New York Raised Me and Hip Hop Dressed Me: The Evolution of Streetwear Fashion

I grew up in Springfield Gardens, Queens, but before that, my parents lived in Flatbush, Brooklyn when they first came to America. And the Flatbush they walked into was not the polished Brooklyn people brag about today. This was the 90s. Hip-Hop Brooklyn. Caribbean Brooklyn. Loud Brooklyn. Block party Brooklyn. The kind of place where music poured out of every window and the streets felt alive even when nothing was happening.

My parents were right there when Hip-Hop was climbing into mainstream power. They remember the energy, the fashion, the swagger, the attitude. It was not just music. It was culture you could touch. You could smell. You could see from three blocks away. And all of that started because of what happened a little further north.

Hip-Hop was born in the South Bronx during one of the worst moments in New York’s history. The Bronx in the 70s and early 80s was going through hell. The borough experienced so many fires that entire city blocks turned into rubble. Over 300,000 residents left. Burned buildings, abandoned lots, broken windows, destroyed homes. The phrase "The Bronx is burning" became national language. That is the world Hip-Hop came out of.

And even with all the destruction, the people kept living. They kept surviving. They kept creating. Out of all that chaos, they started hosting block parties. DJ Kool Herc, Grandmaster Flash, Afrika Bambaataa. These were people who looked at a burned down world and still decided to make something new. Music created from turntables, scratching, looping breaks, and rhymes over beats. That is Hip-Hop. Something made from nothing. Something born in a place everyone tried to forget.

Because the music was new, the fashion had to be new too. People wanted to show who they were, where they came from, and what they dreamed of. New York is dramatic at its core. Loud energy. Concrete jungle energy. So the fashion matched the city.

Bomber jackets. Kangol hats. Bucket hats. Tracksuits. Big gold chains for MCs and DJs to show wealth and presence. All of this was not random style. It was identity. It was armor. It was the city stitched into fabric. In a place that looked destroyed, people chose to dress like royalty. That confidence became the blueprint for what we now call streetwear.

Shoes were also part of the story. Back then everyone was rocking adidas shell toes. Today we have Jordans, Air Forces, New Balance, Asics, and a thousand hype sneakers. But back then it was shell toes, and the reason is simple. Run DMC.

Run DMC was that group. Trendsetters. Leaders. They made adidas iconic. When they dropped the single "My Adidas", the song hit so hard that adidas paid them 1.6 million dollars for an endorsement deal. That moment changed everything. A rap group getting that kind of bag from a global brand was unheard of. Adidas and Hip-Hop formed a long lasting relationship that shaped the future of fashion. A lot of people consider that partnership the true beginning of Hip-Hop fashion as an industry. Style and music officially became business partners that day.

From the Bronx to Brooklyn to Queens, streetwear expanded. Baggy jeans, oversized tees, jerseys, Timb boots, puffer jackets, fitted hats. Fashion started reflecting the rhythm of the city. And New York had a rhythm no one else had.

Throughout the 90s and early 2000s, streetwear kept changing but the spirit stayed the same. Confidence. Comfort. Swagger. Function mixed with flexing. You dressed like you had somewhere important to be even if you were just stepping outside to grab a sandwich.

Fast forward to today, and that energy is resurging. The new baggy trend is crazy right now. Oversized cargos, giant denim, wide leg pants, massive hoodies, and boxy tops. People are leaving behind the super skinny, overly tailored look and returning to that relaxed, effortless silhouette. And it makes sense. Baggy feels more authentic. It feels more New York. More street. More Hip-Hop. People want movement and shape again.

Baggy clothes also give this feeling of power. Like you are not trying too hard but you are still making a statement. It mirrors the original New York philosophy. Dress loud. Dress bold. Dress like you matter.

What I love about this trend is that it brings back the roots of Hip-Hop fashion. Back to the days when comfort met attitude. Back to the runway of the block. Back to the idea that clothes are supposed to match the culture, not the other way around.

Streetwear today is global, but the DNA is still New York. The swagger is still New York. The silhouettes, the kicks, the energy, all of it traces back to the people who danced on broken concrete and wore fresh fits while entire neighborhoods burned around them. That resilience became style.

My parents saw the birth of this in Flatbush. I grew up surrounded by it in Queens. And today, the world dresses like New York because Hip-Hop dressed the world first.

From adidas shell toes to the baggy wave of today, Hip-Hop fashion keeps evolving but the story always starts in the Bronx. Out of chaos came culture. Out of struggle came style. Out of New York came a global movement.

And it is still growing.