The most interesting shift is not only what jersey people wear, but how they wear it.
The report says Jesus Mendoza began reworking shirts after feeling there were too few sportswear options for women. His answer was to move beyond the standard fit, turning kits into dresses, skirts and bralettes.
“Anyone can throw on a jersey and call it a day,” Mendoza says in the report. “But I'm giving more options like a skirt, a bralette, a dress.”
That feels bigger than fashion. Football culture has often sold the shirt as sacred and untouchable. Designers in LA appear to be arguing the opposite: that the jersey becomes more personal when people remake it for themselves.
That matters in a city built on overlapping identities. Los Angeles has long treated football as family inheritance, street culture and diaspora memory all at once. A reworked shirt can carry national colours, neighbourhood pride and personal taste in the same breath.
The report also says designers such as William Covarrubias are using football wear to push regional representation, while Victor Maldonado has approached custom jerseys as a way back into the game through community and mental health messaging. That makes the shirt feel less like merchandise and more like conversation.
There is a tension here, and it may define the build-up to 2026. The World Cup brings excitement, visibility and business, but it also raises questions about who benefits, who gets seen and who gets pushed aside.
That is why Aviña’s warning lands. In Los Angeles, the most memorable World Cup look may not be the loudest one. It may be the shirt that says exactly where someone comes from - and exactly what they stand for. As the tournament moves closer, that mix of celebration and scrutiny is the storyline worth watching.