8 popular Singapore fashion brands from the 2000s that no longer exist

I was clearing out my closet the other day, as all sane and sorted adults claim to do, when I unearthed a relic of a bygone era. A faux-fur leopard-print clutch, stitched asymmetrically onto a faux-suede base, from the now-defunct online store The Scarlet Room (RIP). It was an “Alexander Wang” design, purchased in that strange timeline when online shopping felt like a full-fledged quest. Back then, you didn’t swipe your phone with one hand to shop. You would camp out online at a certain hour for the drop, send an email form detailing your desired item, and then, like the Amazing Race, rush to an ATM to transfer the money. And, naturally, you had to capture a photo of the receipt and email it as proof, all within a 24-hour window. It was a process so elaborate that, when your item finally arrived, it almost felt rewarding in a masochistic way.

I sent a picture of it to several group chats, and even to the founder of TheScarletRoom herself, and soon, the messages of their memories of such items came flooding in. Items like this, purchased with such effort and dedication, seemed to define a moment in time. At least, from what I remember, a time of happiness. It was when “shop local” began to make its mark, partly because shopping from overseas often came with the burden of shipping fees (remember those?), but also because it felt more authentic to claim a piece came from a local brand. As if owning something from a homegrown label was a small but significant statement of taste, or at the very least, a way of showing off that you were ahead of the curve.

In the spirit of National Day, here are eight brands that once defined fashion in Singapore, but, for one reason or another, have unfortunately fizzled out. They may no longer be around, but for those of us still clutching on to their pieces or holding onto the memories, at least we’ve got that for now.

Exhibit

Exhibit was probably one of the only reasons anyone ventured into Far East Plaza. Though it eventually became synonymous with co-founder Yoyo Cao and an in-house line, in its early days, it was a different beast. Founded in 2010, Exhibit started as a multi-label boutique offering Asian designers with a subversive take on staples—neoprene flare skirts, safari vests you could wear three ways, and the millennial staple of ripped denim in every silhouette. Dig up its old Facebook page, and you’ll even see how relevant those pieces still look, especially when styled by co-founder Angie Chia. Over time, Exhibit’s aesthetic became minimalist, before closing down in 2019, but back then? Wearing a piece guaranteed you’d be street-snapped in the golden age of street style photography, when a single shot could launch you from internet anon to influencer.

M)Phosis

From 1994, the year it was founded, to the early noughties, M)phosis (pronounced “emphasis”) was the brand. If you were in the know, you’d be carrying its mesh tote, slipping into rubber thong sandals with slinky straps, or layering chain necklaces over its jersey pieces. It was sexy in that off-the-shoulder, collar-baring kind of way; minimalist with their straight-line silhouettes (those A-line dresses, always a staple), and undeniably modern (black or white? Always classic). If M)phosis were still around today, you’d probably even find The Row and Phoebe Philo fans shopping from them. But by 2015, it was all over. The brand closed its doors, a casualty of financial struggles and the fickle nature of retail. A brief comeback in 2018 followed, but unfortunately, it couldn’t live up to the original. 

The Scarlet Room

Most people I know have bought a piece from The Scarlet Room because, if it appeared on the runway, there would be an accessible version popping up on their site. A dupe, if you will. At my school, there was even a trading system—an “Alexander Wang” leather harness for a “Céline” denim shirt, or a “Christopher Kane” galaxy dress for a pair of “Givenchy” wrap-around wedges. Founded in the early 2000s, during the height of the blogshop boom, The Scarlet Room managed to stand out in a way its competitors didn’t. There was an urban edge to what they sold, making it especially appealing to those starting at their first jobs, and still obsessed with landing likes on Lookbook.nu. And then, as all good things do, it quietly closed around 2013 to 2014. 

This Fashion

Writers seem to like to wax poetic about This Fashion, the budget clothing chain from the ‘80s, usually with a healthy dose of disdain. But for those of us who took the time to sift through its racks at any of its 60 outlets, there was always something on-trend to be found (the Paya Lebar store was a gate-kept secret), like an Aztec poncho with embroidered pompoms, pleather high-waisted shorts with pockets, or a studded disc belt with concho rivets. And strangely, the staff didn’t seem to care if you treated the fitting rooms and wide aisles like your personal runway. This was peak mall culture, where reinvention was just a sale rack away. And when it closed in 2011, a tiny part of all of us died inside, like a piece of our adolescence had gone with it.

FrüFrü & Tigerlily

Before indie sleaze and influencers learning to weaponise their followings, FrüFrü & Tigerlily was founded in 2005 by Ginette Chittick, Jasmine Tuan, and Cheryl Tan—a trio who lived the cool-girl life with jobs to match. Chittick was a bassist and lecturer, Tuan co-owned a cult multi-label boutique, and Tan was a graphic and web designer. Naturally, FrüFrü & Tigerlily had an indie, DIY punk twist, known for one-off reconstructed garments with vintage fabrics, appliqués, and edgy prints. That look — reconstructed band tee dresses, tulle and lace combinations, and repurposed-material accessories — still feels relevant today. Each collection also had an “album title” and each design a “song name,” because music then was the vibe. The brand shut down in 2010, but for a time, it was the closest thing to local fashion that truly got cool.

Song & Kelly

Launched in 1994 during the minimal Kennedy, Kate, and Klein era, Song+Kelly, founded by Wykidd Song and Ann Kelly, went for an East-meets-West aesthetic with a zen-like feminine elegance instead. No tacky tributes here—just high-waisted draped dresses, organza blouses with unexpected seam placements, and delicate knot or beading details that had Chinese and Southeast Asian motifs. It was the brand for corporate ladies who lunched and fashionable young women teetering on their stilettos into adulthood, with Singapore’s media even dubbing owning a piece as a status symbol. The brand wasn’t just locally loved either, as it made waves internationally, landing spots at Harrods, Selfridges, Barneys, and Neiman Marcus. Whilst the brand shut its doors in 2007, fashion collectors still hunt down its archival pieces, as if owning one is the sartorial equivalent of a secret handshake.

Hansel by Jo Soh

Launched in 2003, Hansel by Jo Soh quickly became the brand for art directors, Japanophiles, and the retro-obsessed. Known for its vintage-inspired styles like 1950s-style dresses, high-waisted skirts, and twee cardigans, the brand would splash quirky, graphic prints on them inspired by local, nostalgic themes like ice cream sandwiches or animals—all inspired by Soh’s hand-drawn illustrations. One of the few local designers to also create a diffusion line, Soh introduced Hello Hansel, a more casual range of printed tees and accessories. Until the closure of its Mandarin Gallery in 2015, it was one of the happiest places to shop in Singapore. There was something magnetic about the boutique, especially when you were lucky enough to be attended to by Soh herself, whose infectious joy was legendary if not always great for your bank account.

Feist Heist

It was rare, and still is sometimes, for a local brand to offer men’s clothing as interesting as the women’s. But Feist Heist, launched in November 2011 by Guan Min @girlwhocriedwolf managed to pull it off. Both the women’s and men’s lines (Feist and Heist, respectively) arrived at a time when minimalism was the mood, but also proved that it didn’t have to be mundane. Blazers had leather sleeves, peplum blouses draped across the back, and dresses could be cinched, loosened, or ruched. For some of my female friends, buying Heist’s panelled shirts for their partners was as much about stealing them for themselves. The brand sadly closed in the mid-2010s, but until then, there were plenty of happy campers online or those who went to the indie fashion store Blackmarket No.2 where it was stocked.