Once upon a time, fashion magazine covers were the epitome of glamour, dictating what was It, offering social commentary in a glitzy way, and revolutionizing fashion and the cultural zeitgeist itself. Fast forward to 2026, and reality looks foggy.

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The debate around how print media is struggling is news from last century. And as a consensus on the collapse of the industry, print fashion is no exception in it. Its current lexicon is simpler and far less exciting: the celebrity of the moment strikes a rather mysterious pose, either against boring gray backgrounds or sweeping landscapes, donning the most aggressively minimalist clothing there is, or in some cases, a nice, eye-catching look that somehow is overshadowed by the boring background.

As an overused recipe, spectators have grown more familiar than ever before, such visual has transformed what was once the legendary, culture-shaker fashion magazine cover into something what I can only imagine a self-help book looks like. But then, I never read one of those.

Either way, there’s no excuse. The collapse of the fashion magazine cover is what one could call one of the biggest slumpes in the sartorial business. And that makes me wonder: Why did previous cultural manifestos, symbols for an entire generation and fashion bibles, became so boring in 2020s?

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When Samantha Harman, a former magazine editor, stylist, and author of Just Get Dressed, first entered the newsroom in the sweet ‘90s, the space was flooded with staff members, including what she recalls as ‘‘four staff photographers, several editors, sub-editors, and proofreaders.’’

The landscape was one of its own, with multiple professionals running toward that same dream of creating something beautiful and revolutionary; limited space in a glossy page, with advertisers bidding for it; and the magazine spread as a form of art alone.

But with the millennium knocking on our doors, the digital revolution changed the engines that guided everything, including culture and its consumption.

If Harman doubted that the internet could ever replace the impact of a physical magazine, people certainly did not. Suddenly, spending an afternoon flipping through and flirting with a Vogue, InStyle or Cosmo spread wasn’t so tempting anymore. At least, not when you have everything right on the palm of your hand.

But the hole went deeper, also affecting the bread and butter of media empires: advertisers.

As the money vanished, four photographers became one, writers put on the hats of editors, and a voluptuous editorial team shrank. And little by little, media professionals found themselves carrying a giant silver platter with an array of roles, all while trying to keep on their feet.

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But according to creative director and founder A. Sarp Bulut at Istanbul-based model management agency A. Sarp Bulut & Co, the commercial pressures weakening print’s business model went further, eroding creative directors’ freedom as the bureaucratic team behind a magazine gained the final say over styling and creativity of an issue.

What happened, then, when the administrative surpassed the editorial, was the collapse of the creative sensibilities of the fashion spread. As Bulut puts it, ‘‘the golden era of Vogue happened because art directors and editors operated with real, unfiltered autonomy, having the audacity to treat a monthly cover as high art, not just a digital conversion asset.’’

Some examples we all love: Vanity Fair’s 1991 August issue with a naked, pregnant Demi Moore posing; British Vogue’s 1990 January supermodel cover featuring Naomi Campbell, Linda Evangelista, Cindy Crawford, Christy Turlington, and Tatjana Patitz; and Steven Meisel’s Vogue Italia spread celebrating Black models, like Naomi, Liya Kebede, and Iman.

But more importantly, back then the fashion cover wasn’t afraid to dare, to go beyond. They shocked us, created icons, offered ways to pay back to so many communities that make fashion be what it is. And according to Peter Martinez, co-founder, stylist, and designer at Leather Skin Shop, that’s exactly what made them It.

Working as a stylist for years, Martinez believes that visually, the success of a cover lies ‘‘at least in one element that creates friction, a color that shouldn’t work but does, a proportion that feels slightly off-balance, a fabric with enough presence to cast its own shadow.’’

While he explains that a well-done minimalist vibe can achieve that, what we see now barely keeps any conversation alive (only bad convo, and that doesn’t count). At the bright side, indie publications like PAPER, Dazed, Interview, and Polyester as well as foreign versions of some of the cult classics (Vogue Portugal and Vogue Brasil chief among them!) carry the torch of creativity, its flame still burning, even if weak.

But still, these publications are exceptions rather than rules, never being able to fill the deep void left by what many fashion magazines could, should, and would evoke in the current culture.

While the fashion cover keeps metamorphosing into thumbnails, their power will keep fading. And maybe, that’s the real problem.

With a simple, obedient approach, today’s traditional fashion magazines do neither. As Blunt tells me, ‘‘the massive luxury conglomerates ruling the editorial landscape today have confused minimalism with sophistication,’’ he explains, pointing out to the the rise of understated fashion and the whole phenomenon of the quiet luxury (derogatory).

So, one could say that the fashion magazine cover died, leaving space only for gray backdrops, good lighting, and all things optimized. Martinez, though, notes how it did not die, it simply reinvented itself, now ruled by pure standardization. The cost of this reinvention, though, is a too dynamic culture landscape. ‘‘When a magazine cover offends no one, surprises no one, and challenges absolutely no one, it stops being a creative statement.’’

Jeopardizing creativity and homogenizing it walk hand in hand. When David Ratmoko, founder of Metro Models and a photographer, flipped through three different magazines published this year, he could barely tell them apart. ‘‘Same lighting, same framing, same blank background.’’

But for Ratmoko, the stakes go further, the biggest loss being in the training ground for future pros. ‘‘I began in editorial, and the cover was where photographers could experiment with things that were not available anywhere else, you were given the opportunity to fail, and you did. That sort of experimentation doesn’t live on a minimal white background cover.’’

Beyond the loss of experience affecting photographers, journalists, stylists, models, and creative directors, the struggles of print fashion magazines are part of a broader discussion about the state of journalism as a whole. ‘‘We as a society are beginning to reap the damage of losing qualified, trained, ethical journalists across the board,’’ Harman notes. ‘‘Right now, our media is funded by advertisers and those with political interests, and its skewing coverage and the way the masses are led to think.’’

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With challenges ranging from standardization to billionaire media takeovers ( I recently wrote something for Everything Is Political about it), the future of the magazine cover is hard to read. Whether there is still room for audacity, dare, and disruption, nobody can say for certain. But I believe the most pressing question is whether those willing to fight for it are being given the opportunities they deserve.

Although the 2026 Met Gala might be last season’s news, its theme, ‘Fashion is Art’, has struck a chord with me to this day. Among the various hits and misses, one pattern stood out in particular; numerous celebrities chose to pay tribute to famous, culturally significant paintings through their outfits. Sometimes cute, sometimes lazy, this got me wondering: will fashion ever be seen as an art form in its own?

There’s no getting around it. The debate over whether fashion is art remains unresolved to this day. Legends such as André Leon Talley might say no, noting how it ‘‘is hard work, gritty. It’s not glamorous. It’s rough.’’

Often arguing that fashion is a necessity (so people don’t walk around naked!) and a whole challenging industry, both concepts are normally separated by a thick line. But I always wonder: isn’t art a necessity too?

A Dead Poets Society’s scene immediately comes to my mind: Robin Williams’ character gathering his young students and preaching the power of poetry, beauty and art.

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Do any of us stay alive for fashion? Designers might, either out of passion or because it is their meal ticket.

What a silly word it is that art. Mankind has created battle after battle over the definition of it, yet has never reached a consensus aside from the general idea that it is a human activity involving imagination or skill intended to express something, such as emotions or aesthetic experiences, or to reflect the times.

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By this loose definition, fashion is indeed art, as it expresses identity and carries true craft and skill into every stitch. But then, what isn’t art?

In a debate that refuses to die down, it is sometimes better to consult the experts. With this in mind, this week on The Devil Writes Fashion, a variety of fashion-savvy enthusiasts and professionals who share their views on the matter, falling anywhere along the spectrum from romantics who believe in its enduring artistic value to skeptics who are not sold. And then, if you feel like it, tell me in the comments where you stand on this messy, entangled dilemma.

Hiral Arora, aka @chaoswintour

Anastasia Vartanian aka @fatannawintour

Kea aka @jacquemusx

Antonio Padilla aka @immaculate.style

@imthespecialk

@italybutoncrack

Kish Lal aka @kardashianrising

Chloe Kennedy

Cami James, artist

From the moment the first episode of Ryan Murphy’s Love Story hit Hulu, its fate was essentially sealed. Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy, brought back to life by the enigmatic Sarah Pidgeon, was poised to become Gen Z’s next defining icon in fashion, behavior, and attitude. So she did. Magazines published article after article, dissecting her wardrobe and remembering the icon through her sartorial choices; further cementing her legacy among younger generations. Online, infinite videos on how-to emulate her laid-back, minimalist style and her energy were shared and consumed by Gen Zers worldwide, increasingly fascinated by her unique shade of blonde, her signature scent of egyptian musk oil, and her tortoiseshell tiaras.

While the object of fascination might feel “new,” the obsession with long-gone socialites is anything but.

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If you’ve been living under a rock: a socialite is someone (typically a woman) from a privileged background or high social standing, known for her impeccable sartorial sense. Though the concept dates back to the 18th and 19th centuries, the socialite as we know today truly came into her own during the Roaring Twenties, against the glitzy backdrop of high-society gatherings. Think Zelda Fitzgerald, wife of author F. Scott Fitzgerald, who came to embody the era’s excessive glamour; Gloria Vanderbilt, heiress to one of America’s wealthiest families; or Tallulah Bankhead, an actress known for her scandalous charm.

Rooted in closed elite circles, old money (not the TikTok trend!), and aristocratic lineage, the socialite of the 1920s stood out largely for her lifestyle and wealth. But by the 50s and 60s, things were set to change; driven by the rise of mass television, the growing influence of fashion magazines such as Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar, and the idea that talent alone could transform someone into a figure larger than life. Wealth still mattered — God knows it always has — but personality and visibility had become just as powerful.

Talent propelled icons like Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, and Grace Kelly — Kelly ultimately trading the screen for a throne — while influence and status defined the trajectories of figures like Jackie Kennedy and Babe Paley.

If the fifties expanded the socialite’s horizons, the following decades would open the doors entirely, ushering in an era of tabloids and paparazzi, as well as a hunger for showbiz that focused as much on personality as prestige.

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Cultural magnetism and charisma catapulted figures like Jane Birkin, whose effortless joie de vivre1 turned her into a muse for a generation and beyond, and Bianca Jagger, who, despite her rise to fame through marrying The Rolling Stones’ Mick Jagger, soon saw her crowned the undisputed queen of Studio 54 and one of the faces of the ‘70s fashion. As for wealth and power, no figure loomed larger than Lady Diana, whose highly publicised marriage redefined not only what royalty could look like, but the very scope of a socialite’s influence.

By the nineties, the spectacle had never been bigger. Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy captivated New York City the moment she appeared alongside America’s closest thing to a prince, John F. Kennedy Jr. Her sleek style reflecting her career at Calvin Klein and her cool indifference toward fame made her as alluring as she was elusive, leaving a mark on the whole decade that still resonates years later.

Then, the 2000s brought its own batch: Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie chief among them. Already situated amidst the digital, 2000s socialites were much more open to the spotlight than their predecessors, which somehow created a whole new kind of allure. That, until it democratized fame so bad that the socialite, as a distinctly alluring figure, ceased to exist, making room for someone much more visible and much less compelling.

Now, we have a new breed of celebrities we can’t quite name — nor point to what they do exactly. Yet somehow, there they still are. Fashion critic Anastasia Vartanian, better known online as @fatannawintour, puts it plainly: with millions of people amassing followers on TikTok, YouTube, or Instagram without anyone quite knowing who they are, culture has splintered. ‘‘When everyone is famous, no one is famous.’’

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But the digital landscape and its many repercussions aren’t the sole issue. The rise of the influencer economy brought with it an obsession with crafting and optimizing personas and in that process, authenticity was lost. As culture and fashion journalist Amber Chow points out, what once set socialites apart was personality. In the TikTok era, amidst the backdrop of endless micro trends and the omnipresence of a world mediated through the digital, Chow argues, individual taste has been flattened, and with it, any real sense of self.

And the issue is precisely that. No matter who they were, each socialite carried herself in a very authentic way and had a very specific persona that set them apart from one another and from everyone else.

Think of Monroe, for whom we now can’t see a hot pink strapless gown, a flowing white halter dress and a mole on the cheek without immediately remembering her; Birkin, who tossed and adorned her eponymous bag as if it were a disposable item, never worrying what others would think; or Hepburn, who carried herself with the poise of a heavenly being combined with the right amount of whimsy, eventually catching Hubert de Givenchy’s interested and marking forever the intersection of cinema and fashion.

Over and over, the socialite had a very distinct aesthetic (ugh, that word, I know) and personality, something that as Chow puts it, made them ‘‘unique in their own way.’’

Somewhere along the way, the world has lost the willingness to be different. Now, everyone dresses the same, acts the same, and has the same face. Personality, originality and uniqueness, it seems, are no longer wanted, but repressed.

Influencers and current celebrities reshape themselves to fit what the market demands, while those who are genuinely different are gradually swallowed by the same system. And as individuality wanes, so does something else just as powerful: le mystique2. The air of mystery, better known as le mystique, is one of the very things that make socialites of the past so alluring.

It’s quite simple. Icons like Birkin, Bessette-Kennedy, Monroe, and Diana didn’t chase the cameras. The cameras came to them. Whether by instinct or by design, they understood that withholding was its own kind of power and in doing so, they stopped being merely people and became something else entirely: cultural moments worth people’s time and attention.

‘‘The women listed are perhaps some of history’s most-photographed, who very much live on through the cultural dominance of their images,’’ writer Jenna Mahale states. Found in Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest and all kinds of social media, digital natives can be exposed to past socialites’ allure and legacy from a very young age. ‘‘Her bike shorts and sweater look remains so powerful to me,’’ fashion and beauty journalist Kish Lal, aka @kardashianrising tells me, reflecting about the ‘‘casual chicness’’ of Lady Diana that never ceased to fascinate her.

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Here lies a paradox: we can now find them all over the internet, from Pinterest to YouTube, said allure and mystique seemingly vanishing as we get to ‘‘know them better.’’ Somehow, their magnetism never fades, even though that by the logic of further exposure it should.

Upon reflection, Lal’s fixation, as well as anyone else’s, stems from a finite collection of videos and photos — images that, in her own words, carry “that romantic blurriness so many of us are trying to capture with old digital cameras, polaroids and old phones.”

Yes, past socialites are well documented online ( photos, videos, music cips, the odd interview, and the occasional fashion editorial), but it stops there.

We don’t find tweets from Monroe saying what she had for dinner in the fifties, what Diana did or didn’t do at a certain event, Hepburn’s first celeb crush, or what Birkin would like to do at a certain weekend in the sixties. The fact that the medium through which we have access to them is pictures — pictures that, despite showing parts of them, remain distant, because we weren’t the ones who took them, and a photograph always retains something allusive and observational in a certain way — adds to the mystery.

And the mystery, ultimately, seduces us. It seduces us because the unknown is much more interesting than the known — influencers showing a bunch of hauls, celebrities in non-stop PR stunts. What we don’t know fascinates us, and then we enter this cycle, looking back to times when things were not as they are now, just in the silly hope of a taste of it.

Aside from le mystique, what made those women enduring was coherence. As Chow explains through the example of Bessette-Kennedy, she always wore a certain kind of outfit that aligned with the kind of person she was — the career she had, the lifestyle she carried, everything overlapping into one seamless image. Lal resonates with that idea, noting how, even within the constraints of a deeply oppressive system, Diana always managed to find, in her words, ‘‘pockets of brightness and we still got to see her as herself.’’

Then, of course, there is the “good old fashioned nostalgia,” as Vartanian recalls — for something Gen Z has never quite lived through firsthand, days that were entirely different from our own, now dissolved into the digital sphere.

Mahale echoes this sentiment, noting how nostalgia ‘‘feels like the only thing the world has left to sell to us’’ and in many ways, she’s right. With celebrities everywhere, hawking their latest products and partnerships, looking back offers something to hold on to. Chow agrees; looking back is something to grip in an era that seems hell-bent on swallowing us whole. Deep down, there is a desire to return to a simpler time — one where people could simply be; dress the way they wanted without being devoured by the demanding trend cycle, or exist quietly on their own. Naturally, that feels impossible in our 24/7 world.

But technology does not annul the chance of authenticity blooming. @kardashianrising instantly invokes Birkin, who, even in her final years before her passing in 2023, embodied an effortless mystique and very own sense of self through the way she dressed and carried herself, that ultimately, endures because it was ‘‘uniquely hers.’’

Nostalgic for a time when phones were just for emergency calls, Lal points to the exhausting overreach that dominates current culture: spaces filled with tutorials on how to be “a cool girl” or curate a personal style that was never ours to begin with. “It really points to the fact that we look to the algorithm to be guided on how to express ourselves.”

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With entire generations being shaped by algorithms rather than people, we will remain in this infinite loop, resurrecting these icons until we have had enough. Just starving for mystique, for coherence, for personality, for a nostalgia that romanticizes eras that were never quite as glorious as we think they were, and for the simple desire to belong.

But, if anything, that hunger won’t ever be fed by a screen and for the ‘‘content’’ that comes out of it. Perhaps, only when we set it aside and turn inward, toward the personal and genuine, can we let those icons rest, find the modern ones that do exist, but are being obscured by a system that was never meant to be ours, and above all, never meant to last, and then truly belong.

With the Met Gala just hours away, poised to shock, horrify and just perhaps dazzle us all, fashionistas around the world are busy making their own bingo lists of to-happens. While some guesses remain individual to each person, others are far from it. Enter the astrologers, who, guided by the same stars that we all look up to in the night sky whenever an existential crisis hits us all, have an eerie yet powerful intuition that tells them plenty about everything.

Skeptical or believer, it doesn’t matter. If the sky says something, we hear — even if we don’t understand exactly what they mean. Precisely because we don’t understand, I reached out to some of the most popular astrologers online — from @gnarlyastrology to @saturnrevolution — and asked them what the stars are telling them about the biggest night in fashion, so then I can make a bingo list of my own. Many hits? Many flops? Read below to find out, and perhaps you will become a believer as the day comes to an end.

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THE COSMIC SETUP, ACCORDING TO ALBERTO TORIBIO AKA @gnarlyastrology

‘‘On May 2nd, Mercury entered Taurus, and back on April 24th, Venus moved into Gemini. This is where it gets interesting. Mercury (communication and intellect) is currently in the terrain of Taurus, which is ruled by Venus. Meanwhile, Venus (love and aesthetics) is hanging out in Gemini, which is ruled by Mercury. They are essentially house-swapping. We’re about to see a massive cultural explosion around fashion. Beauty is becoming intellectual. There’s an openness to “high-brow” art, and we’re going to see some incredibly powerful communication through aesthetic choices.’’

‘‘On the night of the Met, Mars squares Jupiter. I won’t give you a full lecture, but just know this: it inspires massive gestures. We’re talking peak main character energy. Everyone will be fighting for headlines. With the current state of the economy, the pressure is on for celebrities to boost their brand and stay relevant.’’

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ODDLY SPECIFIC PREDICTIONS

Hi everyone,

I’m alive.

I know. It’s been 138 days since the last time I wrote for this place. In all honesty, I needed a break. I will not lie and say that I was too busy with other things (though, yes I have been doing other things), but I was not in a great mental state and I needed to breathe and remind myself what life is truly like.

Journalism looks chaotic right now. I have been pitching non-stop to editors and all I get is either no or a ghosting (the sort I gave you guys this almost twenty weeks). I am not proud of it, but I am committed to changing that (slightly). I decided that The Devil Writes Fashion won’t just die, especially now with the movie that gave this newsletter its name having had a sequel, leaving us plenty to talk about.

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I will write here. Occasionally. I will write when I have things to say (quoting Fiona Apple ‘‘I just don’t speak if I don’t have anything to say’’) and when I have the stamina and time for it. Sadly (for me) or gladly (for you, reader), this newsletter is non-profit, which means it is free. That won’t change, though I really could use some money now. But then, who doesn’t?

Anyway, yesterday I watched The Devil Wears Prada 2. Though it was disappointing to see the state of journalism reflected before our eyes—wait, is this play about us?—the movie was good overall. It was bittersweet seeing the characters, old and new. Gaga was great, as was the fashion, and the criticism of everything anyone sane in the industry hates, from AI to billionaires, was spot-on. Obviously, the ending was overly romanticized, as if we could simply beat money and greed, the very things that turned journalism — the literal fourth power and an essential part of a democratic society —into a mere toy for billionaires to play with.

Maybe things will change. Probably they won’t. The thing is, I’ll be here from now on to comment on those a bit. That’s all and see you soon. Xx

The past season was brimming with debuts — Matthieu Blazy at Chanel, Rachel Scott at Proenza Schouler, Dario Vitale at Versace, and so on. There’s been enough time for their collections to marinate, and with Olivier Rousteing departing Balmain and Antonin Tron being announced the new creative director, it seems pertinent to ask: What makes a debut great?

Ahead, The Devil Writes Fashion talks with some of the brightest minds in the fashion community to uncover the lingering riddle. You know, the fans who religiously live-stream every show, make TikToks dissecting each look, and tweet reactions faster than a house announces a new creative director. Those who know good fashion and are not afraid to ask.

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@understitchcomma

@immaculate.style

@jacquemusx

@chaoswintour

@italybutoncrack

Keicia Shanta Jenkins

On October 18, celebrities reunited for the Academy Museum Gala. To the fashion-savvy people, the event was less about celebration of cinema and the Academy Museum’s exhibitions, and more about our shared passion: fashion.

With many celebrities pulling looks fresh off the runway, others further cementing their deals, and some sporting debut designs, it was hard not to talk about it. And surprisingly, the conversation leaned more love than loathe. So, instead of making a-not-so-big roast of the two or three not-very-pleasant-to-the-eye looks, this week I turned my attention to the brighter side.

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I know. The Devil Writes Fashion looking on the bright side? Well, we all have our moments of softness. My moment of weakness involved chatting with some of fashion’s sharpest minds to uncover why their favorite looks truly worked. Don’t worry, you can balance it out by dropping your own roasts in the comments. Or, if you are more into being soft, drop your favorite too.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Antonio Padilla AKA @immaculate.style

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Molly Elizabeth

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Hanan Besovic AKA @ideservecouture

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎@malbwgaf

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ @jacquemusx

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ @italybutoncrack

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Chloe Kennedy

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ @imthespecialk

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎@blondiejgp

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Keicia Shanta

It’s been a year since Victoria’s Secret attempted its grand comeback. Yes, that revival fell flat — the promised glamour quickly stripped away. But last Wednesday, the brand returned to New York with its 2025 show, suggesting that maybe, just maybe, the story isn’t over yet.

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Sure, the talk du jour might be Skims’ deeply questionable faux bush lingerie, but Victoria’s Secret’s show was intriguing enough to shift the conversation.

The show opened already on a high note: One of the original Angels, Jasmine Tookes set the tone in a glitzy oyster-inspired look and her baby bump the pearl at its center. Then came veteran Adriana Lima, her copper wings unfurled in full dramatic glory, while a dazzling bodysuit shimmered bright. The OG lineup didn’t stop there: Doutzen Kroes captivated in a shimmering gown crowned with a golden winged bust; Alessandra Ambrosio enchanted in copper curly wings paired with a glistening sand-toned lingerie set; and Joan Smalls stunned in a beaded halter golden top and snowy lingerie topped with a sculptural copper wing headpiece.

In the same vivid palette, bronze-toned dresses with shimmering details swept down the runway, seen on the likes of Barbara Palvin and Lily Aldridge. When Candice Swanepoel stepped onto the runway, her copper wings lifted high, wearing simple, soft brown lingerie and a golden, diamond-beaded halter, Donna Summer’s I Feel Love echoed through the room and the audience fell completely under her spell.

Swanepoel’s exit set the stage for Madison Beer’s performance, where the runway that once shimmered in gold and copper transformed into pink. The model that opened the second act was none other than Gigi Hadid, who donned a pink lingerie set paired with a voluminous, petal-like robe in the same hue, all while Madison Beer’s voice pulsed through the room.

A showgirl moment entered in full swing, with the looks of Anok Yai, Precious Lee, Devyn Garcia, Awar Odhiang, Iman Hammam, and Irina Shayk proving what true glam looks like. All that while the floral kept coming and going with models like Paloma Elsesser sporting petal wings and WNBA player Angel Reese modeling a fluffy shawl adorned with roses.

During the Twice performance, PINK took the stage with a more jovial approach with shorts, skirts, jeans, and sweatshirts coming down the runway, as seen on Iris Law, Barbie Ferreira, and Lila Moss.

Then, for the Karol G set, the runway turned red and a blonde Bella Hadid appeared in bright red lingerie and robe. On that same note, Alex Consani graced the runway in a glossy red wings and silk pants, Amelia Gray in a red mesh dress opened at the back with a thong, Yasmin Wijnaldum in a mini dress, Adut Akech in a long one, and Joan Smalls with a silk lingerie set and a sequin shawl.

The red slipped away the moment Britney Spears’ Toxic began to play, making room for shimmering silver gowns, glittering bras, quirky embellishments, and sculptural headpieces — all exuding a fresh, beachy allure. The floral memo bloomed once again with Emily Ratajkowski, who appeared in a wing shaped like a giant petal. Riding the same coquette wave, Awar Odhiang had a butterfly moment.

That Barbie-butterfly allure soon gave way to a more somber mood, as models like Candice Swanepoel, Imaan Hammam, Anok Yai, Doutzen Kroes, Ashley Graham, Paloma Elsesser, Amelia Gray, Alex Consani, Barbara Palvin, and Yasmin Wijnaldum brought sexy back in silver, black, and ultra-shiny creations.

The final wings of Gigi Hadid, Adriana Lima, and Alessandra Ambrosio were very underwhelming and undoubtedly the biggest fumbles of the night. When Bella Hadid closed the runway in silver fringed lingerie and white petal wings, the balance was restored and the audience was reminded that the show was good, overall.

But no Victoria’s Secret show is complete without a grand finale. In keeping with tradition, this year’s finale saw the legendary Missy Elliott perform, later joined by all the models, who danced vividly.

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Indeed, compared to last year’s designs — and its general approach to diversity — this show felt like a true redemption arc for the brand. Yet, there’s still room for growth: perhaps in cutting out the denim and overly casual looks that occasionally appeared on the runway, rethinking some of the not-very-glam wing designs, and doubling down on authentic diversity. But most importantly, casting fresh, lesser-known faces abound with talent could bring a fresh energy to the Victoria’s Secret runway and to the general fashion industry too.

Enter the ever-opinionated halls of Fashion Twitter, and you’ll find one topic dominating the discourse: Duran Lantink’s debut for Jean Paul Gaultier. Sure, many debuts have happened during this hectic season — check my Spring/Summer 2026 digest here. But few have sparked as much conversation as Lantink’s.

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Chances are, the last time you heard about the Dutch designer was for a scandal — remember the male model in that top with cartoonish, faux breasts? Now, at his debut for the quintessential L’enfant terrible de la mode — a house synonymous with daring and disruption — Lantink decided to do things his own way. In an interview with Vogue, he proudly stated that he did not look at the archives, but looking at the collection that became clear.

What came down the runway felt more like a knockoff of his own label rather than the provocative yet so alluring designs of Gaultier. Pieces like a jumpsuit of a nude man (with a little peekaboo view of his balls!) and just generally undercooked ideas set pretty much the tone. Naturally, the internet wasn’t kind, with some comparing it to “a collection from a recent graduate.” Well, maybe they were being generous.

But they just forgot a little Fashion Etiquette 101: If you’re not in the room, you can’t participate. At least, that was pretty much the message a post by knitwear designer Edward Buchanan seemed to convey. “Bedside critiques of fashion shows by way of runway photos and livestreams can be a dangerous way to judge a creative’s work. It never ever equates to the physical experience of being there, seeing, and touching the pieces,” the designer wrote. “You don’t have to like everything but does that make you a fashion critic? Please bring some intelligent criticism to the table otherwise it’s just a troll fest from the comfort of your homes.”

Sure, it’s a fair point. The physical experience certainly does wonders compared to seeing a photo from an app. But in an age where digital access is part of the game — and the very tool that’s pushed fashion toward greater inclusion —, I can’t help but wonder: Who really gets to critique fashion?

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In theory, anyone can do it. But history has long shown us that those in higher-ranking positions are the ones who are heard and ultimately respected for their opinions and critiques.

As @notsoquietluxury’s Nikesh Pandya-Gudka, explains, Western criticism is viewed through the lens of references. “ If you get the reference, that shows awareness, education — you get a golden star for cultural fluency,” Pandya-Gudka posted in a recent reels.

So, when an editor references a designer’s signature codes, quotes a European poet or whatever, and analyzes the symbolism of a memorable collection, they’re not just describing clothes; they’re positioning themselves as culturally literate. Implicitly, it signals a possession of cultural capital, stemming from higher education and the means to access it, thereby reinforcing existing social hierarchies and class privileges.

Now, with the evolution of social media and its inclusion in the fashion world, these references have become known to people who would’ve been excluded from the conversation in the past.

But it would be a mistake to assume that referencing something automatically makes it good. Designer X could be nodding to anyone; it hardly matters. What matters is how they’re doing it.

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And this is where critical thinking enters. No, you don’t need a seat in the front row — or any row at all — to have it. Because being critical isn’t just about name-dropping references or showing off your knowledge of history. And it certainly isn’t holding a position of authority. It’s about cultivating your own perspective, asking the uncomfortable questions, and pointing out what everyone else is too scared to say out loud.

It’s easy to applaud references, but it’s harder — and infinitely more interesting — to dissect why it matters, why it resonates or not, and why it deserves more discussion.

Ultimately, criticism is supposed to sting a little. It’s meant to spark debate. That is its point. Without it, fashion becomes an endless, boring loop where we are stuck in the same conversations and same perspectives forever.

To keep the fashion discourse fresh and relevant we need to hear about those not in the room. Not just because their perspectives matters, spark conversation, and disrupt. But also because silencing — or even being in favor of their silencing —, means you will end hearing only the same old things while perpetuating the very elitism the industry claims to be fighting.

You can’t hear new fashion season without thinking of September and can’t hear September without thinking of new fashion season. Though we are already in October, the new fashion season kicked off September 11 with Michael Kors. And pretty much has happened since.

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In New York, where many people swear its fashion is dying, labels like Area, Carolina Herrera, Theophilio, PatBO, and Willy Chavarria brought the dare that was missing. Area proved that life is a party with a glitzy, textural extravaganza — think multi-colored pom-pom dresses, paillette-covered gowns, and endless razzle-dazzle. At Carolina Herrera, colors popped, flowers bloomed, and romance hung in the air. Theophilio, meanwhile, turned up the heat with a sultry, hip-hop flair. Then there was PatBO, celebrating the many nuances of Latina woman through ruffles, florals, and sequins, and Willy Chavarria, who brought a mysterious, cool edge with his signature infusion of Latinidad — check the exquisite tailoring! Indeed, New York Fashion Week is alive and well — perhaps you just have to look in the right places.

London, though, felt a bit stuck. There were, naturally, collections that caught one’s eye — from Simone Rocha’s rebellious romanticism and Yuhan Wang’s soft delicacy to Dilara Findikoglu’s gothic disruption and Conner Ives’ cheerful audacity. But aside from those, it left me wanting more.

When it comes to Milan, I always know I’m going to be well fed. Louise Trotter’s debut at Bottega Veneta was spectacular. The clothing’s movement, texture, and refinement made it impossible to look away. Then there was Blumarine, which continues to skillfully blend fierceness and delicacy. With lots of ruffles and see-through dresses, the collection captured the beauty of an untamed spirit. Roberto Cavalli, too, focused on the wild, oozing pure sensuality through golden mesh gowns, animal-print pants, chunky belts, amethyst necklaces, dramatic coats, and the bohemian appeal we all love.

Prada, so very known and admired for its signature ugly-chic utilitarianism, maintained that tone with some fresh twists, such as revealing aprons and dramatic gloves. Seemingly, the Prada woman is letting loose a bit.

Milan had some disappointments, too. Versace, in particular, deeply felt the absence of its queen Donatella. The collection, though it had some nice pieces, like the skirt with a woman’s face, and vibrant colors that felt very Gianni’s eccentric ‘80s flair, still missed that va-va-voom of pure, scandalous sexiness. Maybe the groundwork is just being laid, and a twist is on the horizon.

Finally, there’s Paris, which had more successes than missteps. Anthony Vaccarello has outdone himself. Not just due to the magnificent set design of the runway in the shape of the Saint Laurent logo with the lovely view of the Eiffel Tower shining behind it, but also for the garments themselves. The loose-fitting blazers with big bows on the neck and near the waist continued the drama and eccentricity of the ‘80s. Then, there were the gorgeous see-through dresses that the designer is known for, but with a twist: lots of volume, giving them a certain Victorian edge.

At Vivienne Westwood, things got rebellious. Sculptural silhouettes, see-through moments, dreamy, playful prints, and grotesque accessories — like a bone necklace — kept the house’s punky DNA alive, though more refined.

Givenchy once again demonstrated what refinement and power can look like. Tracing the curve of the female form, draped skirts, reconstructed white shirts, tailored suits, see-through gowns, swimsuits, and dramatic necklaces set the tone. Alexander McQueen, too, loved drama, venturing into a more audacious direction. Sculptural dresses, tailored suits (which were occasionally paired with skirts), corsetry, low-rise jeans, puffer jackets, and lacy dresses added a touch of youthfulness. A more McQueen vibe was set by fringed pieces with holes for the models’ hands and voluminous gowns that had a shape of their own.

But when it comes to true drama, theatrics shone bright in Matieres Fecales. By transforming flirty details, such as corsets and ball gowns adorned with roses into something more avant-garde, the label defies traditional beauty standards, putting on quite the show in the meantime.

Tom Ford put on a great show, too. Aside from bringing sexy back, genuine glamour hung in the air — and in the clothes, naturally.By blending a vibrant color palette with fluid shapes, tight silhouettes, and glossy textures, Haider Ackermann proved once again that he and Tom Ford were meant to be.

Meant to be too was Schiaparelly and Daniel Roseberry, who no matter the season, manages to maintain the label’s surrealism alive. Lady suits — some intact and others adorned with fur — opened the show. Then came clothing with circle holes, sculptural designs, revealing dresses, and trompe l’oeil gowns. A set of golden fringes added texture, and some of the circles on the gowns shimmered in golden hues. That very mix of sophistication and avant-gardism.

At Junya Watanabe, avant gardism shone through dresses that instead of shoulder pads featured a bunch of bright red pumps, spoons, or straw hats, deconstructed trench coats, wine glasses hanging inside see-through gowns, and geometric shapes sculpting black dresses. Safe to say Watanabe left all with a drooping jaw.

At Ludovic de Saint Sernin, things were less of surrealism and more about sensual romance. Through the use of lace, silk, transparent pieces, and fluid gowns, the designer united rebellion and softness in an intimate way. Alaïa balanced freedom and restraint while keeping up its signature precision. Asymmetric dresses that clung to the body, gowns with breastplates, fuzzy and dramatic coats, and leather pieces exuded an air of composure. Meanwhile, draped skirts and fringed tights evoked the purest form of freedom with their movement.

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Talk about freedom, and enter Chemena Kamala, who took the Chloé woman to the beach this season. Keeping that joie de vivre alive while toning down the boho chic, the label presented vibrant floral dresses and deep-colored pants, later shifting to opaque colors and fluid shapes. Very refreshing.

There was also some change at Valentino, with a certain sense of weirdness pervading the air. Strangely, the models weren’t wearing the extravagant accessories Alessandro Michelle usually adds. Perhaps the focus this season was on the clothes alone — through vibrant colors that popped, sequins that shone, prints that caught the eye, and see-through fabrics that revealed that his maximalism is not going anywhere.

Maison Margiela, with the visionary Glenn Martens, did not skimp on accessories. Aside from putting on a show with a children’s orchestra as the soundtrack, the collection had an eerie main star: mouthpieces, which kept each model’s lips parted. The clothes kept a more simple tone, with basics like jeans and leather taking the stage and florals, embellishments, and animal prints adding some color. Indeed, a more restrained side of Martens, but still lands just right.

For Thom Browne, there is no such thing as restraint. And this season, that was evident in his signature preppy suits, trompe l’oeil tops that looked like paintings, shiny, green alien heads, and otherworldly accessories. Blending the art of making clothes with his irreverent wit, Browne once again conquered every fashionistas’ heart.

But fashionistas too were very much excited about the many Parisian debuts about to unfold. Jonathan Anderson’s womenswear Dior was less about the New Look and more about translating that to the modern woman — with a dash of Anderson’s signature wit. Though many fashion devotees weren’t really in sync with some of the designs — namely the mini jeans skirts and leggings — Anderson reinterpreted the brand’s classics with his creative and innovative genius.

Loewe, though without Anderson, did well too. Jack McCollough e Lazaro Hernandez brought vibrant shades, glossy and fuzzy textures and fun prints, which ultimately all honored the playful wit of the label.

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Pierpaolo Piccioli’s Balenciaga stayed true to the house’s past. From nods to Cristóbal Balenciaga’s infamous 1957 sack dress and voluminous skirts to eyewear that pays homage to Demna’s era at the brand, Piccioli shows that his Balenciaga will be softer than previous streetwear styles. Thus, keeping much more in sync with the label’s founder.

Mugler by Miguel Castro Freitas, too, felt something new. Castro Freitas moved beyond Casey Cadwallader’s distinctively defiant style, leaning into something more refined and dramatic. Think feathered bustles, plumed jackets, and chandelier-like, jeweled corsets that shone brightly in the dimly lit room.

Then there was Chanel, a highly anticipated debut showcasing the work of fashion’s favorite craftsman, Matthieu Blazy. The set design quickly captivated with vibrant planets flowing in the sky, quietly promising that the designer was about to take everyone to a whole new world. It was a new world indeed. And the new Chanel looks a little bit like this: Boxy suits, lots of texture, the 2.55 bag with open flaps, sculptural clutches, and the house codes seen through a modern lens. Some call it a palette cleanser full of Blazyism. Others think Chanel has finally been saved.

Finally, Duran Lantink’s debut at Jean Paul Gaultier was nothing short of disappointing. Instead of playing on the provocative style the Gaultier was recognized for, Lantink relied purely on the comicality of his own brand, missing the opportunity to make a meaningful statement. (P.S: I’ll do you all a favor and not post *that* jumpsuit or any photos from the fashion show.)

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The verdict for Spring/Summer 2026? Meh. Sure, many designers shone brightly with their creativity. But many others missed the mark. Indeed, too little (good) fashion, and too few women designers. And while it may have been the beginning of a new era in fashion, things seem more the same than fresh.

Search for ‘‘Copenhagen fashion’’ on platforms like Instagram and TikTok, and one item will flood your entire feed: Havaianas. Though the legendary Brazilian flip-flop may have only recently gained significant ground in the fashion world — with digital natives flaunting them in videos with pants —, Havaianas has been an icon at home for over sixty years.

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Created in 1962 in São Paulo by the company Alpargatas, the sandals were named ‘‘Havaianas’’ after Hawaii to ooze a sun-soaked, carefree spirit. Its design, however, was inspired by Japanese zori sandals, which have rice straw soles and fabric straps. Alpargatas flipped the script by using a cheaper, more durable option: rubber. Thus, cementing itself as the original rubber flip-flop manufacturer.

The initial design was simple: white with blue straps and sides. Though not the most visually appealing, the cheap and practical nature of Havaianas made them ideal for Brazilians’ everyday lives — especially in 1964, a year marked by economic instability and ideological polarization that eventually culminated in the coup and the onset of a military dictatorship.

Traveling salesmen in Kombis carried the sandals to every corner of the country, making it accessible to everyone from the countryside to the coast and further embedding them deeper into Brazil’s collective imagination.

In 1969, the sandal remained a national phenomenon — and a simple factory error only amplified its appeal: some pairs were accidentally produced in green rather than the classic blue-and-white. Rather than dismissing it as a flaw, Brazilians embraced the fresh hue with enthusiasm.

Riding the wave of this lucky accident, Havaianas introduced even more colors, such as black and yellow. The flip-flop’s popularity only soared from there. By the ‘80s, its status was so deeply ingrained in the country that the Ministry of Finance declared Havaianas as essential to Brazilians as their daily rice and beans.

Despite its undeniable popularity, until 1985, Havaianas’ marketing was shaped by a censorship and propaganda-controlled country. Their ads had to be subtle and free of political references, embodying the government’s idealized image of Brazil — a humble, egalitarian, working-class nation that the regime enjoyed flaunting abroad.

In the ‘80s, when political liberalization started to subtly emerge, the brand began to move away from its purely utilitarian image and toward a more stylish one. By 1995, Havaianas had grown beyond its solid colors to include cheerful prints like florals, winning over the surfer subculture.

Two years later, its appeal only grew with ad campaigns such as ‘‘Todo mundo usa’’ (“Everyone Wears It”) starring celebrities from basketball player Hortência to actress Vera Fischer. Later, new products arrived, including more colorful designs of Top line and the green sandals with Brazil’s flag that was all the rage during the World Cup 1998. As its popularity soared, Havaianas stores opened across the country — even on São Paulo’s Oscar Freire Street, long regarded as the pinnacle of Brazilian luxury.

Then, just a few years later, in 1999, Havaianas made its big debut in the world of high fashion on none other than the runway of France’s enfant terrible Jean Paul Gaultier. Since then, the flip-flop brand has solidified its place in the international industry, collaborating with prestigious labels like Saint Laurent, Missoni, and Dolce & Gabbana.

Now, Copenhagen Fashion Week Spring/Summer 2026 may have given a push to the iconic Brazilian footwear. Apparently, Denmark’s ability to pair pants with the flip-flop is what sets it apart. But this approach wasn’t without controversy. Since late July, an increasing number of TikTok influencers have been posting videos of themselves wearing pants with their Havaianas. And their captions usually read something like this: ‘‘How do I explain to people on the street that I’m wearing my Havaianas in a cool Copenhagen way?’’

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To the untrained eye, it may seem like just another expression in TikTok’s ever-evolving vocabulary gone bad. But beneath the juxtaposition of ‘‘cool,’’ ‘‘Copenhagen,’’ and ‘‘way,’’ are dynamics that are hard to ignore.

Eurocentrism — Europe in the center of history and culture — in fashion is far from being a novelty. Since the classical studies of fashion theory written by the likes of Georg Simmel, Thorstein Veblen, John Carl Flügel, and James Laver, fashion has always been born in Europe, while Asia, Africa, and Latin America were seen as nothing more than places with endless sources of inexpensive raw materials and cheap labor.

Now, we header how France is hailed as the cradle of couture; England, the home of Victorian style and the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution; Italy, celebrated for its artisanship and meticulous craftsmanship; and the United States, which triumphantly showcased its fashion at the 1973 Battle of Versailles and continues to assert influence through New York Fashion Week.

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Meanwhile, the rest of the world seemingly has no seat at the fashion table. It only has it when it serves to inspire others. Consider the kimono, once deemed exotic and later celebrated on the runways of John Galliano’s Dior collections as the ultimate emblem of daring style. Or think of African craftsmanship, which Saint Laurent presented in his Spring/Summer 1967 Bambara collection, interpreting the artistry of Mali’s Bambara people through a Western lens.

Time and again, fashion cherry-picks from marginalized cultures, rebranding their work as “cool” when filtered through a European perspective. The same is now happening with Havaianas, as Euro-American netizens consciously distance the look from its Brazilian roots.

The message is clear: in this narrative, “cool” belongs to Copenhagen, while Brazil is the origin of the “non-cool” version. Such dichotomy not only represents the entire concept of Eurocentrism and the ongoing perpetuation of Europe’s superiority complex, but it is also strongly tied to the narrow, reductive stereotypes that dominate American and European portrayals of Brazil and Latin America more broadly: simple, humble, poor. The idea that we can’t be fashionable, we can’t be cool. The idea that the only thing for us is the modest, the needy, the inferior.

The belief of fashion-as-an-European-product fails, however, because all countries throughout history had and still have their own fashion. The general public just don’t keep up with it. And that’s on them, not us.

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Much like other Latin American and marginalized nations, Brazilian fashion is rich in detail and soul. Havaianas, for example, are more than just cheap footwear. It is a cultural patrimony whose rise is inseparable from the country’s broader social and political upheavals.

It’s simple: If a Brazilian hadn’t invented Havaianas in 1962, Copenhagen girls wouldn’t be hailed as effortlessly cool for pairing them with pants — a styling trick Brazilians mastered decades ago. Or even, the Olsen twins’ iconic label, The Row, would not have its $690 rubber flip-flops. Ultimately, the legacy of the rubber flip-flop is Brazil’s — as well as the cool factor all netizens swear comes from Copenhagen.

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Now, using their sense of wit, Brazilian netizens are embracing the trend. ‘‘Wearing my Havaianas in a very nice Brazilian way,’’ @manuchiconini wrote on TikTok, like many other Brazilians on the app.

Brazilians aren’t asking for much. Just that their products not be divorced from their roots and that the country’s contributions not be overlooked. Ultimately, fashion doesn’t need a European stamp of approval to be deemed good. Brazilians, too, are trendsetters. And the global rise of Havaianas in cities like Copenhagen and Paris is proof enough.

On September 11, the fashion industry turned its attention to the runways of New York City for the start of a new season. Meanwhile, in Brazil, former President Jair Bolsonaro was sentenced to 27 years in prison for attempting a coup d’état following his loss in the 2022 elections. Trust me when I say this has something to do with fashion. It does, because Vogue Brasil’s senior stylist, Zaza Pecego, posted several celebratory — periodt! — Instagram stories, one of which read: ‘‘I love it when fascists die in agony.’’

Although Pecego never mentioned anyone by name, right-wing politicians, notably federal congressman Nikolas Ferreira, who has quite a reputation, quickly and incorrectly associated her words with the death of American far-right commentator Charlie Kirk.

Responding to a statement by Vogue Brasil magazine, in which the publication talks about its commitment to freedom and respect, Ferreira wrote on X (aka Twitter) ‘‘are you going to fire her or just make a statement? Because it doesn’t do any good to write this and keep a person who defends the opposite. Zazá Pecego is your company’s Senior Stylist and she made a post referring to an innocent man, father of two children.’’

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Then, the drama escalated when Rio de Janeiro state representative Thiago Gagliasso entered the scene, condemning Pecego’s post as an act of “political violence.” Social media erupted: far-right politicians and public figures amplified the story, demanding that Vogue Brasil sever ties with the stylist. The irony? Pecego was harassed for a post that, under different circumstances, far-right extremists would defend as “freedom of expression” — that very card they often play to justify their misogynistic, racist, transphobic, and homophobic remarks.

Still, Vogue Brasil gave in. On September 15, Folha de S.Paulo confirmed the fallout: the company had fired Pecego. Frankly, their loss.

Within a day of the news breaking, after facing racist abuse, threats of sexual violence, and the exposure of her family’s personal information, the stylist released a statement to set the record straight. She clarified that her post was “purely and categorically a celebration of coup-plotting leaders being held criminally accountable for the acts that took place on January 8th,’’ having nothing to do with Kirk’s death. In fact, she didn’t know who he was until people started responding to her post. ‘‘I do not sympathize with, admire, or follow right-wing idols, especially the ones from the USA, so I don’t keep up with them,’’ Pecego explained. ‘‘Up until today, I had never once mentioned his [Kirk] name or anything related to him. I have also never celebrated his death or the suffering of his family.’’

The stylist stressed that the post was meant as a metaphor for what the former president embodies: fascism in its purest form. The evidence is written all over him. He glorifies violence and weapons, praises the torturers of the 1964 dictatorship — frequently expressing his wish to return to the “good old days” — vilifies social movements, and sustains a (fake) heroic image among his supporters. But most importantly in this case, of course, is his systematic use of disinformation to mobilize his base. Indeed, looking at what happened to Pecego shows that the snowballing effect isn’t random.

Like the rest of the far-right movement, Brazil’s is notoriously fueled by disinformation, clearly seen in Bolsonaro’s statements recommending chloroquine for the treatment of the Covid-19 virus, despite clear scientific evidence to the contrary.

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Similarly, while the case isn’t about science but about online posts, Ferreira, also notoriously known for weaponizing disinformation, doesn’t have any evidence that the stylist was referring to Kirk. A little critical thinking and simple logic reveals the obvious: among all the stories on the former president’s conviction, the final one — the post that set social media ablaze — never strayed from the same narrative. Pecego emphasizes how calculated right-wingers’ choice was to associate her post about fascists with Kirk, a move that, she argues, ‘‘how intentional misinterpretation is an extremely dangerous political act.’’

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Although the setting may change, the situation doesn’t. Take, for example, Karen Attiah, a former Washington Post columnist who was fired from the company after responding to the killing of Kirk. Following the shooting, Attiah shared a series of reflections on race and gun violence on Bluesky, which was seemingly too much for Jeff Bezos’s owned company. On her Substack, named ‘‘The Golden Hour,’’ Attiah laid bare what happened, addressing America’s troubling acceptance of political violence, the normalization of gun culture, and the absolution of white perpetrators. “Institutions may cancel me, but my pen and my teaching will not be silenced. If anything, my voice will be sharper now,” Attiah concluded in the newsletter.

Much like Attiah, Pecego stands by her political stance. ‘‘You can choose whichever political side you want, but YES, we should all be against fascism and the practices associated with it are, in fact, crimes in Brazil,’’ she stated.

On X, the debates around Pecego’s firing are still ongoing. @KikiMioBS, the mastermind behind the Instagram sensation @checkthetag, voiced her outrage at Vogue Brasil’s decision to bow to right-wing pressure rather than stand by their former employee. “I’m unfollowing the magazine on ALL of my profiles,’’ she wrote. The content creator didn’t stop there, urging her followers to ‘‘fire Vogue Brasil from your feeds,’’ effectively leading a boycott of the magazine. Eventually, Vogue Brasil blocked her. But @KikiMioBS is not losing any sleep over it. ‘‘Follow Zazá! Support the work of a BLACK woman who reached a position that has always been restricted to minorities, THROUGH QUALITY WORK AND TALENT, but lost because the Brazilian far-right prefers to focus on absurd imported agendas and not on the Brazilian people,’’ the content creator concluded.

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Brazil’s political climate remains turbulent — with Bolsonaro’s supporters protesting his arrest and pushing for clemency for coup plotters. Still, the Senate unanimously rejected the constitutional amendment on immunity for those criminals. Ultimately, Bolsonaro remains ineligible and convicted, which it’s a win for Brazil’s democracy and a powerful lesson in its preservation for other nations.

Regardless of whether it’s the start of a new fashion season — happy belated September, everyone! — or not, people are always talking about how fashion is so over. While this discourse is hardly news, especially when it comes to New York Fashion Week (iykyk), The Devil Wears Fashion isn’t here to talk about the death of fashion. At least not this week.

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Truth be told: I’m here for a roast. Not the VMAs’ red carpet, though I could easily do one of those, nor the Emmys, which I could also do. I’m here to talk about the fashion at the Venice Film Festival.

Contrary to what most people may think, some of the brightest minds in fashion do not believe that fashion fell short at this event. Gabriela, aka @blondiejpg, for instance, tells me that this year, she doesn’t think anyone missed the mark.

Gabriela is probably referring to Ayo Edebiri in Chanel, as well as Greta Lee and Mia Goth in Dior — very exciting pieces!

But when a gown or piece of clothing did overshadow the focus of the event it was not good. Case in point: actress Amanda Seyfried in a custom Prada gown. Fully embracing the coquette movement, the navy dress had oversized buttons running up the front to a strapless, bustier-style bodice, and a bright red bow at the chest.

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According to @chaoswintour, the look “drowned her,’’ since it had too much fabric. ‘‘The contrast of red and blue doesn’t work here either as it’s very harsh. A tone on tone may have been better. The separation between the layers is not well defined,”@chaoswintour concludes.

For the fashion commentator, there was another ‘‘Prada tragedy’’ at the event, this time involving director and actress Greta Gerwig. Her outfit featured a fresh Prada shirt and floral skirt that in @chaoswintour gave a ‘‘suburban mom garden barbecue’’ vibe. ‘‘The shirt looks very unkempt and the quilted skirt adds a lot of bulk that does not suit Greta at all,” @chaoswintour explains further.

According to Keicia Shanta, the communications director at Magic City Fashion Week, Laura Dern missed the mark in her Armani Privé gown. ‘‘Dern could have done without the beaded poncho overlay over the gown. I really didn’t like the hair. I would have opted for an up do and her accessories would have been more minimal for a more refined look,’’ Shanta confesses.

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Another look that disappointed Magic City Fashion Week’s communications director was actress Riley Keough’s Chloé outfit and Cartier jewelry. In Shanta’s words, ‘‘ her boho themed look was one that has been overly done and a complete miss for this major red carpet moment. Her look needed to be heavily edited, like more minimal jewelry, less ruffles, it was a lot going on.’’

What about you?Did you feel there were other looks that had a lot going on? Perhaps others that have missed the mark? Let me know in the comments!

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While TikTok may have started out as an alternative to Musical.ly, by the early 2020s, it had become the epitome of youth culture, with figures like Addison Rae and Charli D’Amelio entering the algorithm and the collective consciousness. Now, the platform is no longer just a place for goofy dances with viral songs and quirky lip-syncs, but it has become a significant spot for all things entertainment and lifestyle. Beauty, music, travel, fashion — you name it.

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It’s on TikTok that beauty dupes are circulated to dethrone celebrities and luxury products, where soap brows and blueberry milk nails serve as rites of passage, where ‘‘hidden gems’’ in tourist-filled cities still are overly photogenic, and where recipes, some edible and some less so, go viral overnight— think Gigi Hadid’s vodka pasta. But TikTok is also the place where sartorial trends, like the delicate and dreamy Balletcore, can rise from niche to mass in a flash. Indeed, the social media has played a significant role in shaping consumer behavior. But TikTok’s influence on taste isn’t without its critics.

Case in point: In all things sartorial, much is talked about consumerism, sustainability, and the working conditions involved in garment production. Still, many Millennials and Gen Zers wholeheartedly embrace short-lived trends, from the Labubu hanging in every bag to the failed attempt to emulate Caroline Bassette Kennedy's minimal and sleek style through dull Zara clothes.

Many fashion trends have walked TikTok halls. Some had their five — or ten — minutes of fame, while others were rapidly forgotten. Below, I’ve reimagined the platform’s most infamous and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it fads as (fake) films that you’d definitely watch — or hate-watch. Consider this the Letterboxd for the chronically online — just go easy on the reviews.

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Deadly Pink (Guava Girl)

With her rosy blushed cheeks and full guava pink wardrobe, Rose is endlessly adored. As a popular social media influencer whose brand is built on the shade, she shares glimpses of her dreamy life and seems to have it all. But when a user called @DeadlyPink starts sending her threatening messages and cryptic notes, as well as following her around, her pink-perfect world is turned upside down by fear and creeping paranoia. Convinced that she is in danger, Rose is determined to find out who is behind it all. But it can be more difficult than editing a picture for her Instagram.

ROAR (Mob Wife)

In this crime thriller, following the death of Mafia boss Giovanni Lombardini, his wife Alessandra gets cut off by his power-hungry, controlling family. Determined to prove that she can run the cartel better than they ever could, Alessandra recruits an all-female gang of Mafia widows and heiresses to take down the Lombardinis and take over the Italian criminal underworld.

Unclean (Clean Girl)

In a world obsessed with wellness and perfectionism, Amelia, a renowned fitness and inspirational influencer, discovers that her body is rejecting the extremely curated lifestyle that she has built her popular brand on, as her skin begins to mutate to an unrecognisable state. Seeking to rectify the situation and conceal her condition, she enters into an agreement with a clandestine clinic overseen by the enigmatic and mischievous Belladonna. But then, the price to be paid forces Amelia to radically step out of her comfort zone and abandon her lifestyle, transforming her life never the same again.

The Whisper of Wealth (Quiet Luxury)

Following the death of multinational fashion magnate Clarke Duval, his four daughters and newlywed wife must modernise the label and free it from its conservative ties, in order to make it the ultimate global fashion destination. Beneath their efforts lie secrets, power, money, and betrayal. Think of it as Succession for fashion connoisseurs.

Pomodoro (Tomato Girl)

Set in the Italian city of Cefalù in the 1980s, the most vivacious girl in town is poisoned with a Spaghetti al Pomodoro. Now, her friends and family must find out who did it.

The Game (Tennis Core)

A family of renowned tennis professionals are trapped on their private island after a cyber-attack, during which a vile hacker forces them to play a deadly game of tennis.

Mermaids (Mermaid Core)

On the peak of summer, Serena and her older sister, Marina, left the bustling city of Los Angeles behind after a tragic accident in search of a fresh start in their mother’s small coastal hometown, Azure Bay. Shortly after arriving, they met a charming and alluring girl named Aqua. Very close to their mother, Aqua introduced the sisters to the magical, deep blue sea of Azure Bay, bringing Serena and Marina a step closer — or a dive — to their mother’s secret.

Career Breaker (Office Siren)

After an HR fiasco, the young, new assistant Ivy embraces a bolder and more daring work style, challenging the office norm and Veronica, her devilish boss’ demands. At the same time, she becomes a worldwide fashion sensation, attracting new clients to the bureaucratic yet stylish company. But can two conflicting forces share the spotlight?

Joan of Met (Weirdieval)

Joan is a twenty-something New Yorker with an eccentric style who has garnered a large global following on social media. One day, when she decides to visit the Met Museum—not just to play Gossip Girl on the steps, but to actually look at the exhibition—Joan is enchanted by a dazzling silver suit of armor on display. Then, following her visit, she starts having recurring visions of how to overthrow the current dictatorial government in U.S. — and she would not yield.

More about Wintour’s semi-resignation here

Since Anna Wintour’s semi-resignation, fashion professionals and enthusiasts around the world have speculated about who would be appointed during this dramatic, Succession-esque moment. After rumors flooded Lauren Sherman's Puck newsletter, Vogue announced today, Tuesday, September 2, that Chloe Malle, previously the online editor and co-host of its podcast The Run Through, would be the new Head of Editorial Content for the U.S. magazine.

‘‘Fashion is the art of embracing change, but some changes are closer to the heart than others. When the time came to hire someone to edit American Vogue, allowing me to focus more intensely on Vogue’s multifaceted growth among its global audiences and publications and events like the Met Gala and Vogue World, I knew I had a chance to get it right,’’ Anna Wintour explained in a statement about her decision.

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Malle has been in the media industry for quite some time. After graduating, she began as an intern at the New York Observer before quickly rising to reporter, a role she held until 2011. Her voice soon found its way into the pages of the New York Times Style section and Vogue, marking the start of her ascent through fashion’s editorial ranks.

When an opening for “social editor” at Vogue appeared, Malle seized the opportunity —and landed it. By 2016, she had ascended to contributing editor. In 2022, she expanded her reach, co-hosting The Run-Through with Vogue alongside Chioma Nnadi, the former editor of Vogue.com and now head of editorial content at British Vogue.

Balancing her roles as editor, podcast host, and occasional fashion icon, Malle cemented her reputation as one to watch. And now, in 2025, she has stepped into her most illustrious role yet.

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While many fashion fans are thrilled to see Malle as Wintour’s successor, considering all she has done since 2011, not everyone is happy with the appointment. ‘‘Nepo baby as the new Head of Editorial Content as US Vogue…,’’ fashion commentator @jacquemusx wrote on X, AKA Twitter.

Daughter of actress Candice Bergen — yes, that Candice Bergen, the one who played Enid, the Vogue editor in Sex and the City who hated Carrie Bradshaw’s accessories-as-men analogy — and French filmmaker Louis Malle, Vogue’s new Head of Editorial Content certainly comes from a prestigious family. But then again, so did Anna Wintour.

All this fuss doesn’t feel right. Yes, she came from a prominent family. But she has been working with Vogue since 2011. With nearly 15 Vogue years under her belt, it would be an understatement to say that Malle is skilled. She has proven that she is more than qualified for the role with her experience as editor of the online publication, which delivers resonant and engaging content — albeit with its challenges.

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Most importantly, she is a writer. Of course, good imagery is crucial for both online and print magazines. But so are words — especially in times like these when anti-intellectualism has dominated the zeitgeist. As @flyrebel puts it, ‘‘commissioning great stories for digital (and print), having a list of phenomenal writers adds so much to a magazine.’’

With a writer on the magazine’s throne, the odds of literacy, attention to detail, and accurate text interpretation are much higher. While the editorial imagery remains to be seen — though many hope for a refresh, moving beyond gray backdrops and figures that too often flirt with conservatism — Vogue’s future seems bright with Malle at the forefront.

On Wednesday, August 27, Vogue Magazine announced that its app would now require a subscription. ‘‘Starting this week, we’ll be launching a digital subscription on the Vogue App. This change will allow us to continue delivering high-quality content and an even better app experience for you,’’ the statement read. ‘‘Runway content will now be available exclusively to subscribers. This helps support the work of our team and ensures we can keep bringing you the content you rely on.’’

Online, people aren’t happy about the app’s transition to a paywall. ‘‘I already unsubscribed from receiving paper copies and now they’re going to charge viewing the digital runway? Shame on you @voguemagazine you are far from the iconic fashion bible. Just another cash grab.’’ @daImatinka wrote on X — AKA Twitter. But can they be blamed?

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Now, only subscribers who pay $12 per year can access runway shows, reviews, street style photography, and Vogue’s image archive. As a result, debates have emerged ranging from accessibility to inclusion.

It was refreshing when Vogue opened up access to iconic runway shows from past decades, giving younger generations a chance to relive moments they never could have witnessed firsthand. But now, that has been thrown out the window. Of course, there are other apps that offer access, from Tagwalk to First View. But what kind of tone is Vogue setting as a magazine that claims to be all about inclusivity?

As a journalism student, I have learned the hard way that most media companies are little interested in the pursuit of truth. They care about money. And in this economy, who doesn’t? Sure, one could argue that the post-media landscape is tough on nearly every publication, including Vogue, the legendary publication that has taken the air from fashion lovers — myself included — for as long as they can remember.

But Vogue’s subscription profits are just one slice of its revenue pie. The magazine also earns from advertising, sponsored content, and the ever-lucrative Met Gala — an event that, according to BoF, brought in $16.4 million in 2021. Against that backdrop, it’s easy to see why the general public — especially students and twenty-somethings — feel disillusioned. After all, the global economy is in disarray, and many young people are struggling just to cover their bills.

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This whole debate instantly calls to mind Succession — when a defensive, doe-eyed Kendall Roy asks his harsh father, Logan, ‘‘What are you going to do with your five bil? Put it on the pile with all your other fucking bil?’’ To which Logan shrugs, ‘‘Mm-hmm. Probably, yeah.’’ That exchange neatly captures the essence of Vogue’s seemingly harmless paywall. It wasn’t implemented out of necessity, but purely for more profit.

@powerbottoming believes this is not too much. “$12 isn’t bad for an archive resource like VR, esp[ecially] considering they’ve been expanding their catalogue,” the netizen wrote on X. But then, it all comes down to perspective. Some might say that $12 isn’t that much. However, that’s only true for Americans or Europeans, whose currencies have a greater value than others. In my home country, Brazil, $12 equals R$649.66. And that’s a lot. That’s a huge grocery bill depending on what you buy with things that could last up to a month. And I am only considering my country — imagine other countries in Latin America, Africa, or Asia that may be experiencing a similar math situation. Should they give up their monthly budget to channel Carrie Bradshaw and act as if Vogue fed them more?

Easy, Ana. Just don’t subscribe! Here we go again with the accessibility debate. I recently wrote an article for Fashionista about the rise of digital fashion archivists and how figures like @schiaparelli.archive, @archivealive, and @blackfashionarchive are making fashion more accessible.

If a few weeks ago I wrote that the archives had been laid bare for all to see, I was mistaken. Now, they have since slipped back behind closed doors — accessible only with monetary currency, even if not too much for some. It reeks of elitism, the very thing fashion has long claimed to resist, yet always seems destined to circle back to, like a permanent plateau. It’s the fashionistas from marginalized countries who will feel the most. And that is not random, it is a predictable outcome of an industry long dominated by elitism, exclusivity, and Euro-American centrism.

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You can tell yourself whatever you need to in order to fall asleep. But the truth is that all the clamor for fashion to return to ‘‘how it was’’ has not landed on its artistry — just take a look at recent Vogue covers. It has actually centered on its long exclusivity.

Campy, kaleidoscopic, eye-catching, and bold, Emilio Pucci prints stand out from miles away. ‘‘Pucci print is art and has such a deep history in the fashion world,’’ Jyoti Sheath, the founder of Not Another London, states.

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History indeed it has. Emilio Pucci founded the brand in 1947 and opened the first boutique in Capri in 1950. An adventurer at heart, the designer was back and forth from Florence to his favorite destinations. Naturally, the Pucci woman reflected that spirit. She was vibrant, modern, and carefree — dressing appropriately, with bold, joyful prints, and an effortless glamour that earned him the title of Prince of Prints.

The prints might be swirling and vivid. But they are much more than that. ‘‘Puccy’s legacy is rooted in escapism,’’ Keicia Shanta, Communications Director at Magic City Fashion Week, explains. ‘‘It’s a brand that has always delivered sunshine, glamour, and movement in fabric form.’’

Its appeal lies not only in its escapism status, but also in the label’s reputation as a pioneer in the use of new fabrics and innovative cuts, according to celebrity stylist Amanda Massi. Even more so, the label reflects the times. ‘‘His work resonated with the spirit of the 1960s and 70s, a time marked by social change and a departure from traditional fashion norms. The playful use of color and pattern in his collections allowed individuals to express their uniqueness during a transformative era,’’ shares Massi.

Now, Pucci is trending again, with many TikTok girlies fully embracing the so-called Emilio Pucci Summer, digging through their mothers' closets in search of a vibrant gem. Still, not everyone is on board. Content creator, @Zoeastwart, voiced her distaste for the trend, calling it “Pucci blindness” and saying that “everyone will look the same.” Her video quickly went viral, with the comments section echoing her sentiment, stating the prints are far too eye-catching and risk feeling oversaturated.

Over on X (formerly Twitter), the High Fashion Twitter subcommunity has also weighed in, though with a sharper eye. ‘‘People on TikTok hate Pucci prints sooo much and I really don’t get why it’s so fun,’’ fashion commentator Linda Sumbu posted. Most fashionistas on the platform, it appears, blame the minimalism-loving Zoomers, who have an insatiable appetite for an understated, quiet sartorial mood embraced by most celebrities — a far contrast from Pucci’s vibrant prints. The founder of Not Another London, isn’t familiar with Pucci-hating — but she suspects that those who do may simply be unable to access the trend. But there is more to it.

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As Massi tells me, industry reports and analyses show that many high-fashion brands that were once considered exclusive have been embraced by a younger clientele. Pucci, once exclusive, is now being worn en masse — and that bothers people. What was once a symbol of glamour — the kind you’d see on a Y2K glitzy MILF who exuded an air of indulgence and vacations to the French Riviera or Sicily — is now everywhere, laid bare on Instagram feeds. ‘‘The more a once exclusive brand saturates the public eye, the faster it loses its air of unattainability,’’ Shanta notes.

While fashion has seemingly evolved, opening the door to improvements in democratization and accessibility, that doesn’t mean everyone’s evolved with it. In fact, many still cling to the allure of exclusivity, which both defines Pucci’s appeal and fuels its backlash. As Shanta puts it, ‘‘once a brand like Pucci goes from private jet to everyone’s Instagram feed, it stops feeling exclusive. Overexposure is the quickest way to spark a backlash.’’

But Pucci’s problem is not only its compromised exclusivity; it’s also the current state of fashion, which has completely accelerated fashion cycles. ‘‘What once took years to saturate now happens in a matter of weeks,’’ Shanta explains. We’ve seen this film before: LongChamp Le Plaige Bags, Miu Miu miniskirts, and so on.

It’s like a paradox — people wear Pucci for what it symbolizes: wealth, luxury, acceptance, and the fantasy of a sun-kissed, sea-salted, and effortlessly glamorous Euro summer. Yet, that same symbolism becomes diluted when it’s suddenly everywhere. The magic fades when everyone has access to what was once a secret.

There are, naturally, more reasons to explain Pucci-hating. Despite the semi-resurgence of Pucci among some people, the general fashion landscape looks very neutral, very sleek — especially amidst an economically, politically, and socially messy world. ‘‘In these moments, people tend to choose safe over statement,’’ says Shanta. ‘‘Maximalism, with its bold colors and opulent patterns, can be perceived as out of touch when the collective energy is about conserving, blending in, or preparing for uncertainty.’’

In a feed ruled by simplicity, Pucci comeback clashes with the current, predominant aesthetic. While Gen Z is supposed to be in favor of personal style, social media has completely changed the way they consume fashion, which profoundly impacts their own identities. They want to be accepted, to emulate certain characteristics that certain celebrities exude. And these desires, although entirely legitimate, affect the way fashion is consumed and reproduced.

Sadly, since a glamourized neon version of the 2000s experienced a boom during the pandemic, we have not looked camp right in the eye for quite some time now. In an age where TikTok algorithm is pushing beige over brights, celebrities are oozing whispers of wealth, and some designer shows feel more like wakes, few are the ones to dare and step out of the convention. For Jeremy Hoye, founder of Jeremy Hoye Jewelry, the issue is that many fashion brands get maximalism wrong — reducing it to ‘‘more is more,’’ ripping off storytelling, and embracing it just because it is trending among some.

Maximalism is not for everyone, as different styles do coexist. The problem is the current moment we are living in, a general herd effect where everyone dresses, looks, and acts the same — following trend cycles as cult leaders somehow.

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But there is a light after the tunnel. ‘‘People are tired of being sold the same,’’ Hoye confessed, particularly noticing in the jewelry world how a large part of Zoomers are moving towards maximalist accessories. ‘‘As people tire of seeing the same minimalist carbon copies, individuals on either end of the bell curve will always seek designs that make them stand out from the crowd.’’ From chunky jewelry to bright colors, maximalist fashion is bubbling away and will be back. Maybe Pucci is just the start.

P.S. This is a semi-satirical article, so don't take anything too seriously. Or do.

In an ever-changing world highly influenced by social media, trends no longer gradually emerge; they explode virally and spontaneously. Case in point: Open TikTok, swipe a few videos, and you’ll see someone with a Labubu, Blackpink Lisa’s favorite plush toy chain that looks like if a bad gremlin from Joe Dante’s Gremlins had a kid with a Furby, those furry owl-meets-hamster toys that were all the rage in the 2010s. The nature of the content may vary — it could be an unboxing video, a display of someone’s collection, or simply the furry plush with scary-yet-cheeky eyes adorning someone’s purse — yet, Labubus are everywhere. And we’ve seen this film before.

Labubus, Stanley Cups, Longchamp Le Pliage bags, Sonny Angels, Adidas Sambas — our object of obsession might change, but they are all the same: once niche, now everywhere, flooding our screens. While you might tell yourself that consuming these is a way to preserve your individuality, don’t fool yourself. In this age, in this society that’s always chasing what’s the next big thing, owning whatever is the latest It accessory of the moment might not demonstrate your passion for fashion and creative quirkiness, but rather an impressive ability to follow an algorithm.

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Although each of these items often represents vastly different consumer tribes, essentially, their appeal relies on algorithmic popularity, which suggests a high trend literacy. And nowadays, that can be everything. Whether it’s that plush collectible friend or that bag that haunts your university — iykyk — what does your It item say about you, besides that you scroll and you shop?

The Terminally Online Hoarder (Labubu)

Quirky, (once) niche, and always eye-catching. Your obsession with Labubu reflects your playful side, the shopaholic tendencies in your personality that you probably spent all your life blaming on your zodiac sign, and how terminally online you are as an adult. It’s a cry for help, or at least, a desperate need for a therapy session.

Performative Minimalist (Longchamp Le Pliage bag)

You are always chasing the latest trends. I know that because I’ve studied with many performative minimalists. For you, the appeal of the Longchamp Le Pliage bag lies in its old money, quiet luxury reputation that took 2022 by storm. While the wealth whispers might have vanished, you still use it for work or university because Le Pliage is in fact practical. But sometimes, deep down, you wonder if you look like a suburban housewife with five kids. No judgment, though.

The Sipfluencer (Stanley Cup)

A certified influencer and wellness freak who never counts the number of vitamins taken because it would be just too much, you think your Stanley Cup has become part of your identity. You treat this enormous, flashy cup like your favorite accessory — it’s a Birkin for the chronically online Clean girl. You probably never had the habit to drink water before, but now you say to yourself: ‘‘With this cup, I can do it!’’ Your water intake might have grown but so did your mouth pain for sipping too much. Hydrated, at least!

The Model-off-duty Cosplayer (Adidas Samba)

You are obsessed with Bella Hadid’s style, which is perfectly understandable. In an attempt to exude her coolness and playful, eccentric style, you embrace her favorite athletic footwear. But some things work only for Bella. Trust me.

The One With the Carrie Complex (Bottega Veneta Jodie Mini Bag)

You often mistake luxury for personality. But at least you’re having fun. As a self-proclaimed maximalist, you strut through the streets as if they’re your own runway. Naturally, you carry your Bottega Veneta Jodie mini bag — which is most likely fake — convinced that you’re a trendsetter, until you see five other girls dressed the same way as you within the same block.

The Wannabe Fairy (Sonny Angels)

You live your life as if it were an indie movie. Your Sonny Angels are basically the supporting cast, probably because you don’t have real friends. You see them as your confidants and lucky charms — because who else would listen to your 3 a.m existential crises? Still, you are in the look for an elusive meaningful connection, one you think you would find once you moved to a remote cottage near a forest, and befriended the birds and squirrels. You dubbed yourself a fairy when honestly, you are like everyone else with a penchant for Winx and Tinkerbell. I don’t know why but you must have bangs. It’s the wannabe fairy charm.

The Glossed, Goop Connoisseur (Rhode LipCase)

You claim to be low-maintenance and a true minimalist, but you actually have a four-step routine just for your lips. Your idea of a bare face includes three to five serums and the classic no-makeup makeup look. Rhode’s phone lip case has become part of your personality, which comes off as underwhelming to those around you. You act like a mix of a Goop expert and a nine-year-old who loves BeautyTok, Sephora, and Erewhon. You say you’re a creative director when you're actually jobless. But your lips? Pure perfection.

The Bold Type (Miu Miu Mini Skirt)

You own four pairs of Miu Miu miniskirts, though you’re not sure why. You pretend to be into Dark Academia just for the vibe. Still, with great dedication, you love your legs, and they are treated better than anyone else in your life. It’s likely that you do yoga, Pilates or even the gym, since sitting in a miniskirt requires the sort of flexibility and willpower that only a Cirque du Soleil performer would possess. Sometimes you wonder if you took the ‘‘less is more’’ mantra way too seriously. But then you remember: Paris Hilton has always been your spirit animal, sharing lessons like ‘‘that’s hot’’ and ‘‘skirts should be the size of a belt’’ — so say it was meant to be.

While casually revisiting the collections from last Haute Couture season, I found myself wondering: who would wear these designs best? Naturally, I decided to cut to the chase and play stylist in my own room. This week at The Devil Writes Fashion, this writer has selected some couture outfits that would be worn best by celebrities.

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I don’t mean to brag, but I think I did a pretty good job. Stylists, feel free to take notes — or just enjoy the view.

Zendaya

Naturally, Law Roach *must* put Zendaya in this Fall/Winter 2025 Maison Margiela gown for the Dune: Part Three premiere. No one does method dressing quite like her. That’s why this dress fits: it exudes a theatrical, cool, desert-like vibe and is bona fide fabulous, just like Z. I think they were meant to be.

Anya-Taylor Joy

Same collection and same movie — I want to see the girlies matching. Anya is also a fashion girl in her own right. Margiela suits her fine!

Ariana Grande

This Elie Saab pink dress reminds me slightly of The Wizard of Oz’s Glinda’s dress. Ariana would rock this in Wicked: Part Two.

Cynthia Erivo

As for Cynthia, I would love to see her in this dress from Saab that has pink and green flowers shining together. Indeed, pink and green go well together.

Sabrina Carpenter

This Elie Saab dress may not be short, but sweet it is. It also resembles the Old Hollywood sartorial vibe that the singer has been channeling for some time.

Elle Fanning

These two looks — on the left is Iris van Herpen and on the right is Ronald van der Kemp — feel very Effie Trinket-early-years to me. I would love to see Elle wearing the Ronald’s mustard suit at a press event and Iris’s gown at the premiere of the upcoming Hunger Games film.

Bella Hadid

As Bella is the ultimate horse girl, I can just picture her in this Schiaparelli bustier gown, which resembles a horse’s saddle. It just makes sense! Where would she wear it, you ask? I don’t know. On a red carpet moment? Or while watching her beau compete? On a casual walk? Honestly, wherever she wears it, it will suit her.

Lily-Rose Depp

I know. This Robert Wun gown would have hit so hard at the Nosferatu premiere. Still, Lily is in talks to star in another Robert Eggers production, Werwulf. Yes, vampires crave blood, but if a werewolf attacked someone, it would probably cause a big mess too, turning a white gown red. So, I’m just saying...

Simone Ashley

Simone Ashley as a Bond girl when?! When the timing is right, this dramatic and sultry Zuhair Murad’s dress will be perfect for her.

Rihanna

This Schiaparelli dress, inspired by Salvador Dalí costume design for Dream of Venus — as shared by @schiaparelliarchive — screams Rihanna. It has a sultry and playful vibe with a fashion-killa twist. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Rihanna wearing it on the red carpet.

Ayo Edebiri

I don’t know where or when it would be worn, but I know that Ayo would look amazing in this Robert Wun dress.

Meryl Streep

Groundbreaking florals in The Devil Wears Prada 2 premiere. That’s cinema.

Outfits I DON’T Want to See Anyone Wearing (Derogatory)

This is a warning by the way.

It seems like just yesterday that a sequel to The Devil Wears Prada was announced, and now it is already filming. Thanks to snippets of actress Anne Hathaway — who plays the fan-favorite naïve Andy Sachs—strutting down New York, the film’s production couldn’t be more public. Unsurprisingly, the outfits drew netizens attention.

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Picture it: Andy said bye-bye to her bangs, and now, on her way to work, she wears a structured, pinstriped, vintage Jean Paul Gaultier suit vest and matching pants, carrying a Coach Saddle Pouch. For a casual afternoon, her go-to outfit is a Toteme tank top, an AGOLDE denim maxi skirt, and Chanel Velcro sandals. Another option is a zip-up denim jumpsuit by Re/Done, styled with the Chanel sandals—no more Chanel boots, apparently! Lastly, on a sunny day, she carries luggage in one hand and wears a multicolored Gabriela Hearst patchwork maxi dress, Chloé platform sandals, a Basket Forty8 handbag, and an ivory crochet bucket hat. Besides the luggage, another item caught my eye: a beige garment bag that read ‘‘Runway.’’

If you don’t remember, here’s a refresher: In the first movie, Andy leaves Runway Magazine, storms out and throws her work phone in a Paris fountain, gets an interview at the New York Mirror, receives accolades from her former boss, and continues to chase her dream of becoming a journalist. Now, glimpses of the sequel where she carries a Runway garment bag might indicate something new. Is she coming back to Runway? Or, in the end, Runway never left her?

Even if Andy isn’t working with Miranda and Runway anymore, her fashion choices — from the Jean Paul Gaultier office masterpiece to the boho denim maxi skirt — made one thing clear: you can’t take Runway out of a girl.

Although the hype surrounding the upcoming movie is growing more and more, whether thanks to the return of the main cast or the inclusion of new actors such as Simole Ashley, Lucy Liu, Justin Theroux, and Pauline Chalamet, Andy’s (Hathaway) outfits are not being received as warmly by some netizens.

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Back in the first movie, most fashionistas — myself included — were big admirers of Andy’s sartorial choices as she tried to impress her boss. Still, those looks were just choices, not truly Andy’s aesthetic as we see in the beginning and the end of the movie. Through Chanel boots, berets, high-end blazers, and luxury heels, all she did was try to keep her job, avoid creating a rivalry with one of the most powerful women in the media and fashion business, and ultimately, fit in.

Andy left Runway transformed — both mentally and sartorially. In the second film, despite the critiques seen online directed towards the character’s outfits, this sartorial metamorphosis is evident. Now, she ditched the cerulean sweater and librarian skirt to make room for her wardrobe of high-fashion labels, such as Jean Paul Gaultier, Chanel, and Gabriela Hearst. Despite these labels’ higher social value and price tag, Andy’s combination and selection of pieces is very much her own: comfortable, genuine, creative, and balanced between free-spirited and structured.

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It’s still unclear what awaits Andy in the sequel — the runway garment bag might hint that she is back, or is just a coincidence. So far, all it’s known is Emily’s triumphant future as a luxury executive and Miranda’s challenges in the wake of the decline of print media. But based on Andy's comfy, more quirky, not-very-liked — specifically the bucket hat —, yet still high-priced outfits, she is finally embracing what she likes fashion-wise, wherever and whoever she is working in and with.