Introducing the latest in late-stage capitalism: a brick. With a logo. A logo which is ripped off from left-wing pop artists. A logo which is not even that visually interesting.

I hope I am not regarded as hyperbolic when I say that Supreme is the most openly festering symptom of the dying days of capitalism that I can find. Springing from disadvantaged neighbourhoods in New York City in the mid-1990s, Supreme has made its name through a painful awareness of how worthless it truly is.

It is worn as the ultimate irony. You know you are wearing an overpriced sweatshirt, hat or, um, brick. That’s the point. You have the money to show off how little it matters. Nihilism, youthful rebellion and street vibes with none of the effort of reading Nietzsche, risk of making an actual point or inconvenience of coming from a disadvantaged background. Revolution for reactionary teens.

Valued at $1billion, half-owned a private equity group, Supreme is the face of sanitised rebellion. The use of leftist propaganda art for a logo, an upstart story and feelings of non-conformity add value to something otherwise worthless. If you beat the artificial scarcity of supply and manage to buy anything from Supreme, some of the wealthiest people in the world profit from counter-culture rhetoric.

In doing so, expression and dissent become fuel for the capitalist machine. Rather than putting your bodies upon the gears, wheels and levers, that purchase oils them.

Supreme is a chance to use wealth to make an implicit statement against wealth. One drafted, approved and propagated by the wealthy. As capitalism breathes its last, it will do anything to monetise opposition. A vampire fuelled by Futura and sweatshops, Supreme is capitalism’s oxygen mask.


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