Go to Sunday Service in Harlem
“Go to Sunday service in Harlem.”
That was Willi Smith’s advice to young designers. Not “go to Paris.” Not “read McQueen.” But go where the real style lives.
He wasn’t talking about religion — he was talking about fashion’s most honest runway: the people. The church hats. The gloves. The fresh suits. The confidence. Sunday service wasn’t just a vibe. It was education. In a world that still struggles to give Black, queer creatives their due, Willi Smith built a $25 million fashion empire by refusing to play the game. He didn’t want in. He wanted something different. And for a moment, he had it. This isn’t a history lesson. This is a correction. Willi Smith isn’t a forgotten icon — he’s the blueprint.
June 10th . Written by Ryan Packer | Editor and Chief of Plann Magazine
He Designed for the People, Not the Pedigree
Willi Smith dropped out of Parsons because he didn’t see himself — or his people — in their idea of fashion. What the industry called “taste,” he saw as exclusion. So he flipped the script. WilliWear was created for real people: the dancers, the workers, the downtown art kids, the everyday legends who made sidewalks their catwalks.
“I don’t design clothes for the Queen. I design clothes for the people who wave at her as she goes by.”
And that’s exactly what he did. His collections weren’t aspirational — they were accessible, raw, and deeply human. He made fashion democratic in a time when it was still whispering in white rooms behind closed doors.
He Made Streetwear Before It Had a Name
Oversized blazers. Workwear jumpsuits. Genderless fits. Loud graphics. Global fabrics. Sound familiar? That’s 2025 streetwear — and it’s also 1983 WilliWear. Long before anyone put “luxury” and “street” in the same sentence, Willi was already doing it — intentionally, with soul and purpose.
But here’s the difference: he wasn’t clout-chasing. He was storytelling. Every piece was meant to be worn, walked in, lived in. His clothes didn’t flex — they spoke.
He Brought Art, Architecture, and Fashion Into One Space
Willi wasn’t just making clothes — he was building worlds. He collaborated with Christo and Jeanne-Claude. He made fashion films, staged performances in the street, and brought together architects, dancers, and visual artists to reimagine what a brand could be.
He understood that culture wasn’t made in silos — it was made through collisions. WilliWear was never just fashion; it was a living, breathing creative movement.
The Industry Let His Name Fade — But His Influence Never Did
In 1987, Willi died of an AIDS-related illness at just 39 years old. The industry moved on — fast. No tribute show. No museum retrospective. No runway revival. A designer who built a global brand and redefined wearable style was suddenly a ghost in fashion history.
The silence around his legacy wasn’t just forgetfulness — it was a symptom of how the industry erases Black and queer brilliance. But his impact stayed alive in the margins, in the silhouettes, in the rebellion.
Willi Smith Wasn’t Ahead of His Time — He Was Right On Time
Willi Smith wasn’t trying to predict the future. He was the future. He just lived it too early, too authentically, and too unapologetically for an industry that didn’t know what to do with someone like him.
Now, when fashion finally wants to talk about equity, community, and global style — it’s just echoing what Willi said 40 years ago.
The question isn’t whether fashion will remember him. It’s whether it can catch up.