Quiet Luxury Gives a Chic Upgrade to Menswear Collections

A decade ago, menswear status symbols were not hard to decode. The signs were loud and obvious: a monogrammed belt, a hyped sneaker, Supreme’s ubiquitous sans-serif italics—you get the idea. It was almost too easy to spot a fashion enthusiast with expensive taste and a desire to show it off. Today, however, the signals are a lot less ironed out—literally.

Somewhere between the 2010s-era hypebeast and pandemic-induced comfort dressing, the vibes changed. Burned out on logomania, scarcity-driven drops and price-gouging resellers, fashion fans cooled on flashiness. Plus, quiet luxury gathered momentum, logos faded and whispery statements emerged instead. The loudest of these quiet new flexes? Status is now found in the folds and wrinkles of imperfectly crumpled designs.

The look was a staple of the Spring 2026 collections. Bottega Veneta offered crinkled trousers and shirts tucked in with rumpled ease. Saint Laurent’s menswear runway embraced languid suiting with semi-sheer button-ups that had clearly skipped the steamer. Italian sportswear brand Stone Island, known for its avant-garde “crinkled nylon,” put out ankle-pooling pants with a reflective treatment reminiscent of creased, chalky stains. The It items are very much high-end, but their value is no longer meant to be obvious. If the hype era demanded a willingness to stand in line for a drop (or to spend big on resale), the new flex requires a high level of textural literacy.

What defines this movement isn’t a single silhouette but, rather, a shared fixation on fabric, process and restraint over showiness. Indie labels like Evan Kinori, Comoli and Casey/Casey have been rising in the ranks among men’s fashion buyers and editors, thanks to their softly voluminous trousers and gently scrunched chore coats. Even large-scale streetwear brands have gone more raw. Take Reigning Champ’s recent Kyoto Black capsule, which uses a Japanese artisanal dye process dating back to 1915 to give simple black tees a lived-in look.

Across these offerings, the coveted shape is relaxed (think high rises, fluid draping and softened shoulders) while the colours land in a muted, mineral register spanning washed olives, chalky browns and foggy greys. “Made in Japan” has become its own kind of credential in this world, often shorthand for custom-milled cottons and meticulous craftsmanship. (It also ties into wabi-sabi, a Japanese philosophy predicated on finding beauty in imperfection.) Crucially, the desired look is unprecious and, in the context of luxury, unexpected.

Yes, there have always been outliers. Issey Miyake’s decades-long penchant for pleats is one example, while Miuccia Prada has, for many years, established soft, intentional creases as an enduring motif. Still, this trend contradicts the industry standard of mercerization, a textile treatment that strengthens fibres and gives materials a polished, store-ready sheen.

“Usually, when you buy a silk shirt from a luxury brand, you can’t even sweat in it,” says Michael Fong, who works in the buying department at Toronto menswear institution Lost & Found. “But when you buy a silk shirt from Casey/Casey, you can actually live in it.” That’s because the Parisian brand’s pieces are prewashed before they hit shelves, giving them a well-worn character on the rack. “Its version of luxury is wearing a garment and not worrying about it,” notes Fong. It’s the difference between a shirt that feels flat and synthetic and one with visible texture, weight and movement the moment you touch it.

Louis Cheslaw, a menswear writer and editor, says that this attention to detail has replaced brand-name-dropping. “People will be like, ‘Did you know my jacket was washed up on a mountain by a 93-year-old grandma?’” he says. Someone who gets too into the specifics can become an easy punchline, but Cheslaw argues that learning about the backstory of your coat is more meaningful than, say, trying to copy the latest trend worn by Lewis Hamilton. “If you’re going to be talking about your clothes, fabric is the best thing to talk about,” he says. “Because that’s what a garment comes down to.”

Of course, good fabrics don’t come cheap. A washed cotton shirt from Australia’s Man-Tle, for example, runs just north of $600, and many of the brands driving this movement rely on rare textiles and meticulous production. Often, the difference in quality isn’t obvious until a shop associate explains the extensive process that went into making a piece or until you hold it in your hands.

That subtlety is, ultimately, part of the appeal. “You get to wear a wonderful fabric, and you also don’t make someone else feel bad that they don’t have it,” Cheslaw says. In a time when overt displays of wealth can feel a little tone-deaf, low-key clothes carry a tactful authority. As Cheslaw puts it, “These days, modesty is a virtue.”

Still, for those in the loop, this insouciant, iron-ditching aesthetic is a humble-brag in a garment. Once you know where to look, the indicators are easy to spot: rumpled textures, hand-dyed discoloration and stitching techniques that only another nerd might notice. The hype signals are certainly there; they’re just stealthier than a Supreme logo.