In the electric backstreets of Harajuku in the early ’90s, before Instagram and influencers, a young DJ named Nigo was building something strange, loud, and completely new. He wasn’t trying to fit in with fashion — he was remixing it. The result was A Bathing Ape, better known today as BAPE.
Back then, there was nothing like it. Imagine camo that made you stand out, not blend in. Hoodies with shark faces zipping all the way over your head. Sneakers that looked like they came from another planet, or at least a video game- very bold, chaotic, playful. And somehow, it all made sense.
Nigo wasn’t a fashion school graduate. He was a collector, a curator, a kid obsessed with hip-hop, cartoons, and American street culture. He took all those pieces and stitched them into something that felt fresh. At first, BAPE tees were printed in tiny runs, just a few dozen at a time. Not to be exclusive, but because that’s all he could afford.
Soon, Tokyo’s scene started paying attention. Then Japan. Then Pharrell.
The moment that Pharrell stepped out in full BAPE, cracked the brand wide open. Suddenly BAPE wasn’t just a Harajuku secret. It was in music videos, on stage, on rappers like Kanye and Lil Wayne.
Wearing BAPE was like sending a signal. You were clued in and you got it. You were part of something that wasn’t trying to be mainstream, but somehow took it over anyway.
Even when other brands tried to copy the formula — the limited drops, the collabs, the chaos — BAPE never lost its identity. It wasn’t just clothing. It was a vibe. A world. A flex that didn’t need explanation.
Eventually, Nigo sold the brand. Some say it lost its soul after that. Maybe it did. But the legacy? Untouchable. BAPE still moves culture — one collab, one drop, one wild-ass hoodie at a time.
And Nigo is still doing his thing, now creative director at Kenzo, still wearing his past like a badge he should be very proud of.
BAPE didn’t follow trends. It made its own rules which were loud, weird, and way ahead of its time. And it showed the world that the future of streetwear might just come from a back alley in Tokyo, not necessarily from luxury designers in New York.
