Supreme FW25: A Study in Irony, Nostalgia, and Cultural Reclamation.

Supreme’s Fall/Winter 2025 isn’t really about clothes anymore. It hasn’t been for a while. The garments are simply the vessel through which a cultural theatre unfolds – part parody, part prophecy. A box logo on a tee is now shorthand for irony, devotion, and a healthy disregard for taste, all in equal measure. FW25 proves this again, but in a sharper, almost self-mocking way.

Take the golf cart. Not a jacket, not a sneaker, not a hoodie – a golf cart. It’s both the dumbest and smartest thing Supreme could release: dumb because it screams impracticality, smart because it cements Supreme as the brand that doesn’t sell fashion so much as it sells conversation. It’s the sort of object destined for gated communities and Instagram grids, simultaneously poking fun at privilege while cashing in on it.

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The Playboi Carti Photo Tee carries a different weight. It’s more than merch; it’s a consecration. Supreme has always understood that youth culture runs on icons, and Carti is one of its most enigmatic. The image isn’t just a photo – it’s the birth of a relic, designed to circulate long after the cotton thins. It’s also a reminder of Supreme’s knack for collapsing music, fashion, and myth into a single wearable object.

The sneaker collaborations play the role of ritual grounding. AF1s and SB Dunks, in familiar yet coveted executions, keep the machine running. They’re the security blanket amid the chaos – accessible enough to maintain wearability, scarce enough to guarantee hysteria. They’re also the bridge between old-guard sneakerheads and the TikTok generation who see resale markets as a form of day trading.

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What really threads FW25 together is nostalgia wielded as weapon. From Wu-Tang and Dangerous to The Exorcist and All Dogs Go to Heaven, the collection acts as a cultural mixtape – curated, chaotic, sometimes sentimental, but always aware of its own kitsch. Supreme doesn’t reference pop culture, it re-colonises it, turning films and music into artifacts that are both satire and status symbol.

Accessories round out the act, with a vinyl player, traffic cone, Jacob & Co. pendants, and the now-legendary golf cart. Each one exists at the edge of functionality and absurdity, daring you to ask whether you actually need them. The joke, of course, is that you don’t – and yet you still want them, because they make you complicit in the theatre.

FW25 is less a clothing drop than an ongoing experiment in cultural irony. Supreme has mastered the push-pull of desire and disdain: you laugh at it, you critique it, you still want it. In that tension lies its real power.

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Words by AW.

Photos courtesy of Supreme.