Benetton closes 400 stores as parent group halts operations

Benetton shuts 400 stores, leaving its textile empire orphaned

Benetton is closing. The parent group that houses the iconic Billabong, Quicksilver and Volcom brands is also shutting down, according to the announcement that started the conversation. Four hundred company-owned stores, not third-party franchises. When a company that invented the European textile franchise model is forced to dismantle its own retail network, the problem isn't a bad campaign: it's that no one wants to risk money with their name on the sign.

The brand that in the eighties sold quality polos and jackets at a third of Lacoste's price became, with the turn of the century, a catalog that its own customers describe as "a pricier, better-quality C&A." The wool sweater that lasts years remains in the closet. The rest, they say, is terrible.

What remains of the Benetton empire and its satellite brands

The closure isn't just Benetton's. The parent company controlling Billabong, Quicksilver and Volcom has also ceased operations, dragging down the surf segment that enjoyed its golden age in the nineties. Some remember good, cheap surf jackets; the latest ones, however, were "Chinese junk." El Corte Inglés, which distributed several of these firms, sees part of its catalog crumble while its own sections look increasingly like a Carrefour, except for the Castellana store, oriented towards luxury with decor some call tacky.

The paradox is that the garments worked. Several buyers acknowledge that the clothes lasted and that they bought them for their children. The problem wasn't quality: it was competition. Lefties sells a basketball player t-shirt for less than the cost of a coffee and hits the generational note. Benetton, meanwhile, kept trying to sell shirts for 70 euros.

The advertising that swallowed the clothing

If anything defines Benetton, it's that people remember its ads, not its clothes. And for a textile brand, that's the worst thing that can happen. The eighties and nineties campaigns — United Colors, kissing nuns and priests, portraits of death row inmates — turned the firm into a pogre icon. They also made it a hostage of its own narrative.

Part of the public bought into that discourse for years; another part detested it with equal intensity. Today, when all brands do the same, the differentiator has evaporated. The firm that pioneered mixing races in its catalogs no longer has anything to sell that any competitor with less baggage doesn't already offer. Some long-time customers say they wrote it off precisely because of this.

Surfing isn't cool anymore, nor are bright colors

The surf segment that fed Billabong and Quicksilver has become a sport for van-lifers and expensive trips, or simply a memory. Kids today do calisthenics on beach bars, wear pastel colors and loose clothing, and don't pay 70 euros for a shirt. The alternative vibe of the nineties, without social media and smelling of marijuana and waves, cannot be mass-produced.

Some argue that the problem with these brands is that they don't understand their young customer: the person who fits the brand's desired physical profile doesn't have money for the catalog, and the one who does have money no longer wants to look like that kid. The result is a commercial limbo from which you don't escape by cutting prices out of time.

Who wins when a mid-range brand closes

The gap left by Benetton and company isn't filled by the giants. It's taken by ultra-low-cost retailers and franchises selling cheesecakes, ice cream, and various snacks that have replaced retail spaces on many streets. The mid-range brand — neither cheap nor luxury, with recognizable design and contained pricing — is disappearing, along with a business model that supported generations.

The brand owners don't disappear. They change the logo, the name, and keep selling. The question is whether the customer cares in the least about who signs the label when the price is the same.

Will anyone miss Benetton, or only the prices that no longer exist?