American Apparel: The Morning After
American Apparel felt like the last gasp of something—a brand that actually believed in its own provocation. The ads were relentless and stupid and sometimes brilliant, all tits and thighs and desperation, this weird collision of genuine design sensibility (those basics were actually good) and Dov Charney’s inability to keep his hands off anything. It worked for a moment. Everyone knew those ads. They were embarrassing and you couldn’t look away.
Then the lawsuits came, and the bankruptcy, and eventually the quiet realization that being shocking for shock’s sake doesn’t build a business—it just gets you sued and hated. The brand limped through several owners, each one trying to sand down what made it distinctive. By the end it was just another basic apparel company with a dead brand name. The morning after the party, when you realize the guy throwing it is actually horrible.