well as the iconic image of O-Ren Ishii from Kill Bill. Osaka’s Wimbledon entrance opens up a sharper legal question: when clothing becomes both cultural expression and commercial asset, who really gets to tell the story; the athlete, the sponsor, or the law?

Naomi Osaka’s Wimbledon look shows that cultural fashion can carry a legal edge. The kimono-inspired outer layer made the statement, while the Nike performance outfit underneath still sat inside the sponsor’s brand world, shaping how the look was ultimately read in public. That’s what makes the outfit more than a style moment; it becomes a revealing lens on image rights, endorsement power, brand control, and the limits of commercial influence over athlete identity.

In modern sport, clothing can carry meaning far beyond the court. Osaka’s kimono-inspired look shows how tradition can be reworked into fashion without losing emotional force, while also revealing how corporate interests can shape that expression. Her entrance outfit is not just a striking visual; it is a clear example of how culture, sponsorship, and the law now intersect in professional sports.

As a result, this article will look at three different topics. Firstly, it will look at how Osaka used fashion to express cultural identity. Secondly, it will look into how sponsorship and brand agreements influence an athlete’s public image. Thirdly, it will discuss the implications for fashion law, particularly in terms of image rights, endorsement authority, and appearance ownership. In the end, the outfit is more than a style moment. It serves as a reminder that fashion, culture, and law now coexist in elite athletics.

Naomi Osaka: Fashion, Identity, and Expression.

Naomi Osaka’s fashion story begins with identity. Born to a Japanese mother and a Haitian father and raised between Japan and the United States, she has often treated that background as a source of strength. Her clothing choices reflect that mix of heritage and self-expression, turning fashion into a way of carrying culture into the present. Naomi Osaka has built a fashion identity that is nearly as recognizable as her tennis. She has long described fashion as self-expression, something she wears to communicate rather than simply decorate herself. That instinct seems to go back to an early trip to Japan at 13, which she has said opened her eyes to a culture where clothing could be used more freely as a form of expression. She has also spoken about admiring Maria Sharapova, Venus Williams, and Serena Williams, showing that personality and presence have always mattered to her as much as the outfit itself.

That background helps explain why Osaka’s fashion feels so distinct. Across Grand Slams, she has used clothing to tell different visual stories, from butterfly and jellyfish imagery to Japanese-inspired references and couture-like silhouettes. She has said that each look tells a story, whether that story is about memory, emotion, or identity. Osaka has also spoken about feeling different on and off the court, which points less to some mysterious transformation and more to a conscious shift in public self-presentation. That distinction matters, because the real story here is how identity is performed when sport, clothing, and visibility all meet in the same space.

That is why Osaka’s fashion identity matters in this piece. Her Wimbledon kimono-inspired ensemble is not just a striking outfit; it sits inside a larger narrative built on tradition, self-expression, and visual storytelling. The legal significance comes in once that style becomes part of her public persona, because fashion then starts to overlap with branding, sponsorship, and image rights as much as personal taste.                                           

The Wimbledon Kimono-Inspired Ensemble 

To understand why Naomi Osaka’s Wimbledon costume matters, it helps to begin with the environment. Wimbledon is famous not just for tennis, but also for its strict visual tradition: tennis players must wear attire that is almost all white. That constraint can easily limit experimentation, which is why Osaka’s entrance received so much attention. She arrived in something that seemed ceremonial, intimate, and distinctly distinctive while still adhering to Wimbledon’s dress rules, according to BBC Sport.

The outfit was never meant to be a straight-up traditional kimono. Instead, Hana Yagi and Osaka’s team crafted a modern reinterpretation, a kimono-inspired walk-on look called “Evolving Ceremony.” What makes it work is the tension: it draws from Japanese ceremonial dress, but reimagines it for a global sporting stage, landing somewhere between heritage and performance.

The design elements help to illustrate the equilibrium. The clothing is described as having a kimono-like neckline, longer sleeves, an obi-style sash, and beautiful all-white embroidery of cranes and cherry blossoms. These were not just random decorative choices. Cherry blossoms and cranes have significant value in Japanese visual culture, and their presence made the outfit feel less like a costume and more like a conscious cultural reference. At the same time, the overall design remained white, allowing it to follow Wimbledon’s tight guidelines while also standing out visually.

The materials themselves tell a part of the story. According to multiple sources, the attire was made of repurposed textiles such as old kimonos, a traditional shiromuku bridal dress, and deconstructed wedding clothing. This is significant because it demonstrates that the outfit was created using ceremonial and historical precedents, rather than merely being stylised to “look Japanese.” The designer noted that the goal was not to replicate a traditional kimono perfectly, but to create a unique expression while remaining true to history. That explanation explains why the clothing was regarded not only as fashion, but also as an interpretation of cultural wear in a modern commercial context.

Under the kimono-inspired outerwear, Osaka wore a custom Nike performance dress made for play. This shift is significant since it visibly separated the outfit into two sections: the ceremonial entrance and the sponsor-supported competitive persona. The transition from heritage-inspired outerwear to branded performance gear is precisely where the legal and commercial issues arise. It demonstrates in a logical process how Osaka’s appearance evolved from cultural symbols to the structured realm of sports branding.

Osaka herself attributed the outfit to both her Japanese heritage and pop-cultural inspiration, specifically Lucy Liu’s white kimono attire in Kill Bill. That combination holds significance because it inhibits the reader from viewing the costume as a strictly traditional thing. It wasn’t just about heritage. It also addressed reinterpretation, memory, cinema, style, and performance. That complex meaning is what makes the ensemble such an effective case study. The dress is easy to admire for its beauty, but the article also shows its legal and cultural importance.

To put it briefly, the Wimbledon ensemble succeeded because it presented a narrative in phases. It first presented Osaka as a fashion and cultural icon who purposefully entered the court. Once play started, it changed into a useful, sponsor-linked sports persona. That transition from entrance look to match gear leads naturally into the larger question of who gets to define, authorise, and ultimately own the cultural message conveyed through fashion in a highly commercialised sporting setting.

Heritage, Symbolism and Self Expression 

Naomi Osaka’s fashion story begins with her identity. Born to a Japanese mother and a Haitian father and raised in Japan and the United States, she has frequently portrayed her upbringing as a source of strength rather than conflict. Her multicultural upbringing influences how she wears, discusses style, and portrays herself in public. For Osaka, fashion is more than just aesthetics; it’s a means of bringing heritage into the present.

That is why her looks frequently feature symbols rather than just trends. The Wimbledon kimono-inspired attire linked Japanese ceremonial wear, a white all-English look, and connections to her own cultural memory. Earlier fashion moments also incorporated imagery tied to butterflies, jellyfish, and couture-like silhouettes, suggesting that each garment is constructed as a visual statement rather than a basic styling choice. The end product is a style language that highlights heritage without turning it into a costume.

Self-expression is the thread that binds everything together. Osaka has stated that fashion allows her to express who she is, and recent interviews have defined her style as a tool to tell a tale about personality, roots, and evolution. That is also why her apparel feels intentional on the court: it becomes part of the act rather than a separate layer added later. In short, Osaka employs fashion to transform private identity into public form.

Sponsorship and Brand Visibility 

Osaka has a commercial aspect to her fashion identity. When her on-court style became well-known, it did more than just draw attention; it also increased her visibility to advertisers and helped make her apparel into a part of her brand identity. That visibility is crucial because fashion in sports may function as advertising without feeling like a traditional ad campaign. Osaka’s appearance thus serves two functions: it expresses identity while also strengthening brand recognition.

Over time, Osaka’s brand partnerships have done more than pad her résumé; they have turned her into one of sport’s most compelling commercial figures. Nike, Louis Vuitton, TAG Heuer, Nissan, Shiseido, Panasonic, and Yonex are not just buying an athlete with trophies. They are buying into a personality that feels modern, global, and culturally fluent; someone who can move from the court to the runway without losing credibility. That kind of reach is rare, and it is exactly why Osaka stands out.

What these partnerships reveal is that Osaka’s value has never been limited to winning matches. Her real power lies in how she makes image feel meaningful. A Wimbledon entrance or a French Open look is not just a style moment; it is brand theatre, cultural messaging, and commercial strategy rolled into one. For brands, that is gold. For Osaka, it means her presence carries influence far beyond tennis.

The Wimbledon kimono-inspired attire exemplifies this. Even while the style was founded in tradition, it fit into a larger commercial framework because it was matched with performance gear and debuted at a high-profile global event attended by sponsors, media, and fashion fans. In that way, brand presence strengthens rather than dilutes the cultural message. Osaka’s apparel now serves as both a personal statement and a market signal, which is why it matters in a legal debate over image rights and athlete branding.

Athlete image and commercial control. 

Naomi Osaka’s fashion story also brings up a larger legal question: who owns an athlete’s image once it becomes economically lucrative? When an athlete’s attire, look, and public persona are continually linked to sponsorships, media attention, and commercial collaborations, the distinction between self-expression and marketable image becomes important. Osaka’s wardrobe choices at key tournaments demonstrate that her image is deliberate, recognised, and valuable. 

That matters because commercial control involves more than just who pays for the outfit. It is also about who benefits from the attention it attracts, how much control the athlete has over that attention, and how much sponsors can affect what is viewed publicly. Osaka’s looks serve as part of her own brand, but they are also embedded in a network of contracts, endorsements, and media rights. That makes her a prime illustration of how an athlete’s image can be both self-created and commercially marketed.

In the legal environment, this tension is the point. Osaka’s fashion persona demonstrates how an athlete may use apparel to showcase lineage and individuality while simultaneously becoming a tightly regulated commercial asset. The more recognisable the image, the more pressing the issues of permission, branding, and ownership become.

The Legal Framework: Image rights and endorsement powers. 

Osaka’s fashion choices sit within a legal framework built around image rights and endorsement value. In simple terms, image rights cover the commercial use of a person’s identity—look, persona, and brand; which is why athletes can profit from public visibility through licensing and sponsorship. But Osaka’s case raises a sharper question: if a sponsor benefits from her heritage-driven image, how much control does she still have over how that image is used, shaped, or packaged? That tension is what makes her such a compelling case. Her outfits strengthen her personal brand by making her instantly recognizable, but they also sit inside a sponsor ecosystem that wants consistency, visibility, and marketability. The more distinctive her fashion becomes, the more valuable it is; and the more exposed it becomes to commercial influence. Image rights are meant to protect an athlete’s control over her identity, yet endorsement contracts often give brands a strong say over presentation. So the real issue is not whether Osaka can be styled; it is how much of her cultural narrative remains hers once it begins to generate commercial value.

Endorsement power is effective because images may be monetised repeatedly. Once an athlete is visually identifiable, each appearance, costume, and public event can strengthen a sponsor connection and increase commercial leverage. Osaka’s deal history clearly demonstrates this: her image has been associated with brands in the sports, luxury, and consumer goods industries, including Nike, Nissan, Panasonic, Shiseido, Louis Vuitton, TAG Heuer, and Yonex. In practice, this implies that her attire contributes to her commercial power rather than detracting from it.

The legal and corporate environment in Japan emphasises the point even more. Sports marketing and sponsorship in Japan are controlled by contract, advertising, and competition laws; thus, image use is not free-form even when a star athlete is globally known. That is why Osaka’s carefully curated public image is crucial: the more her identity is linked to fashion and heritage, the more important it is to understand who can use that image, where, and for what purpose. Her case demonstrates how endorsement power and legal control work together.

Cultural Fashion in Global Support. 

Naomi Osaka’s style is significant because it places cultural wear on one of the most worldwide stages in sports. Instead of using fashion as decoration, she incorporates Japanese influences, ceremonial nuances, and personal memories into competitions broadcast around the world. This makes her attire feel more like a type of cross-cultural communication than a single fashion moment. In Osaka’s case, a global sport serves as a forum for seeing, interpreting, and discussing heritage on a worldwide scale.

This is not the same as ordinary “trend” clothing. Her looks do not merely adhere to tennis fashion; they transfer cultural identity into a format that can function inside a worldwide commercial event. Wimbledon’s all-white tradition, for example, presented a strict visual setting, whereas Osaka managed to incorporate Japanese iconography through silhouette, texture, and meaning. That balance is what makes her important in both legal and cultural discussions. The clothing pays homage to tradition while also functioning in an international sports brand setting.

Osaka also demonstrates how cultural fashion can expand outside a single national framework. Her public image is moulded by Japanese, Haitian, and American inspirations, giving her apparel a rich meaning that can be understood across multiple audiences. That is why her appearance has sparked interest not only in tennis coverage, but also in broader questions about identity, representation, and athlete branding. In worldwide sports, Osaka’s attire serves as both cultural expression and public communication.

Implications for Athletes and Brands 

Osaka’s case demonstrates that modern athletes are appreciated not only for their performance, but also for the narrative they can carry in public. When fashion, legacy, activism, and performance combine, the athlete becomes a competitor as well as a media brand. This provides athletes greater influence over how they are perceived, but it also raises the stakes because each appearance can impact reputation, sponsor interest, and legal right.

For brands, the lesson is that authenticity is now just as important as visibility. Sponsors are not just buying logos on kits; they are purchasing association with a person’s identity, ideals, and public narrative. Osaka’s support from large corporations during times of vulnerability demonstrated that brands increasingly value long-term trust over short-term image control (brand equity). In other words, the partnership thrives when the athlete’s public persona and the brand’s message do not conflict.

The broader implication is that fashion in sports can be a strategic advantage. Osaka’s cultural dressing highlights how an athlete may use apparel to enhance meaning, broaden worldwide appeal, and increase commercial leverage all at the same time. For athletes, this implies more opportunities and greater control. For brands, it implies increased exposure, but also a greater responsibility to respect the athlete’s voice, as that voice is part of the value being offered.

Conclusion

Naomi Osaka’s fashion story points toward a future in which athlete identity is treated as both cultural expression and commercial property. In modern sport, the image a player projects may matter almost as much as the performance itself, which means the legal questions around control, consent, and ownership will only grow sharper. Osaka’s example suggests that athlete branding is moving into a space where style is no longer secondary to sport; it is part of the sport’s public meaning.

That shift matters because it changes what power looks like in athletics. The athlete is no longer just someone who wears a sponsor’s brand; she can also help shape the value of that brand through identity, symbolism, and public narrative. But the more influential that image becomes, the more important it is to ask who gets to direct it and who benefits from it.

For sports law, this is where the real challenge begins. As athletes become cultural figures as well as competitors, the law will have to keep up with a world where clothing can communicate heritage, build brand value, and create legal tension all at once. Osaka’s example does not close the debate; it opens the next one.

The post Naomi Osaka, Nike and Legal Politics of Cultural Fashion. appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

Introduction

On 16 May 2026, Audemars Piguet (“AP”), one of Swiss horology’s most fiercely independent luxury houses, launched the “Royal Pop,” an eight-piece bio ceramic pocket watch collection produced in collaboration with the Swatch Group. The launch is simultaneously a marketing masterstroke and a jurisprudential event. It arrives at the precise moment that AP’s decade-long campaign to register the three-dimensional configuration of its iconic Royal Oak as a protectable trademark has collapsed across three jurisdictions, the United States Trademark Trial and Appeal Board (TTAB), the Japan Patent Office and its IP High Court, and the Court of Milan. This article argues that the Royal Pop is not merely a commercial collaboration; it is a deliberate strategic response to the failure of formal IP protection, deploying cross-segment licensing as a substitute for registration and a new trademark architecture as a defensive instrument.

The Royal Oak as IP Asset: Design History

In 1972, AP’s managing director Georges Golay commissioned Gérald Genta, the pre-eminent freelance watch designer of the era, to sketch a luxury steel sports watch overnight, for presentation at the Basel Watch Fair the following morning. [1]The result was the Royal Oak, an octagonal bezel secured by eight exposed hexagonal gold screws, inspired by the brass helmets of Swiss deep-sea divers, integrated into a seamless tapered steel bracelet. Launched at 3,300 Swiss francs, more expensive than a contemporary gold Patek Philippe, the Royal Oak initially baffled the market. Over the following decade, it established an entirely new product category of the luxury sports watch.[2]

A structural tension shapes the design’s IP significance. The Royal Oak is the creation of an identifiable author, sketched in one evening; it has an undeniable artistic personality. Yet Genta’s inspirational sources were explicitly functional. Exposed screws replicate the structural necessity of sealing a diver’s helmet; the octagonal form echoes naval porthole geometry. This tension between artistic originality and functional referentiality would prove legally fatal to AP’s registration campaign.

Genta compounded the problem by designing cognate vocabulary for competitors. The Patek Philippe Nautilus (1976), the IWC Ingenieur SL (1976), and the Cartier Pasha (1985) all deploy integrated bracelets, geometric bezels, and exposed architectural hardware.[3] The result is a crowded field in which no single manufacturer can credibly argue that the design grammar of the luxury sports watch uniquely identifies its source.

The Multi-Jurisdictional IP Collapse

When examining the jurisdictional record, it is necessary to establish the doctrinal standard that governed each proceeding, a standard that Indian trademark law articulates with particular clarity and that is directly relevant to the comparative analysis this article undertakes. Under Sections 9 and 32 of the Trade Marks Act, 1999, a product’s shape cannot be treated as inherently distinctive. It requires proof of acquired distinctiveness through long and exclusive use before it is eligible for registration. The Delhi High Court stated this principle with precision in Knitpro International v. Examiner of Trade Marks (2022)[4], holding that a shape mark must be immediately identifiable with the source of the product by itself, without any accompanying name or logo, and that only shapes which consumers have come genuinely to read as identifying a particular legal entity, rather than as a functional or ornamental feature of the product category, can qualify as trademarks. The court was explicit that generic or functional shapes, however familiar to consumers, cannot serve as source identifiers. The earlier decision in M.R.F. Limited v. Metro Tyres Limited (1990) [5]shows the same court acknowledging the doctrine’s obverse: a distinctive tyre tread pattern had, through sustained and exclusive use, moved sufficiently beyond mere functionality to signal a specific commercial origin in the consumer’s mind, and on that basis warranted protection. Together, these decisions draw the line that every jurisdiction has consistently applied to the Royal Oak’s design, a shape that is generic, functional, or associated in consumer perception with a word mark rather than with the configuration itself will not cross the threshold; a shape that consumers have genuinely learned to read as a brand signal, independent of any textual accompaniment, can. It is against this standard, consistent across the U.S., Japan, Italy, and India, that AP’s multi-jurisdictional record must be assessed.

United States: TTAB (2025)

AP filed two USPTO applications seeking registration of the Royal Oak’s three-dimensional configuration, encompassing the watch face, octagonal bezel, eight hexagonal screws, case, and integrated bracelet. The examiner refused both on grounds of functionality and absence of acquired distinctiveness. Rather than narrowing its claims to the bezel and screwheads, the elements the USPTO found potentially distinctive, AP appealed to the TTAB, seeking protection for the full design system as a unitary mark. In a decision of 2 January 2025, subsequently incorporated into the USPTO’s Trademark Manual of Examining Procedure (TMEP) update of June 2025, the TTAB affirmed the refusal on both grounds.[6] The functionality analysis found that round watch faces are utility-driven and ubiquitous. The distinctiveness analysis delivered the more damaging blow. AP’s own advertising systematically foregrounded the “Audemars Piguet” and “AP” word marks alongside product images, meaning consumers associated the design with a word mark and not the design configuration itself. The TTAB further noted that AP’s catalogues feature Royal Oak variants that lack one or more claimed design elements, thereby precluding proof of a consistent unitary mark.

B. Japan: JPO and IP High Court (2020–2024)

AP filed a Japanese trademark application for the Royal Oak shape in February 2020. The JPO examiner rejected it under Article 3(1)(iii) of the Japan Trademark Law as lacking inherent distinctiveness because the design fell within customary wristwatch shapes. The JPO Appeal Board affirmed in June 2023 and additionally found AP’s secondary-meaning evidence insufficient. Only eleven official stores in Japan, no market share data, and publications that invariably paired the Royal Oak with its word mark. AP’s suit before the Japan IP High Court was dismissed on 28 March 2024.[7] In a separate proceeding decided in October 2024, the JPO dismissed AP’s opposition to registration of the word mark “ROYAL OAK” by a Japanese whisky maker, finding insufficient general consumer recognition, illustrating the limits of an IP strategy that had never penetrated mass-market consciousness.[8]

C. Italy: Court of Milan (2015)

The erosion of AP’s IP position predates these proceedings. In March 2015, the Milan Business Court rejected AP’s preliminary injunction against a domestic start-up selling a Royal Oak-influenced steel sports watch at approximately €150.[9] The Court found that the individual design elements, octagonal bezel, exposed screws, and integrated case form were common across the industry and thus lacked the particularised distinctiveness required for interim relief. The Court notably held that AP’s extreme price-point separation (€20,000 versus €150) did not automatically establish the distinctiveness necessary to ground a trade dress claim.

The Royal Pop: Strategic Mechanics

The Royal Pop’s IP architecture was assembled over two years in deliberate sequence. On 15 January 2024, Swatch AG filed “ROYAL POP” as a Swiss trademark in Class 14.[10] On 28 March 2024, the Japan IP High Court dismissed AP’s design appeal. On 18 June 2024, Swatch filed the mark internationally under the Madrid Protocol. On 17 December 2024, the U.S. registration was confirmed. On 2 January 2025, the TTAB published its refusal of AP’s configuration marks. The Royal Pop launched on 16 May 2026. The sequence is consistent with a collaboration conceived precisely as AP’s IP position collapsed, using it to generate new registered trademark rights (“ROYAL POP”) that AP could not obtain for the design elements themselves.

The commercial structure reinforces this reading. AP confirmed that 100% of its proceeds from the collaboration will flow directly to a non-profit initiative to preserve watchmaking savoir-faire, funding training for the next generation of Swiss horological craftspeople. This commitment neutralises the narrative of brand dilution. AP cannot be characterised as selling its design language for profit, and converts the collaboration from a revenue play into a philanthropic instrument. Industry analysts estimate the royalty pool at CHF 25–50 million based on MoonSwatch volume comparisons; AP has declined to retain a single franc of it.

The pocket watch format is equally deliberate. The Royal Oak’s identity is inseparable from the wristwatch format; a pocket watch wearing Royal Oak design elements occupies a categorically different product space, preventing any product-line confusion between the Royal Pop and the luxury original. It borrows the design vocabulary of the Royal Oak without replicating its category, a form of controlled artistic quotation that declares its own secondary status while requiring recognition of the original for legibility. This is an IP strategy through product architecture rather than registration.

The Royal Pop’s most underappreciated legal risk, however, lies not in what it says but in how it is structured. Secondary meaning in trademark law is not a free-floating asset; it attaches to a specific applicant. For AP to successfully re-file for protection over the Royal Oak’s design configuration, it must demonstrate that the relevant consuming public associates the octagonal bezel, the eight hexagonal screws, and the tapisserie pattern with Audemars Piguet as a single, identifiable source, not with watches generally, and critically, not with Swatch. The Royal Pop’s distribution architecture makes this genuinely difficult. The collaboration is retailed exclusively through Swatch boutiques; every consumer touchpoint, the retail environment, the packaging, the sales staff, and the store’s brand identity is Swatch. Over hundreds of thousands of transactions, this architecture builds an association between the Royal Oak’s design vocabulary and the Swatch retail experience that may, over time, compete with AP’s single-source design claim rather than reinforce it. A design that consumers learn to associate simultaneously with AP and Swatch is, for registration purposes, arguably associated with neither as a sole source indicator, since secondary meaning demands that consumers understand the shape to mean “this came from one specific maker.” Co-branding, by definition, signals two makers. This risk can be managed; marketing communications that consistently frame the Royal Pop as “Swatch’s interpretation of the Audemars Piguet Royal Oak design,” preserving AP as originator and Swatch as manufacturing partner, maintain a cleaner attribution structure. Still, it cannot be eliminated, and it represents the collaboration’s most consequential unresolved legal tension.

Economic Analysis: Democratisation and Dilution

The MoonSwatch (March 2022) provides the closest commercial precedent. Omega and Swatch,, both Swatch Group members,, launched a bio-ceramic wristwatch referencing the Speedmaster Moonwatch at $260 retail. [11]Over two million units were sold across 36 models. Secondary market prices averaged $900 within the first week, a 250% premium. Omega’s brand metrics improved. The MoonSwatch became the most-traded watch release in StockX history at launch. Former AP CEO François-Henry Bennahmias praised it publicly as “innovative,” a statement whose prescience became apparent when AP announced its own analogous collaboration.[12]

The brand dilution counterargument is structurally serious. The Royal Oak’s value rests not merely on material quality but on its symbolic economy of decades of controlled scarcity, limited annual production of approximately 50,000–53,000 pieces, multi-year waiting lists, and secondary market premiums that derive from the perception that the Royal Oak is inaccessible. That perceived inaccessibility depends on social distance, the distance between Le Brassus and the Swatch boutique on the high street, which the Royal Pop explicitly closes. Luxury economists in the tradition of Dubois and Laurent would argue that aspirational desire is most powerful when the aspirant possesses a physical talisman that sustains rather than discharges the desire; [13] the $400 Royal Pop may function as precisely such a talisman for a generation priced out of the Royal Oak. The decisive empirical question of whether Royal Pop buyers become Royal Oak buyers, or whether the $400 encounter discharges aspiration rather than intensifying it, will take years to answer. What is already clear is that the Royal Pop creates an audience-development infrastructure that AP’s own distribution model of under 100 mono-brand boutiques, at an average transaction price of CHF 51,000, cannot structurally build.

Jurisprudential Synthesis

The Royal Pop exemplifies what this article designates the “Collaborative IP Laundering” (CIL) model, where a luxury house facing the failure of formal IP registration, enters a controlled licensing arrangement with a mass-market manufacturer to accomplish what registration denied namely enforceable trademark rights in the collaborative context, controlled deployment of the design in a defined product category, and cultural narrative ownership that formal registration cannot provide. Through the Royal Pop, AP generates a registered mark (“ROYAL POP”) around the collaboration; channels proceeds to a philanthropic purpose that neutralises dilution critiques; and creates a legal record of voluntary, controlled use that complicates future copycat claims of abandonment or field saturation.

The deeper jurisprudential lesson is that formal IP law is structurally inadequate to protect the kind of value that defines luxury goods. The Royal Oak’s market power derives from accumulated social capital. The story of Genta’s overnight sketch, the waitlists, the wrists it has graced, none of which is registrable. AP has understood this. The Royal Pop operates not at the level of trademark registration but at the level of cultural narrative, using the collaboration to extend the Royal Oak’s story, recruit new participants into its mythology, and reinforce, through the very act of controlled democratisation, the aspiration that sustains the original’s pricing power. It is an IP strategy conducted through narrative rather than registration, through cultural events rather than litigation.

For practitioners, the TTAB’s January 2025 ruling signals that luxury brands whose advertising foregrounds word marks over design elements will face structural difficulty establishing that consumers recognise the design itself as a source indicator. Brands relying on product configuration as a primary competitive asset should urgently document “look for” advertising directed specifically at design elements, and should not assume that global fame substitutes for jurisdiction-specific secondary-meaning evidence independent of word-mark association.

Conclusion

The Royal Pop is the most significant jurisprudential event in fashion law since the MoonSwatch demonstrated that accessible luxury collaborations need not destroy the luxury original. But unlike the MoonSwatch, an intra-group affair managed within a single corporate governance structure, the Royal Pop is a cross-group licensing transaction between an independent luxury house and a mass-market conglomerate, executed at the precise moment that the luxury house’s formal IP campaign has collapsed across three continents. It is simultaneously an acknowledgement of legal limits and a demonstration that those limits need not be fatal. AP could not trademark the Royal Oak’s design. It has instead trademarked something arguably more powerful, the story of what the Royal Oak means, extended to an audience that couldn’t have afforded it, funded in a manner that makes the extension impossible to criticise. The oak has left Le Brassus. The legal and economic consequences will unfold for years.

Author: Aleena Mary Joseph

Refrences:

[1] Audemars Piguet Heritage Department. (n.d.). The Origins of the Royal Oak. Audemars Piguet Archives.

[2] Foulkes, N. (2022). Royal Oak: From Iconoclast to Icon. Assouline Publishing.

[3] See generally Genta, G. (Design Patents/Historical Archives for Patek Philippe Nautilus and IWC Ingenieur SL).

[4] 2022/DHC/002720

[5] 1990 (10) PTC 101 (Mad)

[6] In re Audemars Piguet Holding S.A., 2025 USPQ2d 18 (T.T.A.B. Jan. 2, 2025); see also U.S. Patent & Trademark Office, Trademark Manual of Examining Procedure (TMEP) § 1202.02 (June 2025 ed.).

[7] Audemars Piguet Holding SA v. Japan Patent Office, Case No. Reiwa 5 (Gyo-Ke) 10119 (Japan IP High Ct., Mar. 28, 2024).

[8] Japan Patent Office (JPO) Opposition Decision, Opposition No. 2024-900016, Oct. 16, 2024.

[9] Court of Milan, Business and IP Specialized Section, Order of March 12, 2015, Audemars Piguet Holding S.A. v. The One Watches S.r.l.

[10] Swiss Federal Institute of Intellectual Property (IGE/IPI), Trademark Application for “ROYAL POP” in Class 14, filed Jan. 15, 2024 (International filing date June 18, 2024).

[11] Swatch Group. (2022, March). Bioceramic MoonSwatch Collection Press Release. Swatch Group Archives.

[12] Bennahmias, F.-H. (2022). Interview with François-Henry Bennahmias. Luxury Tribune (as cited in WatchPro).

[13] Dubois, B., & Laurent, G. (1994). Attitudes toward the concept of luxury: An exploratory analysis. Asia-Pacific Advances in Consumer Research, 1(1), 273-278.

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The difference between dupes vs counterfeits comes down to trademark use. A dupe mimics the look or style of a popular item without copying logos or branding. A counterfeit illegally replicates trademarks, creating a fake version that falsely claims to be the original brand. One is legal (though often controversial), the other is criminal.

What Makes a Product a Dupe?

A dupe is a legal product inspired by the aesthetic of a designer item. Think of a high-street handbag that echoes the shape and hardware style of a luxury bag, but carries its own brand name or no branding at all.

Dupes capitalize on design trends rather than brand identity. They do not use the original brand’s name, logo, or registered trademarks. Because U.S. fashion law does not protect most clothing and accessory designs under copyright, these lookalikes occupy a legal gray zone that frustrates designers but rarely triggers successful lawsuits.

Popular dupe categories include handbags, sunglasses, shoes, and jewelry. Retailers like Zara, H&M, and Shein have built business models around fast fashion dupes, releasing affordable versions of runway looks within weeks.

The dupe economy has exploded on social media. Hashtags like #dupes and #designerdupes have billions of views on TikTok, where influencers showcase affordable alternatives to luxury goods. This consumer-driven culture treats dupes as smart shopping rather than infringement.

What Defines a Counterfeit Product?

A counterfeit is an illegal fake that copies protected trademarks. It uses the original brand’s name, logo, monogram, or other registered marks without permission. The goal is to deceive buyers into thinking they are purchasing an authentic product.

Counterfeiting violates federal trademark law under the Lanham Act. It also breaches international agreements like the TRIPS Agreement, which requires member countries to criminalize trademark counterfeiting.

Common counterfeit items include handbags bearing fake Louis Vuitton monograms, sneakers with copied Nike swooshes, and watches stamped with fraudulent Rolex crowns. These products deliberately mimic trademarked elements to exploit brand reputation.

Counterfeit goods often enter the market through organized criminal networks. They are manufactured in jurisdictions with weak enforcement, then distributed through street vendors, pop-up markets, and increasingly, e-commerce platforms and social media.

The Legal Line: How Courts Distinguish Dupes from Counterfeits

Courts use trademark law as the primary dividing line. If a product uses a protected trademark without authorization, it is a counterfeit. If it merely resembles the original’s design without copying trademarks, it is likely a dupe.

Design patents can blur this line. If a brand holds a design patent on a specific ornamental feature (like the shape of a bottle or a distinctive shoe sole), a dupe that copies that exact feature may infringe. But design patents are narrow and expire after 15 years from the grant date.

Trade dress offers another avenue. If a product’s overall look has acquired secondary meaning (consumers associate the design itself with a specific brand), copying it may constitute trade dress infringement. This requires proving the design is nonfunctional and distinctive, a high bar in fashion.

The 2023 case of Hermès International v. Rothschild highlighted these distinctions. Hermès successfully argued that digital “MetaBirkins” NFTs infringed its trademark rights because they explicitly used the Birkin name and traded on brand reputation. The artist claimed artistic expression, but the jury sided with Hermès, finding trademark infringement and dilution.

Why the Distinction Matters for Brands

Brands face different enforcement strategies depending on whether they are fighting dupes or counterfeits. Counterfeit enforcement is straightforward: brands work with customs, law enforcement, and e-commerce platforms to seize fakes and pursue criminal charges.

Dupe enforcement is far more complex. Because dupes do not typically violate trademark law, brands must rely on design patents, trade dress claims, or copyright (where applicable). These cases are expensive, uncertain, and often fail.

Some luxury brands have embraced a strategy of tolerating dupes while aggressively policing counterfeits. They recognize that dupes can actually increase brand desire by making luxury aesthetics visible to aspirational consumers who may eventually buy the real thing.

Other brands, particularly in the footwear and eyewear sectors, have invested heavily in design patent portfolios. Crocs, for example, has filed dozens of design patent lawsuits against lookalike clog makers, with mixed success.

Consumer Perspectives: Ethics and Risk

From a consumer standpoint, buying a dupe is legal but ethically debated. Critics argue dupes undermine designer creativity and devalue original work. Supporters counter that fashion’s lack of copyright protection reflects a policy choice: design should be free to borrow and iterate.

Buying a counterfeit, however, carries legal and practical risks. In many jurisdictions, purchasing counterfeit goods can result in seizure at customs, fines, or even criminal liability. Counterfeits also fund criminal enterprises and often involve labor abuses.

Quality and safety are concerns too. Counterfeit cosmetics and fragrances may contain toxic ingredients. Fake electronics can be fire hazards. Even counterfeit handbags and shoes are typically made with inferior materials and craftsmanship.

Transparency matters. A dupe purchased knowingly as an affordable alternative raises fewer ethical red flags than a counterfeit bought under the false belief it is authentic.

Platforms and the Enforcement Challenge

E-commerce platforms and social media have become battlegrounds for both dupes and counterfeits. Amazon, eBay, TikTok Shop, and others face pressure from brands to remove infringing listings.

The Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) and platform policies allow brands to submit takedown requests for counterfeits. But distinguishing dupes from counterfeits at scale is difficult. Automated systems often flag legal dupes, while sophisticated counterfeiters evade detection by avoiding exact trademark matches in listings.

The SHOP SAFE Act, proposed legislation in the U.S. Congress, would hold platforms more accountable for counterfeit sales. As of July 2026, the bill has not passed, but it reflects growing pressure on platforms to do more [VERIFY status].

Some platforms have launched brand registry programs, giving rights holders tools to proactively monitor and remove counterfeits. These programs prioritize trademark enforcement but offer little recourse for dupe complaints unless they cross into trade dress infringement.

Global Differences in Dupe and Counterfeit Law

While counterfeit enforcement is relatively consistent across jurisdictions (thanks to TRIPS and other treaties), attitudes toward dupes vary. The European Union offers more design protection than the U.S. through Community Designs, which grant automatic protection for three years and can be renewed for up to 25 years.

In the EU, a dupe that copies a registered design may face civil liability even without trademark use. This makes Europe a more favorable jurisdiction for brands fighting lookalikes.

China has historically been both the largest source of counterfeits and a challenging enforcement environment. Recent reforms have strengthened intellectual property protections, including increased penalties for counterfeiting and streamlined enforcement procedures. Still, the volume of counterfeit production remains substantial.

The Future of Dupes vs Counterfeits

Technology is reshaping both the dupe and counterfeit landscape. AI-generated designs can produce endless variations on luxury aesthetics, making the line between inspiration and copying even fuzzier. Blockchain and NFC tags are being explored as authentication tools to help consumers verify authenticity.

Consumer attitudes are also evolving. Younger shoppers often express less brand loyalty and more openness to dupes as sustainable alternatives to fast fashion or inaccessible luxury. At the same time, awareness campaigns have highlighted the harms of counterfeits, from criminal funding to labor exploitation.

Legislation may eventually close some gaps. Proposals like the Design Piracy Prohibition Act have sought to extend copyright-like protection to fashion designs in the U.S., but have repeatedly failed due to industry opposition and free speech concerns.

For now, the legal line between dupes vs counterfeits remains clear: trademark use is the dividing line. Brands, platforms, and consumers must navigate this distinction carefully, balancing creativity, competition, and the rule of law.

FAQ

Is it illegal to buy dupes?

No, buying dupes is legal. Dupes do not violate trademark law because they do not copy brand names or logos. They simply mimic the aesthetic of popular items, which is generally permissible in fashion.

Can you get in trouble for buying counterfeits?

Yes, purchasing counterfeits can result in legal consequences depending on jurisdiction. Customs may seize counterfeit goods at the border, and some countries impose fines. Buying counterfeits also supports illegal activity and often funds organized crime.

How can I tell if something is a dupe or a counterfeit?

Check for trademarks. If the product uses the original brand’s name, logo, or monogram, it is likely a counterfeit. If it has a different brand name or no branding but similar style, it is probably a dupe.

Can brands sue companies that make dupes?

Sometimes, but it is difficult. Brands can sue if they hold a design patent or can prove trade dress infringement, but these cases are expensive and uncertain. Most dupes do not violate trademark law, leaving brands with limited legal options.

Why are counterfeits illegal but dupes are not?

Counterfeits violate federal trademark law by using protected marks without authorization, deceiving consumers about a product’s origin. Dupes do not use trademarks and instead rely on unprotected design elements. U.S. law does not grant copyright to most fashion designs, allowing legal copying of aesthetics.

The post Dupes vs Counterfeits: The Legal Line Explained appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

At the same time, there are many legal risks associated with the fact that digital content can be easily copied, downloaded, edited, and republished. Fashion photos, campaign videos, styling, and illustrations are widely distributed by the owners of accounts without any permission granted to them, making it hard to distinguish between inspiration and infringement. Thus, as fashion evolves in the age of social media, the question of protecting creative work becomes crucial.

What Is Fashion Content on Social Media? 

Fashion content on social media encompasses more than just clothing pictures. They also include fashion editorials from magazines, fashion advertisements from luxury brands, fashion runway videos, fashion films, styling videos by influencers, lookbooks, product photography, digital illustrations, mood boards, and even photos of behind-the-scenes of photoshoots. All these types of content have creative decisions about composition, lighting, editing, choreography, or graphic design.

Although the design of the clothes may sometimes not be enough to satisfy the requirements of copyright protection under the law in some jurisdictions, the creative content around that may be protected as an original work of art or audio-visual works. Thus, without permission, using this type of content might be a case of copyright infringement.

Common Copyright Problems with Fashion Content

Unlicensed Reposting

Another widespread issue that concerns fashion content in the digital age of social media is unlicensed reposting. Many fashion blogs, fan sites, and aggregators download and share photos, reels, and video campaigns created by influencers and fashion houses without receiving permission from the author of the content. Though sometimes accounts give credit to the photographer or influencer whose content was shared, giving credit does not substitute for the requirement of having received the necessary authorisation in case the content is copyrighted.

Copying Trends and Creating Content

Social media is all about trends and allows users to create content by imitating other users’ works, such as outfits, styling videos, or styles. However, fashion trends and ideas are not protected by copyright and do not require authorization; only the expression of these ideas is protected. The reproduction of the idea of wearing a monochromatic outfit is not a copyright violation. But imitation of the way another creator shoots, edits, frames his or her photos or videos, or creates stories can become copyright infringement. This problem remains one of the toughest aspects of copyright law in the digital environment.

Use of Brand Images 

Influencers and fashion content creators utilize images that have been produced as part of the fashion brand campaigns, including images, photos, and video clips from fashion brands’ promotions. However, although distributing this kind of information might seem like no problem at all, these media pieces are usually copyrighted material and are the property of the fashion brand or hired photographer. The reposting of any officially published campaign images without permission may be an act of copyright violation unless authorized by some license agreement.

AI-Generated Content and Derivative Work 

With the increasing popularity of artificial intelligence in producing various kinds of content, new copyright problems are emerging in the world of fashion. Artificial intelligence tools may produce the edited version of fashion photos, create virtual models, and generate images based on other copyrighted material. There is a need to consider the question of whether AI-generated content is regarded as original creation, what kind of copyright there is and if editing the copyrighted image may result in the creation of unauthorized derivative work.

Function of the Copyright Law

The copyright law strives to provide protection for the literary, artistic, musical, dramatic, and audio-visual works that are the original creations of their owners, allowing them certain exclusive rights relating to reproduction, distribution, communication, and adaptation of their work. In the case of fashion, copyright law usually covers editorial photos, fashion movies, promotional films, illustrations, websites, and even the digital art used in the advertising of fashion companies.

It is necessary to understand the difference between copyright law and other forms of protection for intellectual property. While the copyright law protects the expression of ideas made into photographs, videos, illustrations, etc., trademark law protects such things as brand names, logos, and other distinctive elements of goods or services. As for the design law, it protects the appearance and ornamental characteristics of items such as garments, accessories, and footwear.

Practical Issues in the Enforcement

Despite the presence of copyrights, enforcing these rights on social networks is a challenge. In the case of digital content, it is possible to copy and share it within seconds; sometimes it is shared with hundreds or thousands of people and reaches millions before the original author realizes what happened. Moreover, there are many problems associated with anonymous accounts, fake profiles, and cross-border sharing. This issue can become more complicated if the people who violate copyrights belong to another jurisdiction.

Moreover, sometimes it is necessary to prove the ownership of the work by keeping original files, editing history or metadata of the work. There are copyright reporting mechanisms and content takedown processes on such major social networks as Facebook and Instagram, but the efficiency of these systems is questionable because there are still many infringements after the removal of the content.

Recommendations for Creators and Fashion Brands

There are several methods for creators and fashion brands to protect their intellectual property rights on social networks. The only way to prevent violations is to get permissions before posting any content. Proper licensing should regulate collaboration with photographers, stylists and digital creators.

Watermarking content, adding metadata, and keeping original high-resolution files may assist in proving authorship should the need arise. Copyright registration, wherever possible, adds further evidentiary value in certain jurisdictions. Just as important is to teach social media users how to practice responsible content sharing to foster creativity while protecting the rights of original authors at the same time.

Conclusion

Social media has revolutionized the world of fashion and created a new creative environment for the industry – more interactive, inclusive and global. However, social media has also increased the concern about unauthorized copying, reposting and digital abuse of copyrighted material. With the introduction of technology advancements like AI and virtual fashion, the legal issues will only get more complicated.

Respect for copyright law is not only mandatory but an integral part of fostering creativity and innovation. Understanding what copyright protects and engaging in responsible digital practices will assist in ensuring ethical and lawful use of the Internet for fashion purposes.

The post Trends in Social Media and Copyright in Fashion Content: Balancing Creativity in the Digital Era appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

The Design at the Centre of the Dispute

According to the complaint, 7-Eleven has used its “7-ELEVEN” name and logo in commerce since at least 1946, and has specifically used the combination of orange, green and red stripes, which it calls the “Tri-Color Mark,” for nearly forty years, with the complaint citing a first use date of January 1987 for one of the underlying registrations. The filing lists five federal trademark registrations said to cover the Tri-Color Mark and the wider 7-ELEVEN branding,  with registration dates running from 1998 to 2016, and notes that several additional registrations also protect the brand’s colour scheme across categories including clothing, footwear, headwear and golf balls. The complaint states that these registrations are incontestable, meaning they carry a heightened legal presumption of validity that would be difficult for Nike to challenge on its merits. 7-Eleven also points to its own history of licensed apparel and footwear collaborations, including with Crocs, Sunday Golf, Breezy Golf and skate brand DGK, as evidence that consumers already associate the tri-colour palette with officially sanctioned 7-Eleven products.

The shoe at issue is the Air Max 95 “Big Bubble” in the “Sport Green and Safety Orange” colourway, priced at $200 and, according to a screenshot of Nike’s SNKRS app included as an exhibit to the complaint, scheduled for release on 11 July 2026 at 10 a.m., a date that falls on what 7-Eleven calls “7-Eleven Day,” the retailer’s annual free Slurpee promotion built around the 7/11 date. 7-Eleven says it first became aware of the shoe in mid-June 2026, and the complaint attaches several pieces of unsolicited sneaker press coverage from outlets including Sole Retriever, Sneaker News, Women’s Wear Daily, Complex, Style Rave and Highsnobiety, which had already described the design using terms such as “instantly recognizable,” “unmistakable,” “signature” and “iconic.”

A Highsnobiety headline reproduced in the complaint runs “Nike’s 7-Eleven Air Max Is a 24/7 Textural Treat,” and a Sneaker News headline reads “7-Eleven Inspires This Upcoming Nike Air Max 95.” Separately, the complaint alleges that third-party product listings referred to the sneaker outright as “the ‘7-Eleven’ shoe,” and that at least one consumer had already purchased a pair through a third-party website before the official launch.

7-Eleven’s Legal Claims, in Plain English

The complaint pleads seven counts in total, but they really come down to two ideas repeated across federal and Texas law. The first idea is confusion: would an ordinary shopper browsing the Air Max 95 assume that 7-Eleven made it, licensed it, or signed off on it in some way? That question sits behind the complaint’s federal claims for unfair competition and false designation of origin under Lanham Act Section 43(a) (15 U.S.C. § 1125(a)) and for trademark infringement under Section 32(1) (15 U.S.C. § 1114(1)), and behind its Texas-law equivalents, common law trademark infringement and unfair competition, and statutory infringement under Texas Business and Commerce Code Section 16.102(b).

The second idea is dilution, which works differently and does not require anyone to be confused about who actually made the shoe. Instead, it asks whether Nike has cheapened the specialness of 7-Eleven’s colours simply by putting them on an unrelated product, loosening the tight, decades-built link in shoppers’ minds between orange, green and red stripes and 7-Eleven specifically. That theory underpins the complaint’s federal dilution claim under Section 43(c) (15 U.S.C. § 1125(c)) and its Texas-law counterpart under Section 16.103, along with a related Texas claim for unfair competition by misappropriation, which argues Nike is unfairly benefiting from the time and money 7-Eleven spent building that association in the first place.

Throughout the complaint, 7-Eleven’s lawyers describe Nike’s conduct in unusually strong terms, calling it “a callous and malicious disregard for 7-Eleven’s rights” and alleging that Nike acted “knowingly, willfully, intentionally, and maliciously.” That is not just colourful language for the reader’s benefit; it is doing legal work. If a court agrees that Nike knew what it was doing, 7-Eleven can ask for its damages to be trebled and Nike’s profits enhanced under the Lanham Act, rather than being limited to whatever losses it can actually prove.

Prior Negotiations and Nike’s Position

The complaint states that 7-Eleven “repeatedly contacted Nike to attempt to resolve this dispute” before filing suit, and that despite multiple communications between the parties, Nike indicated it intended to continue advertising the shoe and to proceed with the 7/11 launch. Nike had not filed a public response as of this writing. Some sneaker and trade outlets have separately reported that Nike pulled the Air Max 95 listing from its SNKRS app following the lawsuit, though Fashion Law Journal has not independently verified that action against Nike’s own statements and treats it as a developing detail worth confirming as the case progresses.

What 7-Eleven Wants the Court to Do

What 7-Eleven is asking for breaks down into two clusters. The first is about stopping the shoe altogether: a permanent injunction barring Nike from advertising, marketing or selling the Air Max 95 or anything else carrying a confusingly similar imitation of the Tri-Color Mark, plus an order forcing Nike to recall whatever has already reached stores and destroy any remaining shoes, signage or promotional material. The second is about paying for the harm already done: an accounting of whatever profit Nike made on the shoe, 7-Eleven’s actual damages, and, because the complaint argues Nike knew exactly what it was doing, damages trebled and profits enhanced under the Lanham Act, on top of exemplary damages under Texas law, attorneys’ fees, costs and interest. 7-Eleven has also demanded a jury trial, so if the case runs its full course, these questions would ultimately be decided by a jury rather than a judge alone.

Can a Colour Combination Really Function as a Trademark?

The case turns on a principle that often surprises people outside fashion and IP law, which is that trademark protection is not limited to names and logos and can, in the right circumstances, extend to colour itself. The foundational authority is the US Supreme Court’s 1995 decision in Qualitex Co. v. Jacobson Products Co., 514 U.S. 159, which held that a single colour can serve as a valid trademark once it has acquired what lawyers call secondary meaning, meaning that consumers have come to associate that colour specifically with one company’s goods, and provided the colour is not functional, that is, it does not serve some practical purpose that competitors need to be free to use. Fashion has its own well-known example in Christian Louboutin S.A. v. Yves Saint Laurent America Holdings, Inc., in which the Second Circuit Court of Appeals ruled in September 2012 that Louboutin’s red-lacquered outsole was a valid and enforceable trademark, though the court limited that protection to soles that contrast with a shoe’s upper, denying Louboutin the ability to stop a monochrome red YSL shoe.

7-Eleven’s case follows the same logic but applies it to a combination of three colours arranged in a specific stripe pattern rather than a single hue. The complaint leans heavily on the fact that several of the underlying registrations are incontestable, a status available under the Lanham Act once a mark has been in continuous use for five years after registration and the required affidavits have been filed, and one that limits the grounds on which a defendant can challenge the mark’s validity. Whether 7-Eleven can show the kind of consumer recognition and non-functionality that colour-based marks require will likely be a central battleground if the case proceeds past the pleading stage, alongside the more conventional question of whether an ordinary sneaker buyer would actually mistake an Air Max 95 for a 7-Eleven-branded product.

What Comes Next

With the shoe’s planned release date falling just days after the complaint was filed, the practical stakes for both companies are immediate, and 7-Eleven’s request for a preliminary injunction, if it presses for one, would likely be the first substantive hearing in the case. Fashion Law Journal will continue to follow the docket in 7-Eleven, Inc. v. Nike, Inc., for developments including Nike’s answer or any motion to dismiss.

The post 7-Eleven Sues Nike Over Air Max 95 Sneaker, Alleging Its “Tri-Color Mark” Was Copied for a 7/11 Release appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

Dynamics of Influencer Branding

The first question that pops into our heads is how influencer marketing works. There are three key dynamics to understanding this:

1. Algorithmic amplification – Algorithms analyse user behaviour and accordingly rank the content to drive maximum user interaction with the post. So, for instance, if you engage with one reel or TikTok that showcases a cheaper alternative to a branded dress or bag, your feed will be full of similar content.
2. Shift in Consumer Perception –  these algorithms lead to a shift in consumer perception, especially among the younger generation, where trends are always the norm. As long as style requirements are being fulfilled, ethical concerns hardly matter.
3. Legal Ambiguity – influencers might not be directly selling the product sometimes, but they facilitate their discovery, leading to their purchase by consumers, raising important questions of trademark infringement and brand dilution.

Link Between Influencer Marketing and Counterfeit Consumption

Influencer marketing has a positive and rather significant impact on the buying patterns of consumers. As per a study, approximately 22% of the consumers in the United Kingdom aged between 16 and 60, who are active participants on social media, have purchased counterfeit items at least once in their lifetime, which are recommended by influencers.[ii] Out of this, 22%, 17% knowingly bought counterfeits, and the remaining 5% were deceived into believing that they were buying the real product.[iii]  This is proof enough that influencer attributes directly increase purchase intention for counterfeit fashion goods. In simple terms, it is fair to say that the more consumers engage with influencers who promote dupe culture, the more likely they are to buy counterfeits.

Lawful Imitation vs Counterfeit

The central issue is the distinction between lawful imitation and trademark infringement. Not all the imitations can be considered a violation of trademark or counterfeit. Lawful imitation refers to those products which are inspired by existing luxury goods in the market and do not directly infringe the IP rights of the brand. These products imitate trends, aesthetics, or functionalities but avoid using protected trademarks, logos, or identical packaging. This is legal and boosts competition in the market. On the other hand, a counterfeit is a blatant fake or a replica. The product is designed to be virtually indistinguishable from the original, right down to the packaging and labelling. And this is a direct infringement of the brand owners’ trademark rights. 

One of the main challenges in influencer marketing is the increasingly blurry line between lawful imitation and illegal counterfeiting. Some dupes stay within legal limits by avoiding trademark infringement, while others copy luxury products so closely that they risk violating intellectual property protections. Social media makes this ambiguity worse because influencers often encourage direct comparisons between dupes and luxury originals. Statements such as “this looks exactly like the real thing” or “nobody can tell the difference” may push imitation products closer to counterfeit territory.

India and Influencer Marketing (Liability)

Influencers occupy a legally complex position within counterfeit markets. Although many influencers do not manufacture counterfeit goods themselves, they may still contribute to intellectual property infringement by:

•     promoting counterfeit sellers,
•     sharing purchase links,
•     providing discount codes, or
•     encouraging followers to buy fake products.

An influencer who knowingly promotes a product bearing an infringing trademark may incur direct liability under the Trade Marks Act.[iv] The crucial legal question is whether the influencer is using the trademark in the course of trade. Under the Indian Trade Marks Act, 1999, statutory law (Section 29(8) & 2(2)) and court precedents establish that promotional and marketing activities, including endorsements for monetary or other compensation, qualify as legitimate “use in the course of trade” when assessing trademark authenticity and infringement.[v]

The Supreme Court of India has clarified that the concept of “use” of a trademark extends beyond its physical affixation to goods or packaging. In Hardie Trading Ltd. v. Addison Paints & Chemicals Ltd[vi]., the Court recognised that a trademark may be considered “used” through various forms of commercial activity, including advertising, promotional campaigns, and marketing communications. In other words, the legal notion of trademark use is not confined to the sale or manufacture of goods bearing the mark; it also encompasses activities that promote, publicise, or commercially exploit the mark in the marketplace.

A fashion influencer who receives consideration to advertise or endorse a counterfeit luxury product cannot be regarded as a passive intermediary. Instead, by actively marketing and encouraging the purchase of the infringing product, the influencer becomes an integral participant in the infringing commercial activity.

Trademark liability does not stand alone; it sits alongside consumer protection and advertising rules that place added responsibilities on influencers and endorsers. The Consumer Protection Act, 2019,[vii] prohibits misleading advertisements and requires endorsers to exercise due diligence by ensuring that any claims they make about a product are accurate and supported. As a result, an influencer who promotes a counterfeit or infringing product as genuine may face liability not only for trademark infringement, but also for misleading consumers through a deceptive endorsement.

These obligations are reinforced by industry and regulatory guidelines. The Advertising Standards Council of India (ASCI) Guidelines for Influencer Advertising in Digital Media require influencers to clearly disclose commercial relationships through labels such as #Ad, #Sponsored, or similar disclosures. They also expect influencers to carry out reasonable verification of the products they promote. Likewise, the Central Consumer Protection Authority (CCPA) Guidelines for Prevention of Misleading Advertisements and Endorsements, 2022 require endorsers to have genuine knowledge or actual experience of the products they advertise, and to disclose any material connection with the advertiser or brand. If influencers fail to meet these standards, they may face regulatory action by the CCPA, along with civil liability for deceptive advertising and unfair trade practices. Together, these frameworks show that influencers are expected to act with a high degree of care when endorsing products, especially where counterfeit or infringing goods are involved.[viii]

Conclusion

The line between lawful imitation and counterfeit goods has become harder to draw in the age of influencer marketing. Lawful dupes can offer real competition and make products more affordable, but counterfeit goods directly infringe intellectual property rights and can mislead consumers.

Influencers play a big part in shaping how people see imitation products. By normalising dupe culture and making counterfeit purchases seem less risky, they can encourage audiences to treat imitation goods as acceptable alternatives to luxury products. Trust, relatability and aspirational marketing all contribute to that effect.

As social media continues to shape consumer behaviour, there is a growing need for clearer legal standards, stronger platform oversight and greater consumer awareness. These measures will be important in distinguishing lawful imitation from unlawful counterfeiting in the influencer economy.

References: 

[i] An Invisible War: The Growth of Dupe Culture & Its Ramifications for Brands, https://corsearch.com/blogs/an-invisible-war-the-growth-of-dupe-culture-its-ramifications-for-brands (last visited Apr. 23, 2026)CONSUMPTION, and lifetime,.

[ii] Shepherd, D. et al. (2023) ‘The Impact of Deviant Social Media Influencers and Consumer Characteristics on Purchasing Counterfeit Goods’, Deviant Behavior, 44(12), pp. 1746–1760. doi: 10.1080/01639625.2023.2233041.

[iii] Id.

[iv] Trade Marks Act, 1999, § 29, No. 47, Acts of Parliament, 1999 (India).

[v] Comparative Advertisement and Trademark Infringement, https://amlegals.com/comparative-advertisement-and-trademark-infringement/ (last visited June 28, 2026).

[vi] AIR 2003 SUPREME COURT 3377, 2003 (11) SCC 9,2

[vii] seo835, Influencer Liability for Trademark Infringement under the Indian Law, Khurana And Khurana (June 25, 2026), https://www.khuranaandkhurana.com/trademark-infringement-in-the-era-of-influencer-marketing.

The post Influencer Marketing, Dupe Culture, and Trademark Infringement. appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

GI protection extends far beyond food. It shields traditional apparel, textiles, and handicrafts, making it particularly significant for the fashion industry and for communities like Nagaland whose cultural heritage lives in woven textiles.

A GI tag is important because it informs buyers that a product is truly linked to a certain location and that its value stems from the people, talents, and traditions of that region. In the food industry, take Darjeeling tea, Naga cucumber, and Chak-Hao black rice for example: these names are protected from being used to describe items that do not originate in those regions. More generally, rather than allowing it to be replicated and sold without attribution, GI tags help maintain authenticity, encourage local producers, and keep regional knowledge alive in the market.

The same protection applies to textiles: it safeguards the relationship between a woven product and the community that produced it. Fashion frequently borrows from local craft traditions, but the market does not always safeguard the creators of those designs, which makes that connection crucial.

That is why the Northeast is a crucial case to examine. Food and agricultural items like Naga Tree Tomato, Naga Sweet Cucumber, Khasi Mandarin, Chak-Hao black rice, Mizo chilli, and Assam Orthodox Tea are already GI-tagged in the area, demonstrating that GI is already a part of the Northeast’s legal identity protection.In addition to protecting identities, these GI tags help uphold customs and culture. Every product has a connection to particular farming methods, indigenous wisdom, and customs that have been passed down through the ages. The ancient methods of growing, harvesting, and using Chak-Hao black rice in ceremonies are also safeguarded when the rice is protected by a GI tag. The production and processing techniques that have shaped Assamese tea culture for generations are protected when Assam Orthodox Tea is granted GI protection. 

By linking a product to a specific place, GI gives the state legal ownership over the name, stops misuse by outsiders, and ensures the region is recognized as the source. This also helps preserve culture and traditions, because it protects the knowledge, skills, and community practices that make these products unique while keeping local producers in control of their identity.

However, the same reasoning holds true for textiles. Northeastern textiles are more than just clothing; they are symbols of place, community, tribe, and memory. Muga silk from Assam, Idu Mishmi textiles from Arunachal Pradesh, Chakhesang shawls from Nagaland, and the textile customs currently being sought for registration in Meghalaya and Nagaland are a few examples.

Here’s where fashion comes into play. A cloth enters the world of fashion as soon as it leaves the loom and is sold. A shawl, silk, or tribal weave is now a commodity, fashion, and trend rather than just a piece of heritage. Both opportunity and risk are created by this change. The opportunity is that GI can bring recognition, value, and market visibility to Northeast textiles, helping artisans earn better prices and gain wider respect. The risk is that once these textiles enter the fashion realm, the market often copies the designs without credit, splits the cultural meaning from the pattern, and sells them as ethnic prints or tribal-inspired fashion without benefiting the communities who created them.

GI can help Northeast textiles gain awareness, value, and recognition, but it also raises a bigger question: can the law protect not just a textile’s name, but the cultural meaning woven into it?

From heritage to commodity:  why Northeast textiles are disappearing from the market.

For generations, textiles across the Northeast were never just fabric sold in markets. They were cultural archives: woven with identity, rank, ritual, and ecological knowledge that passed through families and communities over time. 

In many Naga communities, a shawl carries more meaning than mere decoration. It signals a person’s lineage, achievements, and status within the community. It can indicate whether someone has participated in certain rituals, earned recognition, or belongs to a particular family line. When an elder weaves a cloth, they do not simply create a product; they embed memory, tradition, and identity into the pattern itself.

For many women in the Northeast, weaving functions as a form of language. It allows them to communicate without words and to pass down knowledge that might otherwise disappear. The motifs they select, the colours they use, and the techniques they repeat connect them to stories from the past, teachings from ancestors, and responsibilities to the community. A textile can serve as a wedding gift, a funeral marker, a festival symbol, or a treasure preserved in the home for generations.

To these communities, textiles are not merely art; they are part of their identity. Wearing a tribal shawl is like carrying their history on their shoulders, like holding their family’s legacy close. That is why when these textiles are copied and sold without context, it feels like more than just a design being taken. It feels like a story being stolen, a tradition being flattened, and a community being erased.

In Nagaland, shawls and handwoven cloth carry tribal meaning and social markers that signal belonging, status, and community memory rather than mere decoration, as shown in the Tribal Textiles of Nagaland and studies on Naga Shawls: Weaving Cultural Narratives and Tribal Identity. 

Across the region, textile motifs, colours, and weaving techniques reflect local ecology, gender roles, and ceremonial life, which makes them living traditions rather than static heritage artifacts.

However, these fabrics are increasingly regarded as commodities as they expand into larger markets, exhibitions, and fashion circuits. Outsiders find artistic inspiration in what was once a collective identity. Without acknowledgement, permission, or benefit-sharing, traditional patterns are replicated, simplified, and marketed as “ethnic prints” or “tribal-inspired” designs, a phenomenon documented in studies on cultural appropriation in textile and fashion design.  This is the same pattern observed with well-known GI items such as Champagne, Parmigiano Reggiano, and Roquefort. Champagne is protected by a GI that firmly links it to the Champagne region of France, guaranteeing that the name can only be applied to sparkling wine made there using particular techniques. No matter how similar the product is, no other producer of sparkling wine can refer to it as “Champagne.” However, businesses still profit from the Champagne aesthetic: its branding, its luxury association, its mystique. The cultural capital is borrowed without compensation to the region.

Similarly, Parmigiano Reggiano cheese is protected by GI, but knowledge of how to manufacture aged cheese, recipes, and procedures have been borrowed by other producers around the world. They mimic the cultural identity and offer comparable goods under different labels, even though they might not utilise the precise name. The same is true for Roquefort, which is associated with a particular area of France yet whose blue cheese-making heritage has been imitated and sold elsewhere.

The same is true for textiles in the Northeast. Without giving recognition to the tribe, a designer may reduce a Chakhesang shawl pattern and market it as “tribal-inspired.” Although the name “Chakhesang Shawl” is protected by the GI tag, the design can still be replicated and sold as something else. The cultural identity is extracted, repackaged, and sold, while the original community receives no benefit or recognition.

As a result, there is a legal void. The name of a cloth may be protected, but it is still possible to copy, sell, and wear the design that embodies the community’s identity without giving acknowledgement or payment.

When “Chakhesang Shawl from Nagaland” is protected by a GI tag, spurious claims are prevented and the term is linked to the location. However, this doesn’t stop designers from replicating the design and applying it to scarves, T-shirts, or handbags without restriction. The GI does not cover the design itself.

Logos and brand names have legal protection, but traditional weaving designs and the cultural knowledge embedded in them do not. A fashion brand can copy, modify, and market these designs without authorisation or benefit to the original community. A textile’s name can be recognised by the law, but its cultural significance, symbolic patterns, and collective knowledge are not protected. Even if a community is granted legal recognition for the name of their cloth, they still have no control over the design that embodies their identity. Today, GI and trademarks can safeguard the goods, but also expose the culture that underlies it.

The end effect is a subtle kind of cultural flattening: the textile’s cultural logic is eliminated, yet it is still physically identifiable.

This is the core legal problem. Indian trademark law protects logos and brand names, but it does not protect weaves, themes, or textile identity. As textiles become commodities, the law struggles to preserve cultural value while allowing markets to operate freely. The GI push for Nagaland textiles matters because it asks a critical question: can existing law protect cultural heritage in a market eager to consume it without understanding what it means? This tension is exactly what GI laws and their implementation in India reveal, as explained in GI laws and their implementations.

What Does the GI Protection Actually Cover Once the Tribe is Gone? 

A geographical indication safeguards a product’s connection to its location of origin rather than the product itself. According to Indian law, a GI is a label applied to products whose attributes, reputation, or traits are primarily related to their place of origin. To put it another way, GI protects the assertion that “this product comes from this place, and that place makes it special.” 

GI can increase market recognition for authentic goods that adhere to certified criteria and prevent fraudulent claims of origin for handloom and textile items. Producers in the designated area who adhere to the usage rules or code of practice are granted collective rights. This means that a textile tradition’s name, such as “Chakhesang Shawl from Nagaland,” can be protected by GI, preventing others from falsely claiming origin or copying the name. However, not every motif, weaving strategy, or symbolic significance incorporated into the cloth is automatically protected by GI. GI rights do not apply to the cultural reasoning behind the design; rather, they are territorial and restricted to the registered name and its fundamental connection to location. The proprietor of a protected geographical indicator cannot stop someone from using the same weaving methods or replicating visual elements that are not included in the registered name. GI holders cannot prevent others from using the same techniques or copying design components that fall outside the protected name. This is the core limitation: GI protects origin, not meaning. Because of this, GI can aid in authenticity, but it does not completely address the issue of cultural significance being separated from design when the textile is sold in larger markets.

In a nutshell, GI safeguards origin and reputation, but it struggles to safeguard identity, ritual, and community protocols that cannot be reduced to a place-linked name. Even if a GI is recognised, cultural appropriation and aesthetic borrowing can still occur in this gap.

Nagaland’s GI push: why this state matters for the North East?

Nagaland’s GI push is exceptionally concrete and well-documented, making it the most obvious entrance point into this issue. Officials announced in March 2026 that 24 Nagaland products, including handloom and textile items, including Pochury Textile, Pochury Shawl, Zeliang Textile, Sumi Textile, Ao textile and Tikhir Textile, had been selected for GI registration. This is important because each of these textiles is a social language rather than just a design, Naga shawls and associated clothing convey messages of achievement, identity, prestige and tribe specific memories. 

The paradox begins here. Once they leave the community, fabrics that symbolise collective identity become commercially viable “tribal-inspired” styles. To outsiders, these shawls are beautiful; to the tribe, they communicate rank, achievement, and belonging. The Konyak tribe weaves colourful garments with beads and shells as symbols of prosperity and victory, the Angami tribe makes shawls in vivid colours to symbolise valour, and the Ao tribe uses geometric motifs to reflect mythology. GI registration helps maintain the connection between product, location, and community, but it does not fully prevent meaning from being divorced from the design as the cloth enters larger markets.

Nagaland isn’t uniquely protected. It’s the clearest example of what the whole Northeast is attempting to do with GI protection.According to official reports, four items from Nagaland: Naga mircha, Naga cucumber, Chakhesang shawls, and Naga tree tomato, have received GI tags as of right now. In the meantime, a Memorandum of Understanding was signed by the Textiles Committee and NEHHDC to formally register 33 unique items from the Northeast, including 15 from Meghalaya and 18 from Nagaland. This makes Nagaland the focal point of the narrative, but it also highlights the Northeast’s larger endeavour to preserve cultural legacy before it is turned into a commodity.

In many places, GI preservation has effectively supported communities and protected cultural assets. The most famous example is Champagne from France, whose GI label guarantees that only sparkling wine produced in the Champagne region following particular techniques may use the name, safeguarding the region’s reputation and ensuring financial gains for regional producers.

Darjeeling Tea, which was GI-tagged in 2004, has effectively safeguarded its distinct identity in India, stopped other teas from being marketed as “Darjeeling,” and assisted regional growers in maintaining their market share and obtaining higher prices while maintaining traditional farming practices.

These cases demonstrate the effectiveness of GI protection when it is appropriately implemented; it guarantees local populations profit from their legacy, prevents name misuse, and maintains traditional practices. This tried-and-true strategy to preserve cultural heritage before it turns into a commodity is expanded upon by the Northeast’s efforts with Naga mircha, Chakhesang shawls, and other goods.

But why is GI protection alone not enough?

Even if more Northeast textiles receive GI recognition, important issues remain that GI cannot address on its own. Although a GI tag can verify a product’s connection to a location, it does not automatically safeguard every motif, weaving logic, symbolic significance, or community protocol that is affixed to a textile. A GI protects the name and origin, but it does not protect the cultural meaning, the design’s reasoning, or the traditions that accompany the textile.

Beyond these legal gaps, there are practical barriers to making GI work in the first place. Documentation, quality control, and post-registration assistance are all necessary for GI registration, yet many Naga communities continue to struggle in these areas. Documenting procedures, materials, and design standards is challenging because a large portion of Nagaland’s cultural knowledge is still oral.

The largest challenge is that the majority of producers, particularly those in rural and tribal areas, have no idea what GI is or how it may benefit them. Lack of knowledge prevents them from applying for or utilising GI protection, and local communities are left behind as big businesses or government organisations fill the void. Farmers and craftspeople seldom see true economic gain, even when GIs are registered. They lack access to larger markets, better prices, and protection from counterfeit goods. Instead, the value is captured by middlemen and large corporations.

The Indian GI system is also afflicted by weak monitoring and enforcement. Fines for GI tag infractions are insufficient to dissuade counterfeiters, and violations remain widespread despite registration. Local producers receive no real benefit from the system.

The primary focus of India’s GI framework is registration alone; marketing, quality assurance, branding, and rights assertion are not followed up on. Consequently, there is no framework in place to sell or defend GIs after they are registered on paper. GI holders find it challenging to handle enforcement in rural and distant places due to limited access to legal expertise.

To make the GI valuable, consistency of quality must be guaranteed; registration alone is insufficient. In specialised international markets, GI-tagged goods frequently fetch price premiums of 20% to 30%, increasing artisan incomes. However, they will remain paper promises in the absence of post-registration support, promotion, and enforcement.

Nagaland’s experience shows that GI protection can still lay a crucial foundation when communities take ownership of the process.

The Chakhesang Women Wellness Society (CWWS) offers a model for community-led GI protection. More than 25 years ago, the CWWS founded the Chakhesang Traditional Attires Committee to preserve, promote, and safeguard their cultural heritage. This long-standing community initiative demonstrates how local organizations can bridge the gap between GI registration and real-world protection.

When the GI tag was awarded to Chakhesang Shawls in 2017, the CWWS used it to file civil lawsuits against designers who misused their protected designs. This shows that once communities have the resources and organization to enforce their rights, legal action becomes possible. The GI tag transformed from a paper certificate into a tool for defending their heritage.

Growing institutional support is now emerging in Nagaland. At the stakeholder meeting on GI initiatives in Dimapur in March 2026, officials announced that 24 products had been nominated for GI registration, including six textile items. The Memorandum of Understanding signed by the Textiles Committee and NEHHDC to register 33 distinct Northeast goods, including 18 from Nagaland, signals that government agencies are beginning to provide the post-registration support needed for GI tags to translate into actual community benefits.

However, not all GI efforts succeed. Some textile applications from the Northeast have faced delays or rejection because the burden of proof was not met; documentation of traditional methods, continuity of use, and community linkage was insufficient, or the design was deemed decorative rather than distinctive, which is why community-led documentation and institutional support are essential. These cases show that even when communities attempt GI registration, the legal system often requires evidence that oral traditions cannot easily provide.

The key lesson is that communities must be empowered to lead their own GI applications and enforcement efforts, rather than waiting for external organizations to fill the void.

The shape of the thing: protecting a pattern instead of a name.

The way that indigenous patterns and corporate shapes are protected by the law is very different. Unlike a word mark, the Hermès Birkin and Kelly bags are protected by their unique design, which includes their construction, handle curves, and flap angles. The brand in a shape trademark or trade dress claim is recognised by the shape itself rather than by a name. If a shape tag is distinctive, visually appealing, and unmistakably associated with the brand in the minds of customers, it may be trademarked. It only needs to look beautiful; functionality is not necessary.

The situation is different with regard to Northeast textiles. A Nagaland textile pattern encodes ethnic identity through weaving, making it more than just a “shape.” The Konyak tribe weaves colourful garments with beads and shells as symbols of prosperity and victory, the Angami tribe makes shawls in vivid colours to symbolise bravery, and the Ao tribe utilises geometric motifs to reflect folklore. When a fashion brand imitates these patterns, it is imitating a cultural language rather than a shape. However, Nagaland tribes struggle to secure their textile identity because the law protects the name (e.g., “Chakhesang Shawl”) more than the meaning behind the weave, while Hermès is able to protect its bag shape as a trademark.

Culture (symbols, rituals, collective memory) lacks legal protection equivalent to objects (shapes, logos). Copyright protects new, individual creations: not generational, collective knowledge passed down through tribes. Indigenous knowledge was developed over many generations by a community, not by a single inventor. That’s the core problem: the law protects brands, not cultures. GI can aid with authenticity, but it still cannot prevent cultural meaning from being separated from the design.

What protection should look like. 

GI protection is necessary, but it is only the beginning. The designs, weaving techniques, and cultural connotations of Northeast textiles should be documented and conserved now, before they are lost or replicated, if they are to be adequately saved.

The community should also be included in the process. Protection is only effective when locals are aware of it and actively participate in it; it is not effective when it is managed solely from above. If the workers who manufacture the textiles do not know how to utilise the GI tag, it is insufficient.

Post-registration support is crucial: marketing, branding, quality assurance, and enforcement must follow GI recognition if it is to help craftspeople in practice. Textiles are collective cultural assets, not the property of a single individual, so protection must also center community consent, equitable benefit-sharing, and community rights. In short, the law must document, involve, enforce, and respect the communities whose heritage it seeks to protect.

Conclusion

Nagaland demonstrates both the limits of the law and how GI can help preserve textile history. A GI tag can protect a textile’s origin and reputation, but it cannot safeguard all aspects of its significance to a community. Effective protection requires more than registration: it demands community involvement, post-registration enforcement, and equitable benefit-sharing. Protecting the culture that underpins a product is just as important as protecting the product itself.

Other Northeastern states can follow Nagaland’s approach by first identifying culturally significant items, then organising community documentation around their history, skills, and place-based identities. Nagaland’s GI progress demonstrates that when state institutions, community organisations, and development agencies collaborate to advance from recognition to registration and subsequently to post-GI support including branding, quality control, and market access, legal protection strengthens.

They should also consider GI as a cultural protection strategy rather than just a commercial tool. The broader Northeast project to register 33 unique goods, including 15 from Meghalaya and 18 from Nagaland, demonstrates that the region is already developing a shared model for maintaining traditional knowledge and keeping legacy connected to the communities that produced it.

Refrences

 On Geographical Indications (GI) and Traditional Textiles in Northeast India

1. Chakhesang Shawl GI Registration & Cultural Appropriation Cases

   – Chakhesang Naga Shawl gets Geographical Indication tag | The Indian Aaaz (2017)

   – Cultural appropriation stinging Naga society | Eastern Mirror Nagaland (2021)

  – Naga communities urged to lead GI applications to protect traditional products | Eastern Mirror Nagaland (2026)

2. Nagaland GI Policy & 24 Products Identified

   – Stakeholder Meeting on GI Initiatives Held in Dimapur | Nagaland IP Office (2026)

   – A total of 24 products from Nagaland have been identified for GI | The Assam Tribune (2026)

3. Northeast GI MoU & 33 Products

   – Textile Committee, NEHHDC sign MoU to formalize GI registration for 33 products | Textile Trade Buddy (2026)

   – Textiles Committee and NEHHDC signs MoU on Intellectual Property | PIB (2025)

   – Textiles Committee and NEHHDC Sign MoU to Secure GI Protection for Northeast | Devdiscourse (2026)

4. Chakhesang Cultural Meaning & Symbolism

   – How the Chakhesang Naga community weaves a world of meaning into a shawl | Scroll.in (2023)

   – Naga Chakhesang Shawl – Digital GI (2024)

   – Loom to legacy: The Living Textiles of North East, India | ChaloHoppo (2025)

5. GI Law & Indigenous Knowledge in India

   – Protecting indigenous knowledge through GI law in India | IJLR (2025)

   – Threads of Identity: GI Tags’ Relevance in Protecting Northeast Textiles | Fashion Law Journal (2025)

   – Weaver Awareness and Perception of Geographical Indication Tags | IJCESEN (2025)

   – Challenges in Protecting Traditional Craftsmanship and Indigenous Designs Through Intellectual Property | Sonis Vision (2025)

6. GI Protection Framework (International)

   – Geographical Indications for Beginners | WIPO

   – Protecting local food and drinks | European Commission Agriculture (2026)

   – Geographical indications and traditional specialities in the European Union | Wikipedia

 On Champagne, Parmigiano Reggiano & Roquefort as GI Examples

1. Champagne GI Protection

   – How Champagne is protected under the TRIPS Agreement | iPleaders (2021)

   – Kolhapuri chappal row: Could Prada have done so with France’s Champagne? | India Today (2025)

2. Parmigiano Reggiano & Roquefort

   – Parmesan: The King of Cheeses | WIPO Magazine (2011)

   – Roquefort | Wikipedia

   – The Evolution of Geographical Indications: A Global Perspective | The Law Institute (2025)

 On Hermès Birkin & Kelly Bag Design Trademark Protection

1. French Court Decisions

   – Diritto d’autore e marchio contro copie fisiche e virtuali | SIB (2025)

   – Hermès Nabs Win in French Fight Over Copycat Birkin Bags, NFTs | The Fashion Law (2025)

   – Decision of the Paris Judicial Court on the Protection of the Iconic Kelly and Birkin Bags | Dreyfus (2025)

   – Design or art? French court rules that Birkin Bag is a copyright work | IPKat (2025)

2. International Court Decisions

   – Hermès Wins Birkin & Kelly Bag’s 3D Trademark Infringement Lawsuit | Mark’s IPLaw Japan (2023)

   – Hermès Prevails in Birkin, Kelly-Based Trademark Fight in Japan | The Fashion Law (2023)

   – Hermès Prevails in Unfair Competition Case Over “Make Your Own Birkin” Class | The Fashion Law (2020)

   – The Italian Supreme Court rules in favour of Hermès | Clifford Chance (2023)

3. India & China Decisions

   – Hermès Birkin Secures Well Known Status and Shape Mark Protection in India | RNAIP (2026)

   – Del HC declares ‘Birkin’ and ‘Hermes’ as well-known trade marks | SCC Online (2025)

   – Design of Hermès’ iconic Birkin and Kelly bags held to constitute trade dress | Wanhuida (2025)

4. Fashion & IP Theory

   – THE PRADA PARADOX | Chambers and Partners (2024)

   – Looking Ahead (Part IV) – Fashion and Intellectual Property | Cambridge Core (2025)

   – 10 Threads That Last | Cambridge Core

 On Cultural Appropriation & Intellectual Property

1. Cultural Appropriation in Fashion & Textiles

   – PRADA-KOLHAPURI PARADOX: A Critical Analysis of GI Protections Against Global Cultural Appropriation | Record of Law (2026)

   – From Chakhesang to Rongmei: Lessons in Protecting Textile Traditions | Thinking Space Online (2025)

   – CULTURAL APPROPRIATION WITH REFERENCE TO TRADITIONAL TEXTILES | EPRA Journals

2. Darjeeling Tea GI Example

   – Separately cited in main text via WIPO Geographical Indications resource above

The post GI Protection for Nagaland Textiles: What One State’s Push Shows Us About Northeast Heritage.  appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

The Lawsuit: “Art of Luxury” Bags at the Centre of a Trademark Fight

In a 29‑page complaint filed June 1, 2026, Louis Vuitton Malletier S.A.S. sued PPE Casino Resorts Maryland, LLC (which does business as Live! Casino & Hotel), its parent The Cordish Companies, Inc., and several unidentified entities, alleging willful trademark counterfeiting, trademark infringement, false association, trademark dilution, and unfair competition under Maryland common law.

The suit focuses on an April 2026 promotion at the casino in Hanover, Maryland, called “The Art of Luxury,” which offered loyalty members a “luxury bag collection” of four items—a handbag, toiletry case, backpack, and tote. According to Louis Vuitton, those bags copied the fashion house’s famous monogram canvas and stylised flower trademarks, but swapped out the overlapping “LV” initials for the word “Live!” in a repeating pattern.

The complaint characterises this as “a particularly brazen move” designed to “purposefully infringe” Louis Vuitton’s monogram and “falsely convey to the consuming public” that the casino and the luxury brand were affiliated or collaborating. Local news outlets have published side‑by‑side photographs showing the casino’s promotional bags next to authentic Louis Vuitton products, with logos and flower motifs that appear strikingly similar.

How the “Art of Luxury” Promotion Allegedly Worked

Louis Vuitton alleges that the April campaign was a coordinated, multi‑week mass marketing effort pitched to casino rewards members and prospective customers through direct mail, in‑house brochures, and social media posts.

Promotional materials invited players to “receive your complimentary luxury bag collection,” with different pieces of the set available on successive Tuesdays in April at Live! Casino & Hotel Maryland. According to the complaint, patrons could either attend on designated days to collect the bags or redeem “tier credits” amassed through gambling, dining, and retail spending for the casino‑branded collection.

One social media post cited in the lawsuit shows a model posing with the bag set under the caption, “Everyone needs a place to store all their jackpot money… so why not a stylish bag?” and urges members to “earn 750 tier credits for your luxury bag collection.” At no point, Louis Vuitton says, did the casino disclose that the bags were not genuine Louis Vuitton products or that no affiliation existed between the two companies.

Louis Vuitton’s IP: The Monogram and Flower Marks at Issue

Central to the case are several of Louis Vuitton’s most recognisable trademarks: the Monogram Design (the classic LV logo combined with three stylised flower motifs), a related “Décor Florale” pattern using only the flowers, and the individual flower designs themselves.

These marks—first registered in the United States as early as 1932 and now incontestable under the Lanham Act—cover a wide range of leather goods, including handbags, luggage, wallets, and accessories. Louis Vuitton emphasises in its complaint that it has invested “millions of dollars and over a century of time and effort” to build the goodwill in those marks and that its products are sold only through its own boutiques, select luxury department stores, and its official e‑commerce channels.

By allegedly recreating the monogram pattern and flower devices and placing “Live!” where “LV” would normally appear, the casino’s promotion “kept the entirety of the famous Louis Vuitton Monogram Design intact with one exception,” Louis Vuitton argues, thereby creating a counterfeit design that is “identical with, or substantially indistinguishable from” the registered marks.

From “Art of Luxury” to “Endless Elegance”: A Second Campaign

Louis Vuitton says it sent a cease‑and‑desist letter to the casino on April 15, 2026, demanding an immediate halt to the “Art of Luxury” promotion and an accounting of the number of bags produced and distributed. The complaint alleges that the casino indicated two days later that it would stop distributing the promotional bags but did not provide the requested information or alert Louis Vuitton to its next planned marketing initiative.

According to the lawsuit, the next phase came just weeks later in May 2026, when Live! Casino launched a new promotion called “Endless Elegance.” This campaign, publicised on the casino’s website and in print mailers, offered patrons the chance to win what were described as authentic Louis Vuitton handbags, backpacks, duffle bags, jewellery, sunglasses, hats, belts, wallets, and fragrances as part of a “luxury French collection,” with drawings scheduled for May 29 and 30.

Louis Vuitton alleges that this second promotion, coming on the heels of the allegedly infringing bag giveaway, was “a blatant continuation of the same false association” created by the first campaign. Even if the prizes in the May drawing were genuine Louis Vuitton goods, the company claims, using them as casino giveaways after the April promotion only further conditioned consumers to believe the casino had some sort of partnership, sponsorship, or endorsement from Louis Vuitton.

Legal Theories: Counterfeiting, Infringement, False Association, and Dilution

On the federal side, Louis Vuitton brings four Lanham Act claims: trademark counterfeiting, trademark infringement, false association/false designation of origin, and trademark dilution.

The counterfeiting and infringement claims focus on the April “Art of Luxury” bags, which Louis Vuitton says incorporate spurious designations that are “identical with, or substantially indistinguishable from” its protected monogram and flower marks. Because the casino allegedly used those marks in connection with the advertisement and distribution of goods for its own commercial gain, the fashion house argues that the case qualifies as “exceptional” and warrants heightened statutory damages.

The false association claim targets both the April and May promotions, arguing that the combined effect of the two campaigns was to create “the false impression that Defendants are connected, affiliated or related in some way” to Louis Vuitton. The complaint emphasises that Louis Vuitton never licensed or authorised the casino to use its trademarks and has no partnership or sponsorship arrangement with Live! Casino or its parent companies.

On dilution, Louis Vuitton contends that its marks are among “the most famous and distinctive trademarks in the world” and that the casino’s use of similar patterns on promotional bags, as well as on mass‑market casino advertising, both blur the distinctiveness of its marks and tarnish their reputation by associating them with a casino giveaway context.

Maryland Unfair Competition Claim

In addition to its federal causes of action, Louis Vuitton asserts a common‑law unfair competition claim under Maryland law. The complaint alleges that the casino and its affiliates “palmed off” their own products as those of Louis Vuitton, improperly trading on the brand’s goodwill and creating the impression of a non‑existent affiliation.

Louis Vuitton further alleges that the casino’s actions were willful and undertaken “in conscious disregard” of its rights, which could support an award of punitive or exemplary damages under state law.

Relief Sought: Destruction of Bags, Corrective Advertising, and Millions in Damages

Louis Vuitton is seeking broad injunctive and monetary relief. Among other remedies, the complaint asks the court to:

• Enjoin the casino and related entities from using any reproduction or imitation of Louis Vuitton’s trademarks in future promotions;

• Order the recall and destruction of all allegedly infringing bags, promotional materials, and advertisements; and

• Require a “fulsome corrective advertising campaign” informing customers that the casino’s promotional bags were not authentic Louis Vuitton products and that no relationship exists between the parties.

On the monetary side, Louis Vuitton seeks the defendants’ profits, its own damages, and costs, or, in the alternative, statutory damages of up to 2 million dollars per counterfeit mark per type of goods, along with treble or enhanced damages and an award of attorneys’ fees based on the alleged willfulness.

Procedural Posture: Early Days in a High-Profile IP Case

The case, captioned Louis Vuitton Malletier S.A.S. v. PPE Casino Resorts Maryland LLC, et al., has been assigned to U.S. District Judge James K. Bredar, the chief judge of the District of Maryland. Court records and local reporting indicate that, as of early June, Live! Casino and its parent companies had not yet filed a formal response and have until later in the month to do so.

News outlets covering the suit report that the casino declined to comment or did not immediately respond to requests for comment on the allegations. No hearing dates have yet been set on Louis Vuitton’s requested preliminary injunctive relief, and the defendants have not publicly outlined any defences.

Why the Louis Vuitton v. Live! Casino Case Matters for Fashion and Promotions

For brand owners and marketers alike, the lawsuit is a textbook example of the risks of designing promotions around “inspired by” product lines and high‑end branding cues without a license. Louis Vuitton’s complaint frames the casino’s conduct not as a one‑off misstep, but as a “multi‑step initiative” in which look‑alike promotional bags allegedly softened the ground for a second campaign featuring genuine Louis Vuitton products, cumulatively reinforcing the impression of a relationship.

From a fashion‑law perspective, the case sits at the intersection of counterfeiting, dilution, and false endorsement: the April promotion allegedly used counterfeit‑like designs, while the May “Endless Elegance” giveaway shows how even authentic goods can be deployed in ways that raise false‑association concerns when there is no underlying sponsorship agreement.

Given Louis Vuitton’s history of aggressively policing its IP, and the serious statutory damages available for willful counterfeiting, the Maryland Live! The case will be closely watched as it proceeds, both by luxury brands wary of unauthorised co‑branding and by casinos, retailers, and loyalty programs that rely heavily on themed giveaways to drive customer traffic.

The post Louis Vuitton Sues Maryland Live! Casino in High-Stakes Trademark and Counterfeiting Dispute appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

On the Croisette, every sequin is a statement — but it is the law, quietly backstage, that decides who steps forward and who steps aside.

Nobody tells you, the first time you go to Cannes, that glamour is a regulated industry.

You find out the way most people find out things in France — not through an announcement, but through an encounter with a very polite, very firm official who informs you that your bag is too large, your dress is too sheer, or your phone is pointed in the wrong direction. Welcome to the Festival. Please enjoy the cinema. And kindly put that away.

The red carpet at the Festival de Cannes is not simply a strip of crimson fabric laid down for photographs. It is, in the truest legal sense, a controlled zone, and France, a country that has never once been shy about its love of both haute couture and highly codified civil law, makes absolutely certain that everyone who walks it understands the terms. Think of it as the Napoleonic Code in a tuxedo. Or, for those who prefer their analogies with a splash of Riviera brine: the EU in evening wear.

The Red Carpet as Legal Instrument

The festival’s dress code is not a suggestion whispered by a harried PR assistant somewhere in the lobby of the Martinez. It is an enforced standard, and the prohibitions are specific enough to make a regulatory lawyer feel quietly at home: sheer fabrics that expose the body, visible nudity, illusion mesh designed to simulate nudity, long trains that impede passage, and, perhaps most deliciously, overt brand insignia that redirects the audience’s attention from cinema to commerce.

That last one deserves a moment’s pause. The Palais steps are not a billboard. The Festival, in its institutional wisdom, has decided that the logo, that is the sacred totem of the modern fashion house, the thing around which entire brand identities and six-figure licensing agreements are constructed, is simply not welcome here. One can almost hear the quiet horror of a chief marketing officer in Milan receiving that particular memo. But France has always been clear about its hierarchy of values. Art, first. Commerce, later. Preferably much later.

Legally, the authority to enforce all of this flows from the festival’s status as a private event operating under a public licence. Under French administrative law,droit administratif — the organisers, working alongside the municipality of Cannes and the Direction Régionale des Affaires Culturelles, hold the power to set the conditions of entry. Refusing someone at the door for non-compliance is not, therefore, a violation of their rights. It is the exercise of a contractual and administrative prerogative that is as French as a well-timed shrug. Your gown may be couture. Your entry, however, is conditional.

The Selfie Prohibition & Media Law

Then there is the selfie. The ban on personal filming and photography on the Palais steps might look, on the surface, like a question of decorum; a civilised pushback against the modern compulsion to document everything rather than experience it. And it is that. But beneath the surface, it is also a question of image rights, press accreditation, and the carefully controlled economy of official photography.

Under French personality rights law — specifically the droit à l’image enshrined in Article 9 of the Civil Code — every individual retains a right over the commercial use of their own image. What this means at Cannes, in practice, is that the Festival holds curatorial rights over the visual narrative of its own event. Accredited wire photographers operate under specific licensing frameworks. The unofficial iPhone, held aloft by a well-meaning attendee, operates outside that framework entirely. The footage, once posted to Instagram or TikTok, potentially constitutes an unauthorised reproduction of a controlled image environment. The law, unfortunately, does not care that your angle was magnificent.

The same logic extends into the screening venues, where oversized bags and backpacks are now prohibited — less a comment on fashion sensibility than a consequence of post-2015 French emergency legislation and subsequent amendments to the Code de la sécurité intérieure. Running a major international cultural event in modern Europe is no longer a purely logistical exercise. It is a legislative one.

Cannes as Commercial Law Capital

Pull back from the red carpet, walk a few hundred metres down the Croisette, and you find a different Cannes entirely. The Marché du Film, which runs concurrently with the Festival and is, by some measures, the largest film market in the world, operates with the energy of a financial exchange floor that happens to smell of sunscreen and espresso. Here, the glamour is paperwork. The drama is a distribution clause. The tension is in the deadline.

The legal terrain of the Marché is shaped, above all, by two great forces: contract negotiation and piracy. On the contractual side, the governing instrument is the Rome I Regulation — a piece of EU law that determines which country’s legal framework applies when, say, a South Korean producer, a French distributor, and a British sales agent are closing a deal in a suite at the Carlton. In practice, most serious international film contracts settle this question early, usually opting for English law (with a certain post-Brexit irony that nobody in the room is fully over), French law, or New York law for American co-productions. The Marché is, in this sense, a living comparative law seminar. Except the stakes are real, the timelines are brutal, and the minibar is included.

Piracy is Cannes’ oldest legal nemesis. Screeners leak onto the dark web within hours of a premiere — sometimes minutes — and the industry has been fighting this reality for longer than streaming has existed. France’s HADOPI framework was born from this particular anxiety: a graduated response mechanism designed to identify, warn, and ultimately penalise persistent infringers. The EU’s Digital Single Market Directive, transposed into French law in 2021, reinforced the scaffolding further, extending platform liability and tightening obligations on hosting services that drag their feet on takedowns. The lawyers at Cannes are not merely there for the champagne receptions. They are there because the work requires it.

The AI Question & The European Regulatory Horizon

If the Marché is Cannes’ commercial conscience, the panel forums have become its philosophical one. And in recent years, especially, with particular urgency at Cannes 2026, that philosophy has been dominated by a single subject: artificial intelligence, more specifically, by the deeply uncomfortable question of what European law is going to do about it, and whether the law is moving quickly enough to matter.

The EU Artificial Intelligence Act, which entered its operational phases across 2024 and 2025, is the world’s first comprehensive attempt to regulate AI by risk category. For the creative industries, the implications are significant and, in several areas, still genuinely unresolved. The Act imposes transparency obligations on providers of general-purpose AI models, which have direct downstream consequences for studios, platforms, and production companies using AI tools to write scripts, generate visual effects, compose scores, or match talent to projects. At a festival where the question of whether AI-generated work should be eligible for competition has already generated more heat than light, the Act lands less as a resolution than as a new set of fault lines.

The copyright question is the sharpest edge of all of this. Under the current EU copyright doctrine, a protected work requires a human author. An entirely AI-generated film — should one arrive at the Palais in a competitive capacity — would, at present, have no rights holder. No one to sue, no one to license, no one to credit. This is not a hypothetical problem sitting safely in the future. It is arriving now, and the legal and curatorial communities at Cannes are only beginning to work out what it means. Who owns the creative output of a machine trained, often without consent, on the accumulated work of thousands of human artists? That question does not have a clean answer yet. But Cannes, characteristically, appropriately, is one of the places where the argument is loudest.

The City Beneath the Festival

It would be easy, writing about Cannes, to forget that there is an actual city here — population approximately 75,000, tucked into the Alpes-Maritimes with a perfectly reasonable life that continues for eleven and a half months of the year. During the Festival, that city is temporarily reorganised: traffic rerouted, public spaces reallocated, commercial licences redistributed, noise ordinances quietly suspended. Local event decrees issued by the municipality govern all of this, and the economic logic is not hard to follow; the Festival generates over €200 million in direct economic impact annually. The city tolerates its annual disruption because the annual disruption is, in fact, the point.

But Cannes, the city, is not merely a backdrop or a beneficiary. It is a legal participant. It negotiates the terms of its own transformation each spring with a combination of civic pragmatism and carefully drafted bylaws. The“cité” has, one imagines, a very good municipal solicitor.

What strikes you, stepping back from all of it, is how much invisible labour holds this spectacle together. The red carpet does not unroll itself. The rights’ packages do not self-assemble. The pirated screeners do not go quietly. The AI-generated script does not sit uncontested in the producer’s inbox.

Cannes is a festival of human creativity in ongoing negotiation with the systems we have built to protect, channel, and — not infrequently — constrain it. The law works best when you cannot see it. At Cannes, once you know where to look, you can see it in almost everything: in the cut of an approved gown, in the credentials around a photographer’s neck, in the fine print of a distribution agreement signed somewhere on the third floor of a hotel that charges €900 a night and is completely full.

The Croisette is many things. It is also, quietly, a jurisdiction. And it always has been.

The post Art at the Pleasure of the State: Cannes, French Law, and the Regulation of Global Glamour appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

This year, the Met Gala became more than an event dedicated to showcasing clothes. Instead, it demonstrated an entirely new perspective on fashion, which reflects the complex interaction between this discipline and identity, commerce, culture, and law. Designers and celebrities used garments to express various aspects of their heritage, artistry, identity, and personal branding. At the same time, the gala drew attention to other aspects, such as intellectual property and endorsement agreements.

The Rise of Modern Menswear

Traditionally, the choices made by celebrities regarding menswear had been relatively restrained. Black tuxedos, monochromatic suits, and traditional styles had prevailed at high-end events. In recent years, however, men’s clothes have radically changed. Fashion brands have started experimenting with menswear, blurring gender boundaries, creating new designs, and allowing their wearers to view their outfits as a unique art form.

The Met Gala of 2026 marked a milestone in such evolution. Men showed up wearing elaborate clothing with heavy embellishments, oversized tailoring, velvet capes, embroidered jackets, pearl details, corsetry-style silhouettes, and avant-garde outerwear that did not match the traditionally expected definition of masculinity. The idea was not only to look elegant but also to create a personal style.

Some of the most prominent designers were Louis Vuitton, Prada, Thom Browne, Dior, Saint Laurent, and Chanel. Every designer offered an individual understanding of modern masculinity that reflected their unique style. The brand Thom Browne emphasized theatricality and oversized cuts, Saint Laurent did minimalistic yet monochromatic sophistication, Prada chose minimalistic experiments, and Louis Vuitton combined classic craftsmanship with contemporary pop celebrity culture..

The most significant feature of the night was the apparent influence of international craftsmanship. The use of traditional textile and embroidery techniques from different regions began to play an important role in designing modern menswear. Indian designer Manish Malhotra caught everyone’s attention due to the incorporation of intricate embroidery in the design of luxurious menswear for red carpet events. This trend demonstrates how the fashion industry itself is moving towards a new trend wherein modern menswear becomes equally commercially successful as womenswear. It seems that menswear has reached its heyday due to a growing interest in individuality on the part of young people.

Fashion as Personal Branding

Indeed, the Met Gala isn’t just a fashion show. It is a brand-building affair in which every appearance is carefully designed to build up celebrity images, enhance design identities, and generate online buzz. In contemporary society dominated by the power of social media, red-carpet fashion becomes an effective international marketing campaign. Attendees of the Met Gala are no longer merely models of the clothes they wear. On the contrary, they become brand ambassadors and partners in shaping fashion trends. Stylists, public relations companies, designers, photographers, and luxury conglomerates work together in order for every appearance to serve a bigger purpose in terms of brand building.

In the case of the Met Gala of 2026, celebrities such as A$AP Rocky, Karan Johar, Timothee Chalamet, Bad Bunny, and Dwayne Johnson all wore unique styles that fit their image, but at the same time served the purpose of promoting various luxury houses. The fashion on display immediately attracted millions of views online through social media discussions, editorials, and customer interaction. Such relationships between celebrities and fashion brands carry serious legal and economic consequences. Legalities involved include endorsement agreements, sponsorship deals, exclusivity contracts, and intellectual property rights licenses. 

In many cases, a single red-carpet appearance can significantly influence consumer behaviour. Viral fashion moments often lead to increased brand recognition, online searches, product demand, and stock value growth for luxury companies. Consequently, fashion branding today operates at the intersection of creativity, commerce, and legal regulation.

The Growing Influence of Gender-Fluid Fashion

Another major trend of the 2026 Met Gala is the normalization of gender-fluid fashion in menswear. The difference between male and female dressing is slowly diminishing, and it can be seen, for example, in luxury fashion events. Pearls, lace, corsets, draping, translucent fabrics, and jewellery are incorporated into menswear designs. Instead of being regarded as provocative and offensive, such fashion designs are embraced as examples of creativity and self-expression. Such trends reflect shifting perceptions among consumers, particularly Gen Z and younger millennials, who emphasize their individuality in clothing. The emergence of such attitudes has led to a response from luxury fashion brands, which create gender-neutral designs and fashion collections.

In terms of fashion law, the growth of popularity of gender-fluid fashion may affect laws regulating advertising and retailing activities. Traditionally, the fashion industry made extensive use of gender classifications while designing clothes and marketing campaigns. Now, such practices have become less popular since fashion designers themselves question the need for gender classification. Finally, dress codes and other rules regarding corporate branding practices may be altered due to evolving social and cultural values. Legal scholars specializing in fashion law have increasingly talked about the relevance of anti-discrimination laws in dress code rules. 

Cultural Representation and Appropriation

The Met Gala often provides an opportunity for cultural storytelling in terms of designers’ inspirations based on the history, art, and traditional crafts of different communities. Nonetheless, it brings up significant legal and ethical issues related to cultural appropriation and representation. Some examples of looks at the 2026 Met Gala included traditional embroidery, native elements, religious iconography, and regional fabrics. Even though in most cases, designers worked with artisans or craftspersons, discussions about ownership and representation continue to play an essential role in the fashion industry.

The issue of cultural appropriation is still one of the major concerns in relation to fashion law and ethics. It includes commercial use of culturally specific symbols belonging to marginalized ethnic groups without giving credit, permission, or compensation to them. Many luxury brands have come under fire for appropriating traditional symbols of other cultures in recent years. That is why collaboration with artisans, open-source information about materials, and cultural consultation have become a priority for fashion houses today. The 2026 Met Gala showcased an increasing number of fashion designers who spoke positively about artisans in interviews and media campaigns. 

Intellectual Property and Fashion Creativity

Intellectual property law and fashion have gained much overlap in the contemporary world, especially in the case of luxury fashion. As a prominent international event, the Met Gala becomes the natural stage for the meeting of originality, inspiration, and imitation. Most fashion pieces displayed at the 2026 Met Gala borrowed ideas from the art movements of previous eras, vintage couture collections, and notable fashion references. While the reinterpretation of classic silhouettes and art styles is quite common in fashion, it brings some issues to copyrights, trademarks, and design protections.

Unlike the music or literature industries, which benefit from strong copyright protection, the design protections vary greatly among jurisdictions. In most countries, clothing designs lack significant copyright protections and are protected via other means, like trademarks, brand identity, etc. The rising visibility of fashion designs that incorporate AI technology makes this an even more complex issue legally. The integration of technology in fashion design raises important issues about authorship, originality, and ownership.

Furthermore, counterfeiting of fashion items poses serious legal problems for luxury brands. Luxury trends are quickly incorporated into fast fashion through high-profile events like the Met Gala, where designs are copied on a large scale in response to the trends seen there. Although merely being inspired by a trend may not always be considered infringement, copying certain aspects of the work may raise IP issues. This means that the red carpet is both a medium of creative expression and a commercial space governed by laws and branding.

Discussions on Sustainability and Ethical Fashion

Sustainability is another topic that cropped up at the Met Gala held in 2026. It seems many designers focused on archival clothes, handmade garments, recycled materials, and craftsmanship principles associated with the slow fashion movement. In light of growing concerns about environmental problems, luxury fashion brands experience pressure to prove their commitment to ethical manufacturing processes. Red carpet fashion shows not only serve the purpose of entertaining an audience but also help brands show their sustainability efforts.

There are growing discussions within the realm of fashion law on matters of greenwashing, transparency in production processes, labour standards, and ecological responsibility. The authorities of different countries started analysing the sustainability efforts of fashion companies to stop fraudulent activities. The designs created by those designers who relied on craftsmanship and sustainable materials at the Met Gala found themselves in a good position due to new legislative trends.

The Met Gala as a Reflection of Fashion’s Future

Finally, the 2026 Met Gala became the place that showed the world that contemporary fashion is more than just clothing. In other words, discussions about identity, culture, commerce, technology, sustainability, and legality took place at the event. One of the most innovative components of the gala was menswear. Celebrities and designers questioned previous norms associated with masculinity, experimenting with art and craftsmanship from around the world. On the other hand, luxury fashion brands utilised the platform to enhance their storytelling and business impact. Lastly, another key aspect of fashion revealed by the 2026 Met Gala was that of fashion law. Issues related to intellectual property, sustainability, endorsement contracts, and digital advancements are crucial for the future of the global fashion industry.

Fashion in the contemporary era thrives at the convergence of innovation and regulation. The clothes seen at the Met Gala not only have artistic value; they also carry economic weight and legal ramifications. Fashion designers are expected to engage with their branding, intellectual property rights, contracts, and ethics while maintaining their creative freedom.

In this regard, the 2026 Met Gala was more than a red carpet event. Rather, it stood as a testament to the development of fashion into a multi-dimensional industry. The integration of art, economics, culture, and law makes up the complex world of fashion. With menswear redefining luxury fashion, events such as the Met Gala shall play pivotal roles in fashion’s future evolution.

The post Tailored Influence: Menswear At The Met Gala 2026 appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.