Since the 1970s, fashion has slowly incorporated fetish wear into its visual vocabulary. This can be most clearly traced back to Vivienne Westwood’s punk-inspired pieces, ranging from the parachute jacket to her take on bondage pants, which were laden with both figurative and literal ties back to kink 1. This fetishistic and glamorous aesthetic continued into the 1980s with Jean Paul Gaultier’s designs for Madonna’s “Blonde Ambition” tour. It came to a boil with Gianni Vesarce’s 1992 collection “Miss S&M,” which solely and unabashedly referenced sadomasochism (S&M) in both the title and for its leather and hardware-heavy designs 2. “Fetish” had become a more or less common reference point for designers.

And yet, it remained- up until recently- a reference almost solely utilized in women’s wear. Despite being used for shock value and for its deviance, fashion’s idea of fetish comes with its own set of norms. Fetish gear is acceptable, but only when worn by hyper-feminine women on a runway. Otherwise, it must be abstracted to a point where it verges on unrecognizability. It is then no surprise that its entry into menswear is a result of exactly that.

Virgil Abloh does not even refer to the suspiciously harness-shaped accessories featured in his Louis Vuitton Spring 2019 collection as such. Rather, he refers to them as “mid-layer garments 3” that don’t “have the comfort or the security of a jacket-” but are “somehow empowering 4”. Both the design of his “mid-layer garments” (and the name itself) work overtime to distance the accessories from their roots. His design is far looser than a classic harness, bearing no hardware and constructed out of ornate and flims fabric that screams anything but S&M. The only thing retained from its erotic roots is the silhouette and placement on the body. Everything is erased but the outline, allowing ample room for Abloh and his consumer to project what they wish to see on the piece.

And the project they did. When Timothee Chalamet wore one of Abloh’s harnesses to the 2019 Golden Globes, the internet collectively lost it. Countless articles spilled forth, declaring Chalamet’s choice of daring 5, provocative 6, pure and utter sex 7. People could not stop talking about it. He was heralded an icon of a new, fluid, masculinity 8. But Chalamet is just one of a string of straight men wearing allusions to leather S&M culture on the red carpet, and thus his contribution was hardly innovative. From Micheal B. Jordan at the Screen Actors Guild awards to Chadwick Boseman at the Black Panther premiere, harnesses have become nearly ubiquitous at every award show over the past few years. However Adam Rippon, the first openly gay winter athlete for the USA,wore a harness-infused suit by Moschino a year before actors like Jordan and Chalamet were drawn in by Abloh’s spin on fetish. Furthermore, he did so too much less surprise and exhalation. This reveals the root of the ‘daring’ and ‘iconic’ nature of Chalamet and and similarly clad, heterosexual celebrities looks: it, in the simplest terms, is them. Or rather, their straightness.

Indeed, it is impossible to ignore that the image of a man in a harness is one deeply rooted in the gay leather scene. Lacking the sexual ambiguity projected onto women in similar gear, harnesses’ intense homoeroticism has corralled them to the very edge of menswear. That is until Abloh created a harness so abstract that even the person wearing it could mistake it for a bib ( which Chalamet indeed did 9 ). Abloh’s garments reference to harnesses is just another way to garner shock but in a manner so vague that the buyer doesn’t have to reckon with the harnesses’ origins. In other words, Abloh created what I term a “no-homo harness”; one so disconnected from its erotic roots that it could be mass-marketed and taken up at all levels of fashion. It is then no surprise that there has been a corresponding boom in mass-produced harnesses in the last year. Though these harnesses lack the craftsmanship and clout that Abloh’s carry, they similarly strip the silhouette of its sensuality. Leather and heavy hardware seem entirely forgotten, since cheaper alternatives allow not only for a larger profit margin but for a less menacing look. But what does mass production sacrifice beyond quality: what embodied experience is corrupted in the act of mass-marketing fetish gear?

To explore this question, we must first examine the intricacies and complications surrounding the word “fetish itself.” As Madeleine Holth, fashion journalist and critic,asserts “Freud once said that fetishism stems from psychological trauma”, begging the question “what is fashion’s trauma that has the industry wearing fetishistically appropriate attire? 10 ”. However, it must be noted that fashion is an industry, not a sentient being. It does not have traumas of its own- it merely creates and reproduces objects that people place their experiences onto. If we accept Freud’s framework, the act of wearing fetish gear is then the act of bearing one’s wounds, a form of self-expression unique in its traumatic roots. Fashion’s appropriation of it carries the same inherent scars but none of the sense of memory. Something is lost, some element essential to catharsis, in the process of making a harness commercially viable. The answer lies in the literal process of construction, and more specifically in the material itself.

The fetishistic value of a harness rests almost entirely in the leather; this is what the wearer smells, feels, tugs on. But its value lies beyond just the physical experience of those who wear it. Leather is not simply sensual, it’s symbolic. And it’s at the meeting of both of these planes that a fetish is formed, and trauma can be located. This trauma is explicitly linked to gay masculinity. As Max, a 38-year-old gay man intwined in leather culture, stated when asked why he fetishizes the material “when I’m wearing my leathers, I like the way I get to be such a symbol, a trope, of masculinity and sexuality 11 ”. He further elaborates that “there’s nothing hotter than the feeling of leather on my skin, it’s peak masculinity…the more masculine I’ve become over time, the more I’ve been into it. When I wear leathers, it feels like my exterior is reflecting my interior. It’s weighty too: the opposite of something light, diaphanous and feminine 12 ”. In other words, his ideal gear is the exact opposite of Abloh’s, and consequential knock-offs, take on the “mid-layer garments”. Max and many similarly minded queer men view leather as an assertion of their masculinity: its durable and weighted nature providing a sense of security. This is incredibly alluring when one’s masculinity is constantly being questioned. Within a context of constant doubt and the looming specter of violence, the heavyweight of a traditional harness acts as a security blanket. It is this mix of comforting sensation and affirming symbolism that allows the wearer a feeling of euphoria and catharsis. It is this embodied experience that makes it queer.

Within this understanding, the mainstreaming of harnesses strips them of their queer roots and fetishistic value- rendering them as simple accessories. The process of mass production dilutes both the sensation and symbolism of leather gear to make it palatable for a market it was never meant for: straight men. Indeed, Abloh’s target demographic ( which is, shockingly enough, the one from which he hails) is one whose masculinity is rarely, if ever, put into question. A source of affirmation and security for a marginalized group is exposed and broken down in the design process so it can be harvested for shock value. Something meant to be shared between people in a moment of intimacy is decontextualized so it can be recharged indefinitely. Both the eroticism and the harness it’s self are left a flimsy imitation of what they once were. Indeed, there is nothing innovative about Abloh’s harness: it is simply another way in which queer sexuality is appropriated and cheapened so consumers can feel daring without any risk involved.