Unapologetically Obsessed: How Balenciaga Defied Cancellation to Remain Fashion’s Most Relevant Brand

In the high-stakes theater of modern luxury, there is "edgy," and then there is Balenciaga. For years, Creative Director Demna Gvasalia has treated the runway not as a catwalk, but as a mirror reflecting our most absurd societal impulses back at us. From $1,800 leather trash bags to platform Crocs, the brand has built a lucrative empire on irony, satire, and a distinctly post-Soviet sense of humor that laughs at the consumer while they reach for their black Amex.

But in late 2022, the laughter stopped—at least in the West.

The brand found itself at the center of a global firestorm following two disparate ad campaigns. One featured young children clutching "Gift Shop" teddy bears outfitted in BDSM-inspired bondage gear; another, a "Garde-Robe" office spread, inadvertently (or so they claimed) featured Supreme Court documents regarding child pornography laws scattered among the props. The internet, fueled by a post-COVID obsession with "human trafficking" narratives and a hyper-vigilant American right-wing, didn't just move to cancel the brand—they moved to exorcise it.

To the QAnon-adjacent corners of the web, this wasn't an artistic oversight; it was a "hidden-in-plain-sight" confession. In a digital landscape where outrage is the top-performing content, Balenciaga became the ultimate villain. Yet, as the dust settled, the brand’s response was a masterclass in corporate survival. While they initially attempted a $25 million lawsuit against the production company and set designer, the litigation was quietly dropped. Apologies were issued, "internal controls" were promised, and—crucially—no one was fired. Demna remained. The leadership remained. The machine kept grinding.

Why? Because Balenciaga understands a fundamental truth of 21st-century commerce: The American moral compass does not dictate the global ledger.

While Western influencers were filming themselves burning their Triple S sneakers for "clout," Balenciaga’s real power base remained unbothered. The brand’s primary growth engine is not the virtue-signaling suburbs of the U.S., but the high-luxury markets of Asia and the Middle East. To the buyers in Shanghai, Seoul, and Dubai, the American culture war over "bondage bears" felt like a distant, localized hysteria.

This was made abundantly clear during their Spring 2025 show in Shanghai. Held under a moody, rain-slicked sky at the Museum of Art Pudong, the collection was "regular and everyday edgy" for its Asian audience. It featured ultra-elongated silhouettes and towering platform sneakers inspired by the Pudong skyscrapers—a direct nod to the market that kept their lights on while the West was busy hashtagging. For these buyers, Balenciaga isn't a political statement; it’s a status symbol of avant-garde cool.

Even more telling was the Fall 2024 show in Los Angeles. In the very heart of the culture that tried to de-platform them, Demna leaned into the "basics." The runway—a palm-fringed street in Hancock Park—saw a parade of gym shorts, workout leggings, and oversized hoodies. It was a cheeky nod to the "Wellness" obsessed L.A. lifestyle, but it carried a deeper irony.

Balenciaga has mastered the "aesthetic" of the mundane so completely that they have effectively pre-empted their own imitators. They know their $800 leggings will be copied by fast-fashion giants within weeks. By leaning into simple lounge wear, they have made the "Balenciaga Look" the default uniform of the global influencer. Whether you are wearing the real thing or a Zara dupe, you are participating in a visual language choreographed by Demna.

The L.A. show didn't look like the work of a brand that had missed a beat. It looked like a victory lap. In a world where luxury is defined by who can command the most attention, Balenciaga proved that being "cancelled" is just another form of being everywhere. They didn't survive the scandal; they simply waited for the world to catch up to their next silhouette.