‘Brazilcore’ Is Big. How Should International Brands Tap In?

One of this summer’s hottest trends? Brazilcore.

It’s defined by key pieces, all borrowed from the Brazilian wardrobe and creeping into the summer’s street style: Brazil’s soccer jersey, Havaianas, Y2K-style mirrored sunglasses, and a bright palette of canary yellow, navy blue and vivid green that catches the eye. Brazilian designer Cece Hamali calls it “an entry point for the foreigner”, condensing Brazilianness (“brasilidade”), or at least what those outside the country imagine it to be, into a single look.

Fast fashion giants such as H&M and Zara have rolled out green and yellow tees emblazoned with Brazilian city names like Rio de Janeiro and Salvador. Fashion weeks have been seduced by the Brazilian vibe, with Copenhagen and Paris falling for flip flop label Havaianas. Subtle references to Brazil’s bright color palette appeared on runways and in new drops from Chanel, Jil Sander, and Schiaparelli.

Recent Lyst data shows a 91% rise in interest in the country between Q1 and Q2 2026. Brazilian labels perform even better, with interest up 204%, according to Lyst. Leading the pack is Havaianas, up 271%, while searches for Brazilian label PatBo are up 62% and Nike Brazil up 71%.

Drawing on daily Brazilian life, Brazilcore first blew up in 2022, amid the Qatar World Cup, following a period when the national team’s jersey was co-opted as a symbol of the far-right movement of then president Jair Bolsonaro. As the first global soccer competition since Bolsonaro’s election, Brazilians saw an opportunity to reclaim something that had always belonged to them, stripping the jersey of its political connotation and giving it a fashion one instead.

Social media feeds were flooded with Brazilians showing off their looks, buoyed by hopes for their coveted ‘hexa’ (referring to the dream of winning a sixth World Cup), while labels like Misci and Mirror Palais ran with it, propelling the trend’s success with pieces worn by the likes of Rosalía and Emily Ratajkowski. Brazilian cinema has also caught fire in international markets, with hit movies including I’m Still Here and The Secret Agent.

By 2024, the look had reached the pages of British Vogue, with model Anok Yai wearing the national canary jersey in homage to Carnival, photographed for the March issue by Rafael Pavarotti. During the 2026 World Cup, Brazilcore has only gained momentum, embraced by celebrities including Sabrina Carpenter, Tyla, Alex Consani, Dua Lipa, and Addison Rae.

Addison Rae is seen sporting a Brazil soccer jersey.

This summer’s World Cup may have lit the fuse again, but the appeal runs deeper, according to futurist Sabina Deweik. “In a world saturated with AI-generated content and aesthetics polished to the point of sterility, Brazilcore offers human texture,” she explains. Unlike other ‘cores’ riding the zeitgeist, the argument is that Brazilcore is more authentic. In a world where everything is curated, the trend turns casualness into something desirable.

So how are international labels reading Brazilcore? The trend is playing out in two ways: mass market labels like A Vintage Fit and H&M go for the obvious, stamping shirts and sets with the country’s name, while luxury houses opt for a more subtle approach by allowing color to carry the message.

For Hamali, simple replication of the country’s symbols and hues is too obvious. The Brazilian designer has created latex looks favored by the likes of singer Ludmilla and influencer Malu Borges. Instead, Hamali wants to translate the country into her silhouettes, garment construction, and textures. Her intention with her latex custom-made Brazil jerseys was to blend the country’s everyday icons with the unexpected. “It’s about taking something popular and subverting it through a complex material,” she explains.

Perhaps, the biggest challenge is that the world has held a limited view of the country. For years, countries such as Brazil existed on fashion’s fringes, viewed by many through a colonial lens. Symbols and cultural practices were appropriated by the fashion world, yet the creators who made them were rarely recognized. Airon Martin, designer and founder of Misci, a brand based in São Paulo, says: ‘‘When a brand does their research, understands the symbol’s origin, and gives credit to those who created it, the result tends to be positive, but when the symbol is taken out of its context and used only for visual impact, it becomes an empty product, disconnected from those who lived that culture.” Brazilians are quick to call out any cultural appropriation.

“Major brands have the most resources,” Hamali says. “If they want to profit from symbols of our culture, local collaboration and credit must be the rule.”

Martin echoes this view, arguing that changing this dynamic takes more than just consuming Brazilian references. “It requires making room for the country’s brands and creatives to participate in shaping the narrative on an equal footing,” he says.

Martin’s Misci is a fashion label born out of the country’s diversity — it’s named after ‘miscigenação’ (“miscegenation”). The designer is constantly interested in understanding the geographies, peoples, and structures that shape Brazil’s many identities, such as the Amazon rainforest, ‘‘a biodiversity capable of inspiring new materials, colors, and textures’’. He sees the country as a “virtually inexhaustible source of creativity”.

The challenge is to translate that richness abroad. Brazilcore at present draws on national staples, but stops there. Interpreted as summer, soccer and casualness, the trend leans on a handful of symbols, failing to capture the country’s depth. “It’s a superficial interpretation, beautiful and seductive, but detached from its sociohistorical context,” Deweik explains.

Companies such as Grendene, owner of Melissa and Ipanema, entered 2026 under pressure after declining sales volumes amid weaker demand and intensifying competition from Chinese and other Asian footwear producers, while Farm Rio is recalibrating its prices and slowing US imports in real time.

Although tariffs present themselves as an obstacle to the country’s rise in the international market, social media and conversations with fashion professionals suggest this won’t stop the country from trying. And this is where Brazilcore enters, seen by Martin as a powerful opportunity: the more international curiosity in Brazilcore grows, the greater the potential to widen its meaning. The future of Brazilian fashion abroad needs a more enduring validation. “It depends on the ability to recognize that, behind these codes, there is a creative industry, a culture, and creators who deserve to be at the center of this conversation,” Martin says.