Imagine a world where your favorite fashion brand ends up draped over figures you'd never want associated with your style—far-right activists, extremist protesters, even controversial leaders. It's a dilemma that hits at the heart of consumerism and identity, isn't it? But here's where it gets controversial: Can brands really control who wears their creations, or should they take a stand against unwelcome associations? Let's dive into this fascinating—and sometimes troubling—intersection of fashion and politics, exploring why certain labels keep popping up in unexpected places, and what it means for the future of branding. And this is the part most people miss: these stories aren't just about clothes; they're about how symbols can be co-opted in ways that challenge our perceptions of loyalty and values.
Take the bustling streets of London in September, where a massive right-wing demonstration drew over 110,000 participants protesting against immigration policies. Amid the waving Union Jacks and St. George's Cross flags, clashes with law enforcement unfolded. Surprisingly, another emblem stood out: the distinctive nautical star and compass design on a button-on badge, colored in green, yellow, and black. This is the signature logo of Stone Island, the Italian fashion house known for its innovative outerwear. During the rally, it was prominently worn by Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, the outspoken far-right anti-Islam campaigner and founder of the English Defence League, who goes by the alias Tommy Robinson and helped organize the event. The logo also appeared on garments worn by other marchers, including prominent Robinson backers like the English podcaster Liam Tuffs.
This isn't an isolated incident for Robinson, a former British National Party member with a criminal record that includes convictions for assault, financial misconduct, and immigration violations. Photographs show him sporting Stone Island items on multiple occasions, such as in June when he appeared in magistrates' court facing charges of harassment and inciting fear of violence, and at another far-right gathering in July. (For context, Robinson has pleaded not guilty to the June accusations, with a trial scheduled for October 2026.) Brands inherently lack full sway over who purchases and dons their products. Neither Robinson nor his followers have explicitly stated that Stone Island's logo or apparel symbolizes far-right ideologies. Yet, their consistent choice of the brand hasn't escaped notice.
Robinson's nickname draws from a member of the Men In Gear group linked to Luton Town Football Club. 'He emerged from that scene, complete with the apparel that defined it,' explained Joe Mulhall, research director at Hope not Hate, a UK organization fighting racism and neo-fascism. He pointed to brands like Stone Island and CP Company, both founded by the same visionary. 'I can't recall a single public appearance where he wasn't clad in those.'
In an era of escalating global political violence across all ideologies, as highlighted by various international reports, brands should exercise caution about connections to groups that endorse or partake in aggression, regardless of their motivations. This insight comes from Dr. Cynthia Miller-Idriss, a sociologist and professor at The American University in Washington, DC. Stone Island's parent company, Moncler Group, did not provide comments to requests from CNN.
Stone Island isn't alone in facing such dilemmas. Consider the luxury Italian label Loro Piana, part of the massive LVMH conglomerate. In 2022, a $14,000 parka from their collection was spotted on Russian President Vladimir Putin during a televised rally celebrating Russia's invasion of Ukraine. Identified by observant viewers, the brand faced harsh online backlash for not publicly distancing itself. Loro Piana chose not to respond.
Sometimes, entire designs get repurposed as unofficial uniforms. In 2020, the British sportswear firm Fred Perry temporarily discontinued its classic black-and-yellow striped polo shirt after it became linked to the Proud Boys, a U.S. far-right organization. This unintended alignment prompted Fred Perry ambassador Irvine Welsh, author of 'Trainspotting,' to vow he'd stop wearing the brand due to its adoption by this 'Western chauvinist' group, despite his long-held admiration for its subcultural roots. Fred Perry has consistently denounced the Proud Boys as incompatible with their principles.
Back in 2016, a neo-Nazi site dubbed New Balance sneakers the 'official footwear of white people,' urging followers to buy them for easy recognition. The Boston-based company swiftly condemned such views via social media, stating they reject all forms of bigotry.
Dr. Miller-Idriss traces the origins of using mainstream fashion as political markers back to 1990s Germany, after the Berlin Wall's fall and reunification sparked a surge in far-right movements and unrest. With overt Nazi symbols outlawed, extremists adopted covert clothing codes. New Balance sneakers became favorites because the 'N' in the logo supposedly represented neo-Nazis, allowing them to ditch heavy boots in warmer weather. Meanwhile, Lonsdale's logo on jackets could hint at 'NSDA' (short for the Nazi Party's initials) when zipped partially, but unzip and it looked harmless. This clever adaptation let wearers signal allegiance discreetly.
Interestingly, in recent years, extremist groups have traded in flashy, intimidating styles—like the skinhead look—for mundane outfits with khakis and polos. Miller-Idriss referenced a style guide from a defunct neo-Nazi blog advising that 'people are more receptive to our messages if the presentation is appealing.' Thus, 'fashion evolved into the ultimate disguise,' she noted.
Established in 1982 in Ravarino, northern Italy, by designer Massimo Osti, Stone Island excels in garment dyeing and advanced fabrics, offering innovations like thermo-sensitive jackets that shift colors with temperature changes. Prices reflect this quality— a nylon hooded jacket runs about $1,075—but the brand's blend of tech and cultural resonance keeps it popular. Under Moncler Group's umbrella, CEO Robert Triefus, who arrived from Gucci in May 2023, is steering it forward. Despite a 1% revenue dip to €401.6 million (roughly $471 million) in 2024, the brand enjoys positive vibes through smart marketing and subcultural connections.
For instance, their September 2024 campaign starring Oasis singer Liam Gallagher coincided perfectly with the band's reunion tour announcement. Gallagher, a lifelong enthusiast who got his first Stone Island parka at age 7 and once had his jackets stolen during a 2017 tour, helped boost the brand's buzz, landing it on the Lyst Index's top fashion lists. Stone Island's admirers span celebrities like actor Jason Statham, directors Steven Spielberg and Spike Lee, rappers Drake, Kano, and Dave, footballer Erling Haaland, boxer Oleksandr Usyk, and even UK Prime Minister Keir Starmer. Their growing female following includes pop icon Dua Lipa and DJ Peggy Gou.
Much of Stone Island's appeal traces to football culture, where its compass badge signifies exclusivity and identity, especially among 1990s British 'casuals'—fans who wore trendy brands like Burberry, Fred Perry, Lacoste, and Ellesse instead of team gear to flaunt status, dodge rivals, and blend in. (To clarify for newcomers, these 'casuals' often overlapped with violent subcultures like skinheads, using pricey sportswear to evade police at matches, earning them the 'hooligan' label for their rowdy antics.)
Miller-Idriss suggests that Stone Island's past ties to hooliganism might draw in extremists seeking that same sense of pride and belonging. Soccer fandom often involves fierce loyalty against rivals, which far-right groups twist into nationalism versus immigrants. This could explain Robinson's preference. 'It's a mark of prestige, a pricey item that originally signaled dominance on the terraces,' said Ollie Evans, founder of the UK agency Too Hot. 'By sporting Stone Island, he might be proclaiming himself as the alpha in the hierarchy.'
While the Premier League's 1992 launch sanitized soccer into a family affair, as noted by Dr. Tim Ellis-Dale, a history lecturer at Teesside University, echoes of that wild terrace era persist in Stone Island's image.
The digital age gives brands less narrative control, but Miller-Idriss offers strategies: Lonsdale reclaimed its reputation by backing anti-racist causes, like their 2003 'Lonsdale Loves All Colours' campaign featuring diverse models. Brands could also redistribute profits to aligned charities. Crucially, this avoids alienating core fans. Evans, for one, isn't bothered by Robinson's adoption, calling it 'lowbrow' and citing Osti's leftist leanings—he was a committed Italian Communist Party member and Bologna councilor. 'If all these icons revere him 20 years after his death, Robinson's choice won't tarnish that legacy,' Evans asserted.
So, what do you think? Should brands like Stone Island publicly denounce such associations to protect their image, even if it risks alienating customers? Or is it inevitable in a free market where anyone can buy? Is fashion inherently political, or can it remain neutral? Share your thoughts below—do you agree with the experts, or see a different angle? This debate touches on freedom of expression versus corporate responsibility, and I'd love to hear your take!
