This nostalgia wasn’t tied to my own experiences, but instead to what I imagined adulthood would look like. As one commenter on the TikTok put it, “this is the life I was promised.” When I was growing up, my mom maintained a social life that was completely her own, which, in hindsight, was incredibly important for me to witness. I’d watch her every move while getting ready for girls’ nights; she’d unearth treasures that never appeared in her usual routine of work and shuttling me between school, various lessons, and playdates. There were glitzy little clutches, snake-print boots, slinky halter tops, skinny jeans, and dangly earrings. When one thing was tried on and discarded for something else, I made haste to scoop it up and put it on for a spin around the bedroom. I was a child eager for a crumb of grown-woman glamour! There were even a couple of times, while heading home from a family function that ran late, that my mom indulged me by stopping into the parking lot of a nightclub on our route. We’d sit in the car and watch people strut in and out, talking about (critiquing) their outfits.

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When I came across Tankair’s latest SS26 post, it became clear that this burst of nostalgia wasn’t going to fade anytime soon. Tankair pieces always achieve a satisfying simplicity, with details that delight the wearer (like collarbone-framing necklines and thick, ribbed waistbands meant to be worn low-rise). But what struck me most about this drop was how it was styled. There were plenty of platform stilettos, stacks of bangles, splashes of neon, and even baubles. It felt eerily familiar, yet never crossed into late-aughts/early-2010s cosplay. Seeing a pair of patent stilettos styled with a low-rise skirt — rather than a bandage dress or the business casual of yore — feels fresh and totally wearable today. Similarly, it was revelatory seeing a strapless column dress styled with a pair of baubled sandals. Around this time last year, Liana Satenstein mentioned the subtle resurgence of the Jenna Lyons-era J.Crew bubble necklace. It was intriguing, but I couldn’t see an entry point in accordance with my style — Tankair shifted my perspective.

Ultimately, I have my sights set on the waterfall poncho. (Call me crazy, but I kinda want to wear it with a Bumbit ponytail…) Its asymmetrical slouchy-slinkiness reminds me of my mom’s clubwear. But it also made me want to investigate other foundational references that made these recent discoveries so evocative for me.

I went down a rabbit hole of music videos spanning 2006-2012, trying to pinpoint the moment of interest — hazy with time — in my mind. What I was seeking wasn’t as quirky as Y2K, nor as glossy as McBling. And despite the previous mention of neon, it wasn’t as hedonistic as indiesleaze. What I found was this narrow window between the sexy, sweaty, clubby mid-aughts (think: “Promiscuous”) and the booming electropop machine of the early 2010s (think: “Party Rock Anthem”). This moment had edge instead of quirk, shine instead of gloss, and rigor instead of hedonism. It was futuristic in a way that now feels quaint because it was still quite human. It was ‘08/’09, baby!!! The vibe was retrofuturesexy!!!

Post-deep dive, it seemed obvious that the retrofuturesexy moment coincided with the Bumpit release, but there were earlier hints of what was to come. I hate to give Justin Timberlake any credit, but he did name his 2006 album FutureSex/LoveSounds. And in 2007, we got this delicious silver surfer freak in Rihanna’s video for “Umbrella.” But 2008 is when the retrofuturesexy aesthetic was truly defined, courtesy of Beyoncé’s I AM…SASHA FIERCE. It is a concept double album, with one set of songs tender and vulnerable, and the other an unreproachable victory lap. The great Peter Lindbergh captured this dichotomy gorgeously for the album artwork; the front cover is a portrait of Bey all skin, and the back cover is her fully glam alter ego flexing a cyborg hand. (Her hair is poufed in both shots!) Nearly all of the images and videos for the album were shot in black and white, which really solidified this release and rollout as a cultural moment.

If you’re currently of drinking age or older, there’s a very high chance you have the "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” video permanently seared into your cerebral cortex. That’s because it’s simply one of the most iconic music videos of all time.

The video look weaves time in a really impressive way. The hair feels precisely of its moment, but the robotic hand reaches into the future, meanwhile, the clingy, asymmetrical bodysuit is arguably a club staple that’s probably hung on the racks of Mystique Boutique for the past 30 years in some form or another.

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I’d be remiss if I didn’t touch on Beyoncé’s “Diva” video as well. Upon rewatching, my 2026 eyes found her first look — the most quotidian outfit in the video — to be incredibly aspirational. I mean, at nearly 6 feet tall, you won’t catch me in platform stilettos. Ever. But I will try distressed jeans, a white tee, and a snatched leather jacket this fall. I’d like to sub in glistening fringe earrings for the metal tassel sunglasses.

There’s also a great Bumpit hair moment (at 2:11):

And super gaggy platform wedges by Gareth Pugh (at 0:45). Although the recent looks don’t speak to me, I love that Beyoncé and Pugh still collaborate all these years later (exhibit A, B, C).

In 2009, the video for “Sweet Dreams" was released, which rounds out the I AM…SASHA FIERCE video trifecta. Many core retrofuturesexy characteristics are present: slinky-clubby dresses, platform stilettos, futuristic hardware (that gold Mugler bodysuit!):

But my favorite item from this video is the slashed, chrome bodysuit. I want to find something similar; it would be so sexy with jeans for a night out.

Lastly, I’d like to give honorable mentions to Ciara’s “Love Sex Magic" and Shakira’s “She Wolf.” They’re both bona fide, 2009 testaments to retrofuturesexy.

Unfortunately, by 2010, the Black Eyed Peas started running around with full-fledged robots in their music videos (exhibit A and B). Once subtlety was lost, so was the “sexy” in retrofuturesexy. It just became future-porn, which is lame.

However, I feel it’s my duty to restore order; I’m shopping like it’s 2009. You’re welcome to join me…

• Well…Bumpits, of course

• Emily Dawn Long fringe clutch

• Chrome bodysuit

• Jaw-dropping, jaw-length fringe earrings

• A clubby, clingy little dress

• A slinky slouchy little dress

• An itty bitty, drapey dress

• Gareth Pugh snatchy leather jacket

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Head: The New York Film Festival (and the lush days and nights built around it)

The New York Film Festival, which runs for a few weeks between September and October, is a delightful opportunity to sharpen the mind post-Summer haze and ogle dazzling ensembles. My dear friend Stephanie interned at NYFF during our Barnard days, and we’ve kept a tradition of seeing (at least) one film at each festival for nearly a decade. Every year we meet at Lincoln Center to watch and analyze movies, and gush over well-dressed actors and directors during Q&A’s. My holy trinity of NYFF films: Moonlight, Uncut Gems, and Bones and All. My holy trinity of NYFF sightings: Taylor Russell, Chloë Sevigny, and Alexander Skarsgärd.

Last year, in addition to seeing Pillion with Steph, I scored a 9 am solo ticket for Sentimental Value. I found the film to be a compelling look at the power that current and distant familial bonds have over us. Also, Stellan Skarsgård is funny as hell! Since the screening was so early, I decided I’d make a day of the uptown trek, punctuated, of course, with a great fall outfit. I wore a shrunken Sandy Liang fleece, my favorite straight-leg denim, a vintage Comme des Garçons bag, and my beloved ballet pumps. After the movie, I walked across Central Park, taking in the last of the lush greens before the leaves turned ablaze. On the Upper East Side, I went to The Row to get a closer look at the Penelope mule’s elegantly rounded square-toe and tried on a few things at STILL HERE’s Madison Ave shop, which also has a great vintage curation. With better planning, I would have also made a reservation at Cafe Sabarsky for würste and a stunning slice of cake. I’ll get it right this year!

For evening screenings, I’d recommend PJ Clarke’s for a little Mad Men freak — be sure to finish off the meal with a brownie sundae. Or for lighter fare, there’s Sala Thai a few blocks north

Neck: Scarves and collars

I’ve written about being detail-oriented with my décolletage; as a busty woman, I try to keep things simple and orderly up top. Essentially, I don’t want any visual mess, so I typically avoid necklaces, bra strap visibility, etc. So it feels incredibly contradictory to share that I’m very eager to wear scarves this fall. Historically, scarves have been function over form for me, but lately they seem aesthetically appealing.

This desire is primarily being stoked by the Prada fur collar that’s been burning a hole in my closet since April. I found it on The RealReal, new with tags, for about eight times less than very similar options on the Prada website right now (here and here). I’m imagining styling the collar with a deep V-neck long sleeve; concealing my neck and arms will create a cut-out effect at the neckline that feels intentional rather than busy.

Also, honorable mention for my vintage Jean Paul Gaultier scarf that is adorned with a metal cross. When I wear it, I feel a little naughty and baller à la Archbishop Gilday from The Godfather Part III.

Torso: Plaid shirts

Plaid for fall is just as groundbreaking as florals for spring, or gingham for summer — you can roll your eyes, I deserve it. But what if I told you I’m releasing myself from the shackles of novelty? Frankly, plaid feels incredibly comforting right now. Maybe it’s because I just rediscovered this photo of my twenty-something parents looking incredibly grunge while expecting me. Maybe it’s because the vying plaid and tropical floral bedding from the Tekla x Stüssy collab was seared into my brain a year ago. Maybe it’s because these thrashed jeans will show up on my doorstep in a few days. Whatever it may be, I’m on the hunt for the platonic ideal of a plaid flannel.

I have a check flannel from Bode in my possession, but it’s more quirked-up due to the lack of buttons. I nearly sent it to The RealReal because its cost per wear is incredibly insulting (I’m to blame). But I’m holding out hope that this fall will turn things around.

Arms: Artsy craftsy bags

Beyond being in the market for my daily driver black bag, I find myself exclusively lusting after bags of the woven variety. Bags that typically scream summer and should have zero relevance to my fall desires. (What is being human if not being packed to the brim with contradictions?) However, I recently stumbled upon a mirror selfie of mine from 2018 that convinced me otherwise. If I recall correctly, I was giving normcore — or my perception of it — a try. In the photo I’m wearing a black cardi over a white ribbed tank, standard-issue black Dickies with a black belt, a red bandana on my head, small silver J.Hannah hoops, and a mesh market bag. I adore the restraint of the look; the accessories become distinct and opulent contrasted against the ordinariness of the rest of the outfit. I want to replicate this in the coming months, maybe with this wonky woven bag or this leather-accented basket.

Legs: Fishnets and leg warmers

I want to wear fishnets in outfits that aren’t trying to be sexy. I’m picturing a crewneck sweater, a knee-length skirt, then boom: fishnets. Or a cardigan, my nearly-baggy Evisu jeans, and a little fishnet-foot peeking out with ballet flats.

Conversely, I want to wear leg warmers to sex up casual outfits. I’m imagining a nondescript oversized top, leggings, leg warmers, and a kitten heel. Extreme Cashmere is my north star:

Toes: UGG boots

The irony is not lost on me that I started this story talking about fall as the time for me to “really start dressing” and I’m ending it talking about UGGs. But, I’ve got the nerve and the gall — who’s going to stop me?

While back home upstate last winter, I commandeered my mom’s foldover shearling UGG boots. She was using them as snow shoveling beaters (one man’s trash…). They were probably my most-worn shoes of the season, and I’m excited to get back to them. They add such lovely texture to the most mundane looks. To that end, I’m considering adding a distressed leather pair to my rotation.

That brings my silly little sartorial anatomy lesson to a close. Please tell me what you’re yearning for this fall, and why, in the comments.

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On more than one occasion, I’ve experienced panic when entering a room and noticing sets of eyes drawn to my neckline. It’s frustrating to unintentionally rouse a certain kind of attention, knowing if someone with a smaller cup size wore what I’m wearing (or less), it would be considered appropriate. Or even perceived as neutral, not even considered consciously at all. Whether we like it or not, we read each other’s bodies, project meaning onto them, and come to conclusions about the individuals within. I wish I could let that fact roll off my back and find solace in being the outright owner of my body. But that’s not typically the case; I’m simply too perceptive (another blessing and curse sitch).

To that end, I was recently overcome with sympathy while watching Love Island. Not because of the horrors that persist — like compulsory toe-sucking — throughout this pursuit of “romance.” But instead, due to the havoc those lavalier necklace mics wreak on the décolletage. I would have a full-blown crash out if I put on a strapless top, slicked my hair into an updo, and thoughtfully selected a dangly earring, only for that elegance to be muddled beyond recognition by a thick-ass mic. I detest distractions that hack at a silhouette. That sort of disarray overwhelms my senses (there’s the curse).

A long sleeve that does not reach beyond the wrist: hack job!

Ankle boots styled with anything but full-length pants: hack job!

A bra strap invading a boatneck neckline: hack job!

These are the kinds of details I obsess over, determining whether I feel awkward or embodied, and distinguishing great outfits from good ones (and there’s the blessing).

So, zeroing in on bras, cleavage, and the décolletage, I’ve found that I’m most comfortable when what I reveal of my bust is measured. I relate to the math Lynette Nylander shared in her Habiter feature: “If I’m doing a mini, then I have to cover the top up. It’s either legs or boobs.” Balance is key. Balance is also what makes the two bras I’m devoting this piece to so significant in my wardrobe. They operate in a sweet spot between sexy and functional, making them bona fide styling tools, rather than “risqué” “unmentionables.” (I promise I’m not a prude, just self-conscious.)

Web surfing brought me to the Charlie Beads site, where I discovered my blue striped cotton poplin bra. Despite it being used as a styling piece for a pair of white bloomers, it was far more captivating to me. I promptly screenshot the bra, reverse-image-searched it, and, to my luck, it was available in my size on eBay. It was made by J.Crew and is, sadly, no longer available. Interestingly, it was marketed as a “sleep bra,” a term unfamiliar to me, but fitting since it reminded me of the Tekla bedding I’ve been eyeing. Though I would never sleep in a bra, I began wearing it somewhat as intended, with pajama shorts and under nightgowns. It’s perfect for this time of year when Euro holidays and upstate trips abound; you throw it on when you’re awake enough to socialize over breakfast, but still too sleepy to actually get dressed. The crisp, charming cotton poplin is perfectly on-theme with summer fantasy, putting the average jersey-spandexy bralette to shame.

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It didn’t occur to me to reclassify this bra from sleepwear to real wardrobe participant until I saw it alongside a Deiji Studios halter top, by total chance. In my bedroom, I have a chair where certain clothes linger — who can relate? It’s a mix of things I want to rewear before washing, gifted pieces I’m eager to find an occasion for, and rediscovered items I’m determined to get back into rotation. The halter top was in limbo; I was fearful it was too-boob-y for the daytime, thus awaiting the right evening plans to be revealed. However, the bra and the halter ended up next to each other on the chair, their blue stripes vying yet flirtatious, and it clicked. I tried them on together and was elated — you could’ve sworn I invented sliced bread. The thick straps of the bra diffused the scant nature of the halter, turning something risqué into something risk-free and playful. I could not have predicted that complicating my neckline would be so liberating.

While in Tuscany this June, in a supermarket hosiery aisle, I found another great bra. This one, a cotton-poly-elastine blend with a bouncy handfeel and sheen that reminds me of swimwear. It has a more modest cut; the cups are nearly full-coverage, producing maybe an inch and a half of cleavage. I wore it the same day I bought it, under my favorite paper-thin vintage tee. The white-on-white created such a delicious, graphic contrast. I wore it again a few days later under a lazily buttoned cardigan, and I felt like an expert in effortless sex appeal.

Now back in New York, I’ve styled my Italian bra with the Orseund Iris “perfect button” top (similar here). The subtle sportiness of the bra counters the delicate, papery top in a way I love.

I’m curious to see where these bras — or others — take me next. Creative Director and Stylist Sarah Brown makes a great case for styling your bra as the outermost layer. Meanwhile, Filmmaker Daniela Garza blew my mind with layering not two, but three bras. (To rep Mexico in the World Cup, no less.) The possibilities are endless! The bust knows no bounds! On a very sincere note, I’m grateful to discover more options and tools to develop a more robust, liberated, and satisfying life. I hope stories like this encourage and affirm you as well, if you’re busty or otherwise.

Both Sarah and Daniela are wearing bras by Cou Cou Intimates (here and here). Sadly, their bras don’t go up to my cup size. However, I’ve been considering producing a bra similar to the styles I featured in this story, something with: unexpected fabric, thick straps, a balconette cup, no clasps/pull-on, etc. If you could see yourself being interested in buying something like that, please sound off in the comments :-)

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I’ve long taken issue with the concept of “flattering.” Regarding size, the pursuit of making oneself appear as thin or hourglass as possible is inherently linked to fatphobia. (Wouldn’t it be lovely if no one had to worry if horizontal stripes made them look wider? Or if their arms are toned enough to be permitted a strapless top?) Regarding color, a flattering — or complementary — shade can be a means of justifying one’s complexion. (I’ve heard fair-skinned women exclaim that they’re too pale to wear white, darkskinned women be told that certain colors do nothing for them, and I’m sure there are plenty of hang-ups for all of the skin tones in between the ends of the spectrum.) In a perfect world, people would wear what they feel called to, rather than prioritizing someone else’s gaze.

Throughout my modeling career, I’ve spent many days on set with lips lacquered in red or fuchsia, eyes swiped with vibrant purple or blue, and my body swathed in bright hues that “pop” against my skin. I smile at the camera as required, barely recognizing myself in the photos that flash onto the monitor. The “pop” has often felt eerily like “flattering” to me; I don’t want to be a surface to bounce things off of. I’m a well of unique inspirations and instincts, and every outfit is an opportunity to express that interiority.

I’ve lived in New York City for over a decade now, and submitting to our collective predisposition for wearing black helped me find myself. Nothing compares to the thrill of a night out in all black. Pounding the pavement in severely pointed boots with a sleek coat flicking behind, slipping into a beloved martini-purveying establishment, and slipping out of the layers to reveal a slinky this or a flirty that. Simply put, it’s fucking chic!

Which brings me to an unexpected confession: I’ve been choosing to wear bold colors lately. Before it was revelatory, it was perplexing. However, now, I understand how I got here, and I want to preach the technicolor gospel.

The last time I wore this much color was in 2020, under very different circumstances. I dressed vibrantly to flirt with the algorithm and convey youth. The boom of TikTok and the unprecedented, rapid success of influencers still in their teens left me, a 24-year-old, feeling old. In an attempt to participate in the moment, I color-clashed, pattern-clashed, overaccessorized — you name it. Every outfit existed under the pressure of potential virality. My closet became bloated with statement pieces. It took what felt like forever to get dressed. I would scrutinize the piles of clothes in my wake, not recognizing myself in them.

In 2022, exhausted, I began dressing for myself again. I shifted my thinking from “I can find a way to wear [X]” to questioning if I actually wanted to wear it. Throughout 2023, I continued to peel back the layers; I wore less and less color, and it got easier to get dressed. I focused on textural interplay and finding silhouettes that made me feel at home in my body. I Coco Chanel’d it with the accessories (take one thing off before leaving the house) and wore the same jewelry every day (just a few silver rings, small silver earrings, sometimes a statement necklace). By 2024, I had a sartorial lexicon of my own, a slick yet sturdy foundation of black trousers and tailoring, moody blouses in chiffon and silk, jackets in nylon and leather, pleated skirts, and an array of neutral cotton basics.

With deep reflection and camera roll scrolling, I was able to zero in on the turning point towards my return to bold color. It was September 2024, Colleen Allen’s second collection preview (SS25), the first of hers that I’d attended. I was completely awestruck in the showroom. The garments had unexpected proportions that were charming yet elegant, much like intricate school play costumes passed down from decades ago. The two most prominent colors of the collection were orange and purple — two colors that I’d never had a smidge of fondness for. I made up my mind about them in early childhood and never reconsidered; orange was solely for Halloween, and purple was a cop-out for those who felt they were too cool for pink. Yet there I was coveting sumptuous peach velvets and grapey sheers.

Two months later, in the afterglow of the SS25 preview, I purchased one of my now most-worn bags: the Auto Studio Model C in “dioxazine.” In terms of cost per wear, the Model C has practically paid for itself. The richness of the purple, combined with the lush suede, instantly elevates any outfit the bag is brought into.

A year later, at Colleen Allen’s SS26 preview, I was stunned again, this time by the saturated ultraviolet and marigold that hung on the racks. I felt compelled to share an overly earnest Instagram story (below). Sue me, I was genuinely moved. Contrary to my own expectations, purple and orange became signals for me to heed: Be open to change. (Read: You’re allowed to change your mind! You can wear color without being a TikTok-influenced fashion victim!)

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In the time that’s passed since that revelation, however, I haven’t added much orange to my wardrobe. Just a pair of Chimi sunglasses that remind me of the newts I’d see every summer during sleepaway camp in the Adirondacks. There have been some clothing considerations, though. Most notably, a Rick Owens bustier that I tried on at Paloma Elsesser’s 2025 LA Fire Relief closet sale, which I still yearn for from time to time. More recently, my interest was piqued by this Still Here denim halter top in a burnt hue — perhaps if it restocks, I’ll make it mine. Or maybe orange is meant for me to appreciate in a different context. (I can be open to change without forcing it!) Alternatively, I’ve seen some juicy, serotonin-boosting orange leather furniture that may be a wiser investment for me.

Although Colleen Allen opened the door for color, what ended up runninggg through was red. I scored a blazing fleece from J.Crew Sport (a now-defunct 90s sub-brand) on eBay in late 2024, which kicked things off. Then throughout 2025, I could not stop feeding red to my wardrobe: I added a Charvet polo, a Paloma Wool V-neck, a 6397 t-shirt in “pimento,” and a Reformation t-shirt in “sundried tomato” (I’m a sucker for a good shade name). Although I’ve never felt my best in a red lip during days on set, wearing red, in the way I choose to wear it, makes me feel powerful. I’ve gone deep on tops because they can live alongside my tried and true trousers and skirts and be styled seamlessly with my quintessentially grown-woman shoes. The result feels sophisticated, sensual, and sharp. I haven’t branched into red dresses, bottoms, or accessories because I haven’t come across options that don’t feel too saccharine or romantic for my taste.

Conversely, I’m now addicted to sugarly pinks. I still adore and wear my reds, but 2026 has been undoubtedly rosy. I default to Celisse’s “babydoll” for at-home manicures, I recently wrote a story devoted to a bubblegum-hued belt bag, and I just picked up the Prada Wish pouch in “petal pink” during a couple of days in Milan. I have a hunch that this full-hearted embrace is a result of the nauseating Millennial Pink Girlboss curse being lifted; shades in that range no longer signify what they once did. I’d also like to assign some credit to Extreme Cashmere, a brand I’m very grateful to have built a relationship with over the years. Their premise is the highest quality cashmere, no compromises. My first piece from them was a black cardigan — it’s one of the hardest-working pieces in my wardrobe, and you cannot tell. (That’s on quality!) But combining that lush texture with irresistible color is Extreme Cashmere’s superpower. Their knitwear goes beyond function and coziness; each piece is an invitation to be your best. (Quality begets quality!) This winter, I received their darling three-quarter sleeve crewneck in the shade “rosa.” It dresses up jeans, but it’s particularly exquisite with a pencil skirt — I love to freak it Joan Holloway-style. Next came a deep V-neck sweater in “oleander,” that is equal parts sexy and cool. I’ve since gotten my hands on the Flore Flore cami in “crocus,” a similar shade. This electrifying fuchsia speaks to my soul and has the potential of becoming my signature color..

Sometimes I dabble in yellows, greens, and blues. I’ve never felt called to butter yellow, but this Extreme Cashmere knit in “corn” is a nice middle ground between dreamy and quirky. I recently pulled my mint Prada Cleo out of retirement, and I have been craving a Flore Flore tee in their briny shade “pickle.” Cornflower blue brings me calm in many forms: leather gloves, water bottles, and zip-up hoodies.

They say you need to know the rules to break them. I won’t argue with that. It was essential for me to peel back the layers years ago and identify fabrics, cuts, and compositions that I can rely on. Now, I’m in a position where it’s not destabilizing to be proven wrong about my sartorial hangups. I can navigate newness and implement it with precision. I can wield color like a blade.

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I’ll begin paywalling some of my content next week.

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When I first discovered the Minimal Mini Tote on the St. Agni website, it was already sold out. Ever since, I’ve done a monthly resale scour with no luck. Until a month or so ago, when not one, but two (!!!) appeared on The RealReal, for around the original price. I saved them to my watchlist, confident that I had time to do a customary responsible-shopper-mull, since there were two (!!!) at my disposal. They were both sold within 48 hours of going live. I saw red! I heard DJ Khaled! (“Congratulations, you played yourself.”) I was desperate to redeem myself for this fumble, quickly. I scoured the internet once more, and to my surprise, a $313 option appeared on Vestiaire. But, to my discontent, it was $500 at checkout, due to tariffs. I subsequently tried to delude myself, “Third times the charm, right?” But my better judgment prevailed, “Even at nearly three times the price?” I had enough restraint to close the tab, but my longing has not dissipated. (The search continues. Some contenders await your review at the end of this story, by the way…)

The Mini Tote has become a totem of sorts for me. This bag is not ornate or evocative. It just is. Its simplicity works with time; it does not firmly belong to one moment and thus has the ease of transitioning through many. Which is aspirational because, as tempting as it may be to self-mythologize, I try not to live my life in eras. This is not to say that I’m change-averse, but I find that moving through time sharpens my sense of self, rather than upends it. Striving for consistency excites me more than novelty nowadays. I imagine that the Mini Tote is the kind of bag that can carry me (spiritually) through the endeavor of becoming.

I’m not alone in experiencing overwrought emotions for an austere bag these days. The Row — and the potency of its trickle-down effect — undeniably plays a lead role in this phenomenon. (I’m weary of the implications and aware of the ills of quiet luxury, but bear with me, please.) In Kim Russell’s recent piece, she expresses fondness for the minimalist nostalgia-bait employed in the Olsen twins’ designs: “There’s power in utilising pieces that are so understated, but well made, for the next 30 years.” I stand behind this point. But I believe it can apply to a bag produced by The Row as much as to one plucked from a nameless leather vendor on the streets of Florence or Marrakech.

What I’m trying to express, likely in too many words, can be explained succinctly in the doctrine of “normcore.” In writing this piece, I felt called to reread Delia Cai’s 2024 interview with original members of K-HOLE (the group that coined the term). Normcore was born out of a moment where there was “this competitive itch to out-niche one another.” (Aka 2014 mass-hipster-dom.) The founding text dictates that “[Normcore is] about adaptability, not exclusivity.” Perhaps my lusting after the Mini Tote is entangled in my “It bag” fatigue. After witnessing the revolving door of iterations spin year after year (the Fendi Baguette, the Dior Saddle Bag, the Balenciaga City Bag, etc.), I find myself questioning what “it” is, anyway. To this end, Lauren Sherman recently declared that we’re in a bag crisis, going so far as to say that “bags are unnecessary.” As much as I wish every day could be a belt bag day and every night could be an evening bag night, most of the time, a girl has shit to haul! It feels unrealistic to excommunicate bags altogether, but I agree with Sherman’s point that “bags communicate too much about status.” Hence, many of them end up feeling dated, which is what I’m trying to avoid.

For the last couple of years, my most worn shoulder bags have been Aritzia’s Idolize Tote Bag in black nylon (here) and Paloma Wool’s Glory shoulder bag in grey felt (here). What both of these bags get so right is the proportions. Their strap lengths are comfortable and function with outerwear, and their storage is significant without veering into big-bag territory. (But if you’re in the market for a shlepper, I recently got a great one that you should consider. I have a strong hunch that it will age beautifully.) They also have little to no branding. (Only the Paloma Wool one does; there’s tonal logo embroidery near the base of the bag. It’s so subtle that I didn’t even notice it until after I bought it.) Coincidence? I think not. Unfortunately, though, the Paloma Wool doesn’t feel seasonally appropriate in the warmer months, and the Aritzia can feel a bit too sporty in certain circumstances. Because of that, something leather would have a Goldilocks effect for my closet for years to come. So, the search continues! (Unless one of you has a St. Agni Minimal Mini Tote that you’re willing to part ways with?!) I’m sharing some alternates worth considering below, in case you’re also in the market for a regular-ass bag.

• The woven version of the Mini Tote

• L.L. Bean Boat and Totes in leather: here and here

• Gucci’s take on the Boat and Tote

• Vintage Kate Spade nylon totes: here, here, and here

• Lady in red

• The epitome of classique

• Freaked ever so slightly with some debossing

• And if you were going to go for The Row…

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I’ll begin paywalling some of my content soon.

Last summer, I did a deep closet clean and rediscovered a Jacquemus belt bag — fanny pack? bum bag? — that I bought five years prior. It was a steal, purchased in the throes of pandemic-era price slashes. Then I wore it on a trip to Costa Rica in 2021, recklessly allowing water and sand to mingle with it during days on the beach and even an afternoon on horseback. Its shade of pink went from a vibrant bubblegum to a more sun-bleached hue. Given how long it’d been since I wore this bag, or even thought about it (I forgot about it, frankly), I swiftly concluded that it was time to let it go. I may have even chucked it in my towering “to The Real Real” pile. But then something was tugging at my heart, luring me to reconsider. This bag was kindred to me. I didn’t spend nameless days with it slung on my shoulder while pounding the pavement of my everyday New York life. (As I do with most of my bags.) This bag and I went on an adventure together. And I wondered if it was our destiny to go on more of them.

So, I styled the bag to determine if it could fit into my evolved sartorial framing. (My style has changed immensely since 2021. Thank god!) I was pleased with the results. However, summer was coming to a close, so I tucked my old friend back into the closet for safekeeping. To wrap its straps around me without the bulk of layers, I needed to wait for next year’s warmth.

@champagn3manifanny pack ! belt bag ! whatever you wanna call it !

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Since then, I’ve seen belt bags in more places. First, on Liana Satenstein’s Substack. “I’m in full belt bag-dom right now,” she proclaimed in the NEVERWORNS chat. I then texted her about it, and we exchanged perspectives on why this historically quirky — even comical — piece has a hold on us. Pun intended. For Liana, it was about utility. It started as a baby bag (which recently hit grid) and transitioned into an everyday bag because, as she deftly put it, “I just can’t be fucked to carry anything.” Relatable! But beyond function, I discovered a certain philosophical depth. Belt bags are a proposition; through being hands-free, you can live more freely, experience the world’s pleasures fully with unburdened fingertips. To this end, the belt bag is primed for our zeitgeist. The internet is a time-sink of horrors, but this bag is an invitation to “touch grass” (non-derogatory).

Looking back at the past couple of years, I think it’s fair to say we’ve reached peak belted bag. In 2024, Tibi launched a re-imagined Boat and Tote, St. Agni currently has a belted baguette available for preorder, and there have been many other variations in between. I’m exhausted by them all (with the singular exception being the Prada Buckle, especially because it’s the bag that all of the others are imitating by my calculations). But belt bags have had a more subtle ascent. While Paloma Wool was transitioning from kooky “avant-basic” to a refined yet clever tone a few years back, they released numerous belt bag iterations (exhibits a, b, and c). Paloma Lanna, Paloma Wool’s founder, noted that her brand’s aesthetic shift was towards wearability. To that end, it feels notable that many of those early iterations are nearly impossible to find across online resellers now. People are wearing them.

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More recently, Eckhaus Latta sent belt bags down the runway for their SS26 collection. Some had a single small pocket for storage, while others appeared to have no storage at all, making them a sort of layering tool. (Similar to the Miu Miu SS26 aprons. All, but one or two, currently on their site are absent of pockets.) But for their FW26 show, Eckhaus Latta presented a leather waist apron-utility belt situation that scratches the belt bag itch. Proof being: I really want one. Further proof: Rian Phin muses, “The internet pulls women away from self-intimacy… It prompts women and girls to exploit every experience they’ve ever had. I think Eckhaus Latta wearers have the agency to undo the internet’s ills. Private, sacred experiences and exploration.” Experiences and exploration! That’s what the belt bag is all about. “Touch-Grassification.” Interestingly, Miu Miu transformed their FW26 runway into a mossy landscape. But I digress, this is not a trend report…

What excites me about wearing this belt bag for years to come is a philosophy that I picked up from Phoebe Philo’s 2024 interview with Vanessa Friedman. As Friedman puts it, Philo makes “practical pieces for complicated characters.” Philo noted, “Fundamentally, that is not the stuff that makes me happy,” — “that” being excess, luxuries, etc. Instead, Philo gets joy from baking, visiting galleries, going riding, etc. Of course, the life of a wealthy designer is not wholly relatable, but when you boil the words down, the sentiment is clear. Great pieces facilitate a great life; their reliability allows the wearer to focus on other things. Strapping on a belt bag is an opportunity to look beyond optimization for a moment and turn to leisure. It’s a bag that was popularized by tourists, after all.

For your browsing pleasure…

• Jacquemus option, similar to mine

• Liana’s Prada Sport

• A very sexy utility skirt

• A very sexy utility belt

• Eckhaus Latta dropped a canvas version of the leather apron, but it comes as an accessory to a pair of jeans

• A canvas and leather option

• A nylon and leather option

• A full leather holster bag situation

• Gucci monogram in two flavors, here and here

• Sporty Miu Miu in luxe suede

Disclaimer: This post includes affiliate links. If you purchase through these links, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you.

Bag Triptych, part 3 of 3, comes next week. After the third installment goes live, I’ll begin paywalling some of my content.

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Typically, a great bag is where form meets function; spacious and capable of order within, with an exterior that excites and complements the wearer. A great evening bag, however, demands a different set of considerations. The aesthetics quite literally leave little space for utility. With that, one’s hedonistic essentials come into focus. (Hedonistic essentials rouse where practical essentials support — more on this later.)

The bag that launched this nearly nine-hundred-word post is a charming black velvet cube with iridescent pink and sand-colored beads that construct an intricate floral motif, finished off with gold-threaded embroidery and a gold metal frame with an engraved closure. It looks ravishing for being the better part of a century old and excavated from the depths of Poshmark. (I have similar options waiting for you below, if this description has piqued your interest…) When the bag arrived in the mail, it became clear it was a centerpiece worthy of building an outfit around. I just needed the right occasion.

Enter, stage left, (sorry, I couldn’t help myself): tickets to the New York City Ballet 2026 Art Series. This was the perfect opportunity to shed my quotidian skin. I desired to antithesize encumbrance! To embody the essence of indulgence! I decided on a makeshift skirt suit in structured leather — not necessarily an obvious choice, but hear me out. The skirt suit was a nod to the primness habitual to Lincoln Center, but the choice of leather was due to my natural proclivity to freak it. To that end, I enjoyed that my clothing created a bit of textural contrast against the delicate lustre of the purse. I also wore a pair of snakeskin kitten heel boots from the masterminds at Aeyde. They are my tried and true night-out shoe, guaranteed to add cheekiness to any look (exhibits A, B, and C — I could probably offer an alphabet-worth of examples).

I took inspiration from the Big Apple red carpets that pool across the David H. Koch theater floors for my manicure. (To quickly digress on nails, I wish this color were a part of Celisse’s offering, which raises the bar for high-quality polish. However, their signature “Babydoll” shade provokes a different, but equivalent thrill.) I finished the look off with a few spritzes of Dries Van Noten’s Soie Malaquais. Over time, I’ve learned that my favorite fragrances reach within, rather than solely outward, affecting my posture, stride, and the way I move through a room. Soie Malaquais is an interpretation of the fluidity of silk, offering notes of lush blackcurrant and bergamot, sweet chestnut and cocoa, and soft rose, all encapsulated within a sculptural Delft blue-inspired bottle. Fluid, lush, sweet, soft — all very on brand for a night centered around capital F feeling.

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With its finite capacity, an evening bag insists that you imagine your outing, and more importantly, what you desire from it, in detail. (We’ve made our way back to hedonistic essentials.) I packed a set of matches — selected over its counterpart, a lighter, for slenderness — and my engraved cigarette case, stocked with enough Vogues to share. In the spirit of sensuality, don’t decline a cig-bum request, people! You never know who you might meet. (Which is why I also included a few sticks of gum; smoker’s breath is not very inviting.) I tucked some cash into a compartment because, rather than the solitary tap-to-pay function, it’s another opportunity for a tactile exchange. (Which is why I also brought Aesop’s travel-ready 30ml hand balm.) My wired headphones were a crucial inclusion, providing a fantasy forcefield of Air’s “African Violet,” Diana Ross’s “Love Hangover,” and the like to carry me to and from Lincoln Center. Last but not least, there were a few beauty essentials: Merit’s Lip Blush in the limited edition “Maxwell” shade (I think “Archival” is the closest match in the official offering), a Farah Homidi Lip Pencil, Milk’s new concealer that is the perfect pocket-size, and Westman Atelier’s Foundation Stick.

The ballet itself was a feast for the eyes and ears, so I’d be remiss not to offer some details. This season’s Art Series showcased dancers in costumes by Humberto Leon (co-founder of the deeply missed Opening Ceremony, current creative director of Katseye), moving to music by composer Max Richter (Hamnet, Ad Astra), jazz icon Dinah Washington, and indie darling Sufjan Stevens. In the theater, Promenade and halls, Thibaut Grevet’s photographs of the NYCB company were on view. Intentional blur is a trademark of his work; Grevet honed his technique of capturing movement by way of skateboarders, F1 cars, athletes, and now dancers. A close friend and I scooped up our last-minute third-ring seats for $54, a humble price for such a rich array of mediums. Fun fact: all NYCB shows have tickets available at this more approachable price.

My itty bitty evening bag taught me how to unburden myself and, in turn, seduce my senses. Less can be more! Though I’ll admit that’s easier said than done… Since my Poshmark find, I’ve added a little Vivienne Westwood frame purse (via Belmont Park Village, courtesy of my faves at DLX) to my wardrobe. I’m cautious of over-indexing on the category, but I think I’m still repenting for the sins of wearing a leather crossbody bag to all of my high school semi-formals and on nights out through sophomore year (at least) of college. Anyway, for your browsing pleasure…

• More box purses from the same brand as mine, Fuji: here, here, here, and here

• A different, but equally charming, box bag

• A sophisticated option

• A sophisticated option in velvet

• Embellished with florals, rather than embroidered

• This one has a gorgeous closure

• This one has a long, elegant strap

• More elegance!

Disclaimer: This post includes affiliate links. If you purchase through these links, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you.

Bag Triptych, part 2 of 3 comes next week. After the third installment goes live, I’ll begin paywalling some of my content.