a way that resonated deeply with younger audiences. Abloh didn’t just design clothes; he designed moments—Nike collaborations, IKEA drops, and even a collaboration with Evian water. His every move was treated like a gospel of modern cool, with his untimely death in 2021 only solidifying his status as a cultural icon. Yet even his groundbreaking success wasn’t free from criticism. Some in the industry questioned his focus on branding over craft, but these debates were often drowned out by the sheer volume of his fanbase.

The deification of these designers isn’t purely about their talent. It’s about the stories we tell ourselves through them. Fashion loves a hero, and the industry is built on myth-making. Designers are positioned not just as creators but as saviors of the brands they helm. Lagerfeld resurrected Chanel, Michele gave Gucci a new life, and Abloh made Louis Vuitton relevant to a younger, more diverse audience. These narratives resonate because they’re aspirational. They make us believe that these designers aren’t just creating clothes—they’re shaping culture itself.

Social media amplifies this hero worship to a near-religious fervor. Platforms like Instagram and TikTok turn runway shows into cinematic events, with fan accounts dissecting every detail of a collection. Designers’ personal lives are scrutinized for insight, as if their every choice holds the key to their creative genius. When Michele walked the Met Gala red carpet hand-in-hand with Harry Styles, it wasn’t just a celebrity-designer moment—it was treated like a cultural summit. Similarly, Abloh’s presence at a music festival or gallery opening became a headline event, his every move imbued with significance.

But with great reverence comes inevitable backlash. The fashion industry is quick to build pedestals, but it’s just as quick to tear them down. A poorly received collection or a dip in sales can transform a genius into a disappointment overnight. Michele’s whimsical Gucci universe was once celebrated for its excess but later criticized for feeling repetitive. Abloh’s dominance at Louis Vuitton inspired as much criticism as it did admiration, with detractors accusing him of overextending his brand. This cycle of idolization and cancellation reflects a broader cultural tendency to crave perfection from our icons—while forgetting that they’re human.

What does this say about us as consumers? The deification of designers isn’t just a fashion problem; it’s a reflection of our broader desire for heroes in a world that often feels chaotic. We look to designers not just for clothes but for meaning, for stories that help us define who we are. But this reliance on iconography comes at a cost. When we treat designers as gods, we flatten the complexity of their work. We lose the ability to engage critically with their designs because we’re too focused on protecting the myth.

Perhaps it’s time to step back. To appreciate designers not as infallible icons but as creators with a vision—and flaws. Fashion is at its best when it’s about creativity and connection, not blind worship. By shifting the focus from personality to craft, we can celebrate what truly matters: the art itself. Because in the end, the work—not the myth—is what endures.