Willy Chavarria remembers a few things from growing up in Huron, California, a small, dusty farming town tucked into the San Joaquin Valley: the fragrance of sweet strawberries, crisp lettuce, or tangy manure hanging in the air; the gauzy mist left behind by the sprinklers that watered the fields after blazing hot days; and the majestic scene of orderly rows of crops as they stretched outward toward the stately mountains beyond. “It’s really a beauty that I didn’t recognize until later in my life,” the designer told Vogue recently. “It’s often that way. You don’t appreciate what’s around you.”
It was not always this way. Growing up, Chavarria chafed against the community, which was comprised almost exclusively of Mexican immigrants, a vast majority undocumented. It was a conservative place, one where he often felt like an outsider, owing to the fact that he was half-white, gay, and, perhaps most shocking of all, an artist. But now, decades later, Huron has welcomed its wayward son back into its arms, going as far as to name May 3 Willy Chavarria Day, to honor his contributions to fashion, art, and culture more broadly.
The day was one of lively celebration, part raucous fiesta, part community-building event; additionally, it was a commemoration of the town’s own 75th anniversary. It started with an Adidas-sponsored soccer tournament at the local high school with the Boys & Girls Club, followed by a “Shop With Willy” pop-up where brands donated free dresses and tuxedos for local teenagers readying themselves for the upcoming prom season. Mariachi and banda performers played riotously as a spread of Mexican food, prepared by local vendors, was served. Throughout the day, films of Chavarria’s work were streamed, and remarks were made by both the designer and Huron’s mayor Rey León. Later, during a ceremony, Taco Bell announced a $100,000 grant to the Boys & Girls Club of Fresno County, the largest in a 13-year commitment.
The timing is serendipitous, or fated, depending on how you look at it. Well before the news of this distinction came to Willy, Huron had been on his mind. While designing his spring 2026 collection, he took a road trip to his hometown to film a short film, the first time he’d returned in some 20 years, and the experience was deeply moving. “It was just emotionally overwhelming,” he said, “because I realized how my entire being, and everything I do, is the result of that very humble place.”
“In that moment,” he continued, “I really absorbed the beauty of that town, and the colors of the town, and I could see clear as day how it influences my work.”
On the drive back to Los Angeles, Chavarria decided to name the collection Huron. The result was a vibrant, uplifting palette—dusky shades of teal, pink, and yellow shot through with scarlet and lavender or offset by clinical gray, a reference to worker uniforms. As is his wont, the collection wasn’t shown on mere nondescript mannequins, but richly-drawn characters, many inspired by memories of his youth: women in soft blouses, silhouette-hugging pencil skirts, and a “tasteful pump” were made up with thin eyebrows, red lipstick, and full hair, an echo of the way ladies of Huron would dress for weddings or funerals. “They all looked so amazing in black, small-print floral dresses, red lipstick, and stockings. Lots of hairspray and cigarettes.” Men, meanwhile, wore loose pants and cropped blouson-style jackets with workwear coats or blazers topped with wraparound sunglasses.
“While there wasn’t so much fashion [in Huron], there was an incredible amount of style,” Chavarria said, recalling that the town’s dearth of clothing options led him and his cousins to sometimes drive an hour away to Fresno and shop at Marshall’s or Ross to create their own looks. “It’s very clear to me that my Chicano aesthetic comes from that San Joaquin Valley environment. And I always thought that that aesthetic was the chicest—and I still do—it’s the chicest, cleanest look.”
Chavarria—a two-time CFDA Award winner who has recently started showing at Paris Fashion Week—is a long way from those rebellious days of his youth. “When I was younger, I was very, very motivated to live in and create a world that was different than the one that I felt I didn’t belong in or couldn’t relate to,” he said. “But as I grew older—and I think this happens to us all—we really start to realize the impact that our childhoods had on us, and that the impact that every single influence in our life has actually made.”
“As time passed, I got closer with my family again, and I started to realize in my own work the influences of my culture: the colors I use, the things that inspire me. They’re almost always rooted in either my family values, my social values, or the way I see social justice. All of those things come from this town, which is a very humble place.”
“These values, I think, are really inherent to my being,” he added. “And now I realize, of course, that town is me.”
It’s a sentiment that a lot of fashion people could probably relate to. Misfits who fled from their quaint hometowns for the big city only to, years later, fully understand the impact of those origins. To be haunted by it but also absorb its full, profound influence and use it in the act of creation. That over time, there’s a softening, an appreciation, of the circumstances that led you to where you are. That they are part of your story.
“It’s interesting that what you don’t value in your past, or you see as maybe not the most positive thing, can actually be something very positive,” Chavarria said. “Everything is in our own perspective.”
“I think the overarching thing that this means to me,” he added, “is for us to always remember that everything that we are right now is because of where we come from.”
