Whilst the idea of minimalism in fashion might seem simple, it is in fact, ironically, anything but that. What most people think of as minimalism (clean lines, angular shapes, crisp tailoring and a black, white and grey colour palate) does not always correspond to the ethos of many of the main pioneers of minimalist fashion, including Balenciaga, Comme des Garçons and Paco Rabanne. Minimalism in Western fashion can be said to have begun with Coco Chanel and her innovations in women’s clothing in the 1920s. Where she simplified garments to make them more comfortable and functional, by the 60s one of the core ideas of the movement had been established: the importance of shapes and fabrics over function. 

At the core of minimalism is reductivism, the stripping away of any extraneous embellishment to leave a structure that almost seems detached from the person wearing it. One of the main influences on minimalist designers has been Japanese culture and the clean, gender-neutral lines of the kimono. It was from the kimono that Japanese minimalist designer Issey Miyake learnt about "space between the body and the fabric", something which is definitely emphasised in his use of distorted shapes and unconventional materials. Another important part of minimalism in fashion has been the replacement of traditional fabrics with innovative alternatives – Paco Rabanne’s famous metal dress is an early example, and modern collections from the likes of Preen and Alexander Wang are often awash with materials like PVC and leather.

So minimalism is more than just black and white and simple clean lines, though that is a big part of the aesthetic. Whilst minimalism originally intended to ignore deep meanings and metaphors associated with clothes, creating shapes that were striking and clean, the ideas of honesty and reduction extend further. Martin Margiela’s deconstructed-then-reassembled jackets are one example of a more detailed, visually jarring sort of minimalism where creative elements have been stripped back all the way to the design process itself. In contrast to this are the clean sweeping shapes of 1960s Balenciaga, which look impossibly simple with their hidden fastenings and fluid outlines; the focus is entirely on how the shape and texture of the clothes come together to make a striking design object.

It is perhaps because of this separation from the human body that many minimalist designs are almost impossible to transfer into the high street. They are pieces of art, but they are worn by people, and a person does not equate to a canvas or blank wall. The pieces might look good as sculptures, but as clothes? Maybe on a 5’10” model with slicked back hair and a perfectly angular emotionless pout, but in the real world dressing seriously minimal surely doesn’t allow enough expression of personality for anyone but the very dedicated and/or very austere.

The 90s, however, brought a more accessible type of minimalism through designers like Calvin Klein and Donna Karan. They interpreted minimalist fashion in a different, and perhaps more logical, way. Klein defined his aesthetic as "an indulgence in superbly executed cut, quiet plays of colour tones and clean, strong shape." Reductivism still played a central role, but now the clothes looked like clothes, rather than swathes of material or constructivist sculptures. What had changed was the focus, which was now once again on the function and wearability of the garments.

As with any artistic movement an infinity of interpretations can be found within minimalism. One could even see the simplistic style as the antidote to over-the-top high fashion, a tactful avoidance of any ostentatious display of wealth in a world filled with so much poverty; the ideal trend then, for times of economic depression. Minimalist dressing also has a very modern, cutting edge feel to it, almost like the fashion equivalent of the latest iPhone. Perhaps the idea is that if your outfit is void of clutter and fuss, your life will be too. Scandinavian inspired, fashion-blogger minimalism is, at its core, an effortless look, which is probably what makes it so appealing; we all wish we looked as cool as Phoebe Philo, right? The ‘less is more’, understated style, propagated in trends like Normcore, is both visually appealing and achievable, provided you aren’t too attached to bright colours.

It is at this point, however, that minimalism suddenly becomes something paradoxical – the clothes are so simple and nondescript that the focus has shifted from the shape and fabric to the label, and hundreds of pounds aren’t being spent on a creative and striking piece of art but on the name written inside it. Not that this is a bad thing; it is great to find a style that can easily be replicated with high street brands. The irony is, however, hard to ignore. Minimalist clothes in the 90s became just basic clothes, and popular ideas about minimalism are practically the opposite of what the movement meant to its initial proponents.

The different interpretations can still exist in harmony. Brands like Jil Sander and Céline seem to strike the balance, creating clothing that are simple and clutter-free but still creative. There are also designers (such as Gareth Pugh and Hussein Chalayan) who embrace minimalism in all its geometric, monochromatic, non-emotive glory, creating futuristic sculptures that couldn’t be further from wardrobe basics. There is no use arguing over semantics though; the term is defined by those who use it. Maybe the real message of minimalism is that when it comes to applying artistic movements to the world of fashion, less is more.