A shapewear start-up that detonated into an empire
On a humid Los Angeles afternoon, a squadron of shoppers lined up outside a Skims pop-up, eyes bright, phones ready, coffee in one hand and a mesh drawstring bag in the other. Inside, soft nudes and sculpting panels shimmered under flattering light. It felt less like a retail opening and more like a minor religious revival for contour and comfort.
That scene tells you everything about how a brand born from one woman’s obsession with fit—Kim Kardashian’s answer to Spanx—has become a magnet for money, headlines, and fierce debate. Skims’ journey has been equal parts fashion disruption, celebrity spectacle, and sharp business maneuvering. It also carries the scars of missteps: the original name “Kimono” sparked an international outcry for cultural appropriation that reverberated from Tokyo to tiny boutique streets in Kyoto. “We felt that name erased the complexity of our culture,” says Dr. Aiko Tanaka, a cultural studies lecturer in Tokyo. “It wasn’t just a word—it was a living tradition.”
The numbers people talk about
Skims tells investors it’s on track for more than $1 billion in revenue in a year—a milestone that, if true, would put the company squarely in the big-league category. In a 2023–2024 capital raise the brand secured roughly $225 million, which, when extrapolated by the buyers’ math, pegged Skims at a $5 billion valuation.
That jump from a roughly $4 billion valuation two years prior has a clear accelerant: a partnership with Nike and the joint NikeSkims line, an entry into activewear and performance shaping that gave the brand instant credibility beyond the bedroom and the club.
Yet valuations are part art, part wager. “We’re not buying a set of factories or long-term contracts—often we’re buying narrative,” says Sarah Mendelson, a retail analyst based in New York. “When a brand has explosive social reach and a platform like Kim’s, investors pay for the story they hope will turn into durable cash flows.”
What’s certain, and what’s not
- Claimed revenue: Skims projects >$1 billion (company-provided figure).
- Recent capital raise: about $225 million.
- Implied valuation after the raise: roughly $5 billion.
- Partnerships: notable tie-up with Nike to launch NikeSkims.
- Profitability: undisclosed—private-company accounting makes it hard to assess margins or EBITDA.
That last point is key. A billion in revenue sounds dazzling—as does a $5 billion price tag—until you learn how much of that top-line is eaten by returns, advertising, influencers, and the cost of making growth happen. If it costs $1.1 billion to sell $1 billion of goods, valuation glitters but shareholders get dust.
Celebrity as currency
Kim’s personal brand is the secret sauce most investors are betting on. Forbes valued her net worth around $1.9 billion in the mid‑2020s, and the Skims valuation is a big reason. But her wealth is a mosaic of ventures—TV, social media (she has roughly 350 million followers on Instagram, tens of millions across Twitter and TikTok), endorsements, and a track record of launching and reshaping businesses.
“There’s a halo effect with her name,” says Javier Morales, a Miami-based small-business owner whose artisanal hair clips sold out after Kardashian posted a picture wearing one. “We had three times our usual site traffic in 48 hours. It was insane. We couldn’t keep up.”
The economics of celebrity endorsements are blunt: a single Instagram post from a global star can command figures in the high hundreds of thousands—sometimes more—depending on reach and exclusivity. That fleeting spotlight, however, can produce real spikes in demand. For smaller makers, a Kardashian nod is a windfall; for investors, it’s a double-edged sword, because a brand entwined with a single person risks losing value if that person steps back.
A long history of launches, reinventions, and risky bets
Kim has not been a one-trick pony. Long before Skims, there was Dash, Khroma Beauty, KKW Beauty (which at one point drew a $200 million investment from Coty for a 20% stake), and SKKN by Kim. Some lines soared, others fizzled. Coty famously took a hit when ownership moved and product lines restructured—reminding the market that celebrity holdfasts are part glamour, part corporate chessboard.
Even among the siblings, fortunes vary. Kylie Jenner’s cosmetics empire was once used to crown her a billionaire in headlines, but later scrutiny by public filings revealed discrepancies that adjusted the story—and valuations—downward. The episode is a cautionary tale: media narratives can inflate a company’s worth, especially when privately held numbers are opaque.
Why this matters beyond celebrity gossip
Skims is a prism reflecting bigger trends. It shows how culture, commerce, and attention capitalism collide: social platforms compress influence into measurable scores, brands become platforms for identity, and investors chase growth narratives in a low-yield world. It also raises questions about taste, responsibility, and local culture—how global celebrity brands borrow, sometimes clumsily, from other traditions.
“We are living through a time when cultural objects are turned into commodities more rapidly than before,” notes Dr. Tanaka. “That’s not inherently bad, but it demands reflection and respect.”
So—hype or hard business?
Ask a venture capitalist and they’ll talk about multiples, TAM (total addressable market), and customer LTVs. Ask a shopper and they’ll show you a stacking pile of Skims boxes. Ask a critic and they’ll point to the original naming controversy and to the broader social costs of hypervisibility.
Perhaps the best answer sits between those poles: Skims is both a business with serious traction and a brand whose valuation includes a hefty slice of future hope. That hope is buying inventory, opening stores, striking collaborations, and leaning into a cultural moment where comfort, body confidence, and celebrity intersect.
Will the story age into a case study of brilliant brand building—or into a warning about valuations divorced from margin realities? Only time, and transparent ledgers, will tell.
Either way, as you scroll past another influencer unboxing a nude thong on your phone, consider this: how much of what we buy is about the product itself, and how much is about the person who made it famous? Who owns the stories we tell with the clothes we wear?
