Search Results

Our collective reverence of Margiela’s tabi both erases the style’s Japanese origins and contravenes the original ethos of a maison that treated the commodity as an object of suspicion. Looming large over the tabi’s entrance into popular culture is one rather reclusive Belgian designer. Martin Margiela’s version of the split-toe has come to stand for the style at large, in spite of its Japanese roots. As Female Menace writes , the conversation around the tabi is firmly centered on Maison Margiela; instead of asking Where are your tabis from? , the question is more likely to be Are those real or fake Margiela tabis? This happens as fashion continues to contend with the afterlives of Western cultural imperialism. The refashioning of the South Asian dupatta as the "Scandinavian scarf" by certain trend-addled quadrants of the internet prompted discussions about British colonialism in India . A similar reckoning took place with the Afghan coat, whose origins in the Ghazni region of Afghanistan were momentarily usurped by the stylish proto-stan Penny Lane, portrayed on-screen by Kate Hudson in Almost Famous  (2000). In the fashion industry, exoticism and erasure occur simultaneously. Items are made attractive by their difference or foreignness — that slight indication that they come from somewhere else. This doesn’t guarantee that their creators will be properly credited. There has been a similar resistance to the appropriation of the tabi. Female Menace writes on Substack that the uptake of the split-toe amongst the trendy residents of Western capitals is accompanied by a fundamental ignorance of the Japanese history of the style. Once intended to keep samurais' feet planted firmly on the ground, the tabi has been transformed into an elitist signifier of cultural capital, distinguishing those who’ve been privileged with taste and money ( a pair of tabi flats will set you back over £800 in 2025 ). The transformation of the Margiela tabi into a tool of conspicuous consumption is regarded as an odd reversal of Martin Margiela’s ‘anti-fashion’ approach. Margiela, the man, represents the iconoclasm of the '90s. He staged runways in the Parisian banlieues , where fashion press were not treated with the usual deference but made to stand or — heaven forbid — sit in the second row. He complicated the traditional repertoire of haute couture techniques, eschewing even a label in favour of four single, looped stitches. Like his clothing, his public image defied the glossy sheen of celebrity — to this day, we only have a handful of photographs of him.  Margiela’s FW02 runway show had models dressed up in white lab coats, holding transparent plexiglass boxes with vintage handbags encased. Kaat Debo, curator and director of MoMu in Antwerp, describes this spectacle  as a specifically Margelian critique of commodity fetishism. Similarly, Debo reads Margiela’s artisanal collections as a Marxist critique. (It was not unlike Margiela to observe capitalist relations and respond to them in his art. He designed his first tabi after a trip to Japan in the 1980s, during which he noticed split-toe shoes on the feet of factory workers.) Dupe culture certainly resembles fetish, embodying in new ways those "metaphysical subtleties and theological quirks" of the commodity that Marx once puzzled over. Editor Alexandra Hildreth writes  that with dupe culture, "the stigma of trying and failing dissipates". This is as true for designer fashion as it is for overpriced water bottles. Once upon a time, wearing a fake was a fashion faux pas that one would only admit to under the most pressing circumstances. (Think Samantha Jones's mortification — while admitting to Hugh Hefner — that she was carrying a fake Fendi baguette in season 3 of Sex and the City ). Now, as living costs skyrocket and luxury brands continue to hike prices, new consumption patterns challenge hierarchies of taste. Amazon storefronts and TikTok shopping are abounding with replicas, which are not just tolerated but frequently celebrated as the democratisation of high fashion. Participation in dupe culture has become the mark of a savvy, discerning consumer. From amongst the Bottega Jodies and Goyard totes, the Margiela tabi has emerged as one of dupe culture’s darlings. (In a culture so averse to feet, the rise of toe-forward footwear has been something to behold.) Margiela dupes are now widely available, most notably from the veteran Woodchuck Sato and, infamously, AliExpress. But unlike other it-items, dupes of the Margiela tabi are defended for more than just their economic accessibility. Dupe culture has been put forward as a tool to recentre the Japanese origins of the tabi and prevent further instances of Western appropriation. The crux of this argument is that it is not possible to dupe the Margiela tabi, because it is a Japanese style that never belonged to Martin Margiela in the first place. From this perspective, the Margiela tabi is already the dupe, and any attempt to replicate it is a morally neutral, if not positive, anti-monopolistic undertaking that Margiela himself would have approved of. This line of thinking proposes that by removing the split-toe from the domain of Margiela and reintroducing it to the world on its own terms, we can destabilise the monopoly of one brand and the hierarchy of high fashion that underpins it. This claim makes sense in our current political culture. Ownership is a fraught thing, being so bound up with the uneven cultural exchanges that have directed life on Earth since European expansionism began in the 15th century. As minority groups across the West — and in much of the global South — fight to make political claims, the desire to underscore the rightful ownership of cultural objects is an important political impulse.  But it is not clear that participating in dupe culture actually addresses the cultural grievances that surround the split-toe. The suggestion that the Margiela tabi cannot be duped because it is itself a dupe certainly does not account for the dynamic processes of cultural exchange that are at play in its design. When we treat the Margiela tabi as an expropriated item that belongs solely to Japan, we lose sight of the cultural complexity that drives fashion and other art forms. As new nationalisms informed by ideas of cultural purity spring up all around us, why deny the deeply human tendency to mix? The tabi was born as a sock worn with sandals ( Geta ) by Japanese elites in the 15th century. Later, in the 17th century, the introduction of trade with China allowed commoners to take up the split-toe style, albeit in limited colours and fabrics. In a later innovation, the tabi sock was attached to a rubber sole and became the Jika-Tabi , worn by construction and factory workers. These shifts in political economy shaped the development of the tabi and delivered it to new audiences domestically. Some time later, the shrinking of the world created an international audience for the tabi, and the shoe was once again reinterpreted by Martin Margiela in the 1980s. His interpretation was not a straightforward facsimile of its Japanese predecessor. In their designs, Martin Margiela and his successors have married the split-toe to various other styles of shoe, some of which have contested origins. Norway, the USA, and England all vie for ownership of the loafer. The ballet flat began its ascent to the pinnacle of French-girl chic in the Renaissance-era royal courts. Mary-Janes were popularised in the United States, their namesake being a character in Richard Felton Outcault’s Buster Brown comic series. When these Western canonical styles were combined with the Japanese split-toe, they became something of a novelty: an "East-meets-West" fashion intervention, deliciously characteristic of our globalising world. This process of hybridisation is not unfamiliar to any of us; virtually every aspect of culture in the Americas has been born out of the mixing of different traditions. No matter how much one sitting president would like it to be true, we are not siloed into individual nations, producing for ourselves by ourselves, using only the natural materials that occur in the territory between our borders. Martin Margiela was open to witnessing and ushering in these moments of synergy. He was fundamentally anti-purity, dedicated to refitting and transforming existing collections through techniques like décortiqué and assemblage that we continued to associate with the house under Galliano and Glenn Martens. In the exhibition notes for"‘Maison Martin Margiela 20," Kaat Debo writes that Martin Margiela’s garments “do not hide the course of time, but carry along the traces of a garment’s previous life and incorporate it into the new item – they are the silent witnesses of durée.” In the design of the Margiela tabi, we see multiple different lives and multiple different cultural traditions interacting together with the Japanese split-toe at their helm. The shoe itself is a testament to the durée of global fashion history. The question then becomes how we account for both the very real erasure of the tabi’s Japanese roots and the inherent hybridity of Margiela’s design. Dupe culture may not be the correct vehicle for inviting in this complexity. Overzealous endorsement of Margiela dupes may risk eclipsing the tabi’s Japanese origins entirely. The tabi dupes in question are quite clearly replicas of the various interpretations of the tabi designed by Margiela, not the original Jika-Tabi boot. They feature that '70s-style cylindrical heel and, up until recently, Woodchuck Sato’s shoe included the single-stitch logo that Maison Margiela is known for. Another observation of Hildreth’s rings true here: there is a fine line between a dupe and a counterfeit. Placing Margiela’s specific design front and centre to be replicated ad infinitum narrows our imaginations as to what the tabi is, has been, and can be; it only strengthens the brand’s monopoly. If authenticity is important, it is because it invites us to learn about the historical and creative foundations of our garments. 🌀 Soraya Odubeko is a writer from London whose work explores the intersection of identity and the arts. Her words have appeared in publications like DAZED , Schön! , and TANK. Follow her on Instagram @sorayaodubeko .

The eccentric French indie perfumer talks about her beginnings in opera, her cult-favorite scent Milky Dragon, and what happens when fragrances hold distant melodies. Isabelle Larignon photographed by Laura Stevens for Télérama Two words come to mind when describing French indie perfumer Isabelle Larignon : – renaissance woman. Before apprenticing under celebrated perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour  and debuting her own fragrance collection in 2021, Larignon had already led many lives. A student of opera and lyrical singing for more than 10 years, a copywriter for luxury French brands that encompassed everything from high-end hotels to gastronomy, and a former dancer, Larignon’s passions are wide-ranging, surprising, and all border on the slightly obsessive. Her fragrance collection, which includes Milky Dragon   — a cult favorite within in-the-know fragrance circles — has been embraced for its scope and storytelling. How did these multiple lives lead to a collection that’s considered both eccentric and revelatory — and is this the final destination for a masterful perfumer who has only just arrived? This interview has been edited for length and clarity. BEATRIZ ZIMMERMANN:  I first met you at an event last year hosted by the Fragrance Alliance Network  in NYC, where you spoke about your work as a perfumer. I was so struck by your gift as a storyteller. Storytelling has pretty much become a marketing tool, but there was nothing strategic about your fragrance stories — and I mean that in the best way. They were so pure, intense, and even a little strange. The inspiration behind each fragrance seemed wildly different; all coming from a deep place of imagination. Everyone listening was clearly blown away. Do you see yourself as a born storyteller? Has anyone ever told you that you have a real gift for storytelling? ISABELLE LARIGNON:  Well, as a child, I used to write lovely letters to my friends, according to their mothers. Otherwise, I've always had a complicated relationship with writing and words, like a juggler weighing the weight of each ball — or word — their sound, their double meanings. And when I became a copywriter, I had to become more efficient about words and stories since it was my job, of course. There are always constraints when you’re writing for a client. I tried to turn that into a game to make it more enjoyable.   BZ: Did you like writing for others? IL:  I enjoyed it when the stories were real, and not just marketing-created stories, like you say. I think I was very good at interpreting what the essence of a product or a brand was or could be. I once worked with a coffee client, and instead of writing advertising copy for them, I wrote several poems about their coffee universe.  It wasn’t at all what they expected or wanted at first, but they trusted me. It became part of their press kit, and later, I even got calls from PR people who thought the poetry was amazing.   BZ: So, when creating a fragrance, do you tend to begin with the story and then build a fragrance to tell that story, or do you begin with a fragrance mood or ingredients that interest you, which then help to conjure a story? IL: It depends on the fragrance. For my first fragrance, Le Flocon de Johann K , I started with a pamphlet written in 1610 by the astronomer and mathematician, Johannes Kepler. He wrote about his fascination with a snowflake and decided he wanted to study its exact composition. He had an idea that the composition of the snowflake was a metaphor for the entire universe. The fact that he wanted to give this snowflake to his friend as a New Year’s gift made this story so interesting to me — and so poetic. I love the fact that Kepler mixed science and nature and poetry. I loved this idea of the entire universe embodied in a snowflake.   BZ: And so, your fragrance was inspired by the scent of snowflakes? IL: Yes, but that came years later when I was listening to a radio program in France where a scientist who specialized in glaciers and climate change was being interviewed.   The question came up about whether snowflakes have a scent. It was wintertime, and it also happened to be a few days before New Year’s Eve. I was thinking about my perfume project and looking for a sign about what to work on next. When the radio program host asked that question, I had my sign and my answer! So, I began my own quest for the scent of snowflakes. BZ: That strikes me as something so pure and simple but also quite abstract — almost like the idea of imagining the scent of nothingness. IL: Yes, this inspired me to try to capture something intangible. But however faint the scent of snow may seem, it’s actually rich in sensations and contradictions. It’s light, white, powdery, airy, and icy, yet it can burn the skin. It is fluffy, yet very hard when it settles. So, I clung to all these sensations, giving them olfactory equivalents. Then I also wanted to move away from the literal scent for the formula I was creating.  I had a vision of a Japanese rock garden contemplated by a Zen master surrounded by incense. I imagined this man listening to the silence enveloping his garden as the snow fell. This led me to what is now the Le Flocon de Johann K . When I created the scent, I got in touch with that scientist from the radio program to tell her what I was doing. It was amazing because she told me that she was, in fact, writing a book about the scent of snow.  We became friends, and later, when I shared my fragrance with her, I was so happy that she loved it very much. BZ: That’s amazing and like a full circle moment. The idea really came together over many years and in such an extraordinary way. IL:  Yes, there are many stories like this in my life. BZ: You followed this fragrance with what became a fragrance sensation that’s really gotten lots of attention in niche circles — Milky Dragon . It’s an unusual fragrance that centers around a milky-like tea note, and the inspiration is another magical and lovely story — this one about a lonely dragon that lives on a remote island. This is another example of your surprising storytelling. IL:  Yes, this is a nice story — also unusual. Yes.   BZ: For me, there’s something both strange yet comforting about both this story and the fragrance — almost like a soothing bedtime story. Tell me about this idea. IL: Well, I was inspired by a real Chinese legend, which is about a farmer who is afraid of losing his tea trees in a coming storm. The storm comes, but the next morning, the farmer finds that his trees are safe. He discovers that there is a dragon sleeping nearby, and he decides that it’s the dragon that has protected his trees. I loved this story, and I was also very interested in a tea note, so I created a different version of this story in my mind, focusing more on the dragon.  I imagined the misty, humid island where the dragon lives by himself. And I also imagined the dragon falling in love with the camellia flower, which he protects. Camelia sinensis  is the botanical name for the tea plant, so there is a nice play here. BZ: The part about protecting the flower and the delicateness of this makes me think of Saint-Exupéry and the flower that the little prince loves and protects. IL:  His rose. Yes! I never thought of this, but yes.   BZ: The name Milky Dragon  is so evocative.  How would you describe the scent?  IL: The inspiration comes from the Taiwanese oolong tea, which has a natural milky note.  It’s a gourmand and versatile tea. Depending on whether the leaves are dry or infused, its notes are fruity, floral, and woody. This was an opportunity to explore a gourmand experience that was far from vanilla and the sticky sweetness of maltol .   BZ:   To my mind, Milky Dragon  and Le Flocon de Johann K  share some similar elements conceptually. They share a feeling of intimacy and a deep sense of introspection. For me, there’s also a feeling of loneliness or solitude — in the most poetic way. I’m curious about this and wonder if that’s something you feel as well as a perfumer and a creative person?  IL:  A fragrance doesn’t hold just one truth. I am very critical of my work and don’t have the perspective or distance to be emotional about my perfumes. I tend to be more analytical and, yes, introspective. Before I even begin to write the formula, I take a long time creating the fragrance first in my mind — imagining it and trying to “catch” it, like a distant melody.  On a technical note, I do like there to be a common thread between each fragrance, through shared molecules. BZ: I have to ask you about your fragrance names. The name Milky Dragon  is pretty unusual, and Le Flocon de Johann K  may be one of the most unlikely fragrance names I’ve ever come across. As someone who has worked on fragrance and product names, I really admire your risk-taking, because I imagine someone along the way must have advised that perhaps these were challenging names or ideas? IL:  It's true that Le Flocon de Johann K  — which means Johann K’s snowflake  in French — is a little strange and also challenging for an English-speaking audience. But I never imagined I would ever edit it in any way. I love that the name sounds like the title of a movie or maybe a detective novel. I think that in terms of unpronounceable names, my third fragrance,  Bangla Yāsaman ,  is the worst. I remember my daughter repeating it over and over again before she said, “Yes, Mom, it's good, keep it.” And I did!   BZ: But it’s one of those names that you have to say out loud to realize it sounds so good!  There’s a real rhythm to the words. IL: Yes, I think so, too. BZ: Bangla Yāsaman  went in an entirely different direction. It’s richly aromatic and effusive and built around this heady experience of jasmine, but I want to ask you about your decision to create the fragrance without a drop of jasmine absolute, instead creating a fragrance accord that conjures an incredible impression of jasmine.  It’s a bit of a “trompe-nez” — kind of a spin on trompe l’oeil, if you will. You’ve said that you enjoyed taking this role as [an] illusionist. Can you talk a little about that? IL: It all started with an order for a client who wanted a custom-made jasmine/orange blossom perfume. I found the order rather boring, so to challenge myself, I decided to recreate the scent of jasmine flowers. I don’t particularly think that Sambac and Grandiflorum Jasmine absolutes are very faithful to the scent of the flower. Two years later, I reworked one of the proposals that the client had not chosen to make it my own. I expanded the jasmine accord from 10 molecules to 19 molecules. Then, to bring naturalness and animality to this accord, I added natural ingredients such as tobacco absolute and osmanthus.   BZ: Your latest fragrance, Mandi Rhubi ,  seems to be another departure or a new chapter in your collection. It’s greener, fresher, and yet quite bold. I’m struck by a story you’ve told about this launch and how you first shared your creation with Sarah Bouasse , who is a French fragrance journalist and your fellow contributor to Nez . She proclaimed your fragrance a modern-day Germaine Cellier . Cellier was, of course, a legendary perfumer who created such classics as Balmain’s Vent Vert , and Robert Piguet’s Bandit , and Fracas . What did you think of her assessment?  IL: Sarah was the first to try the fragrance, and she is a real connoisseur, so I was a little nervous. I think that the boldness of the Mandi Rhubi comes from the presence of galbanum and IBQ (isobutyl quinoline) — two molecules   that are characteristic of Germaine Cellier's work and very reminiscent of her world. Perhaps that was the reason for the comparison.  Since I use few molecules that are typical of current trends and fragrances, Mandi Rhubi  may also recall the fragrances of the 1970s. BZ: The fact that your fragrances are so eclectic shouldn’t come as a surprise, considering the many career paths you’ve travelled. Clearly, you’re a born creative and have lived many lives in the arts — as a writer, also a student of opera and lyrical singing, a dancer, and even a food writer. How do you think these experiences and past lives influence or inspire your work now as a perfumer? IL: The seventeen years I spent working for various players in the gastronomy sector (champagne, cheese, spirits, coffee, restaurants, etc.) clearly nourished my olfactory memory. As for other more artistic pursuits, such as ballet and opera singing, they are all part of the same quest: to create a beautiful gesture that connects to a sacred, universal, transcendent feeling that touches the soul.   BZ: What were your formative experiences as an artist? Could you share some of your influences?  IL: One of my most powerful experiences, both physically and mentally, was practicing opera singing. The vibration and energy released by the operatic voice are phenomenal. When technique is combined with vocal expression and artistic intention, the result is divine. One of my teachers explained to me that my voice should be like the eye of a storm: unchanging in the midst of movement. As far as other influences, I was inspired by the autobiography of a German philosopher who discovered the principles of zazen through the practice of archery.  Zazen is a meditative practice in Zen Buddhism. This concept places all the importance on the practice and repetition that’s necessary for learning and excelling at anything. It’s not the goal that matters as much as the practice and the path to the goal. This is very important, and it’s something I try to live every day. BZ: I’m thinking about the years you spent immersed in music. People have spoken about the parallels between music and perfumery. Apart from some shared language, like the idea of notes, accords, and the composition itself, how do you apply your musical knowledge to perfumery? The idea of an operatic voice and now a voice through perfume is fascinating to me. IL: Well, you know I never became a soloist, although my teachers told me that was what my voice was suited for. My voice was too powerful for a chorus, so I had to become a soloist — but I was very young and didn’t feel I was mature enough or prepared to do this. I wasn’t comfortable as a soloist at all.   BZ: Why do you think that it is? IL: Well, as a soloist, it is much more than the voice; it’s the entire body that is an instrument, and I think there is a certain psychology that’s needed, too. I don’t think I felt comfortable having such a strong voice.  I realized that I had the voice of the diva but not the spirit of the diva! BZ: This is so interesting. I can’t help but think that this preparation is a perfect foundation for your work now.  It’s like you’ve applied your voice to perfumery — and maybe you’re a diva now. IL: Well, it’s easier now. With the singing, that was a hard and beautiful path, but now, yes, I get to be the composer, and it’s the molecules that sing!   BZ: I have to ask what some of your favorite fragrances are and what you’re currently wearing. IL: For me, the absolute masterpiece is   Nuit de Bakelite   by   Isabelle Doyen for Naomi Goodsir. It has become my signature scent. I wear few perfumes because I'm very picky and easily overwhelmed. I’ve also worn   Dzonghka , Mont de Narcisse , and Acqua di Scandola  these last few years, but I don’t consider myself a perfumista. BZ: I’m curious also about fragrances that you love or that intrigue you, but you can’t necessarily wear. I consider myself a little bit of a Guerlain girl, and I’m a proud wearer of Jicky , but I can’t bring myself to wear Mitsouko , for example, a fragrance that’s almost unanimously revered by some of the best noses. I find it beautiful but somehow impossible to wear, though I’ve tried. IL: It's funny, I wore Mitsouko  when I was twenty because the adoptive mother of my first love told me, “You are Mitsouko .” But that perfume brought me bad luck, and everyone I met in my life who wore it was mean to me! Another fragrance I adore, Grey Flannel , has had an interesting journey in my life. Several of my lovers, starting with my ex-husband, to whom I gave it as a gift, have worn this fragrance. Recently, one of my clients, who has become a friend, gave it to me as a gift. I tried wearing it, but I just can't.   BZ: Our fragrance choices and loves really do mirror a great deal about our lives – and the chapters of our lives. IL: Yes, absolutely. BZ: You’ve had so many interesting chapters in your life, and I think of what you said earlier about it being about the practice of doing the thing you love and wanting to learn, not the end goal. IL: Yes, I think that if you are only thinking about the goal, you will be frustrated because everything takes a lot of time, but by taking each step every day, this is the journey. It’s also a humbling experience, but I think this may be the secret to happiness. I think we can say that?   BZ: I think we can… apart from finding the secret to happiness, we’re fascinated by anyone who has reinvented themselves so successfully as you have — crossing from one field of study or career to another. You’ve done so a few times with great dedication, while obviously applying that step-by-step journey you describe. And I also have to add — with great joie de vivre!  Can you talk a little about this urge to switch gears and how intentional it is — or is it more of a case of one path naturally leading to another? I wonder if you could offer advice to anyone who wants to expand their choices or make big changes but feels uncertain or afraid. IL: As a teenager, I wanted to be an opera singer, a tango dancer, and a nose. So, I always wanted to be a perfumer, or rather a nez  (nose), which in French sounds exactly the same as ‘ né ’, which literally means ‘to be born.’ It took me 40 years to finally come into my own and feel legitimate enough to live out this childhood dream! So, what I can say is that it's never too late, you're never too old, and creativity knows no age. However, we are not all equal when it comes to risk-taking, stress management, and fear. The hardest part is not committing to a path; it's persevering, holding on despite doubts, despite competition, despite a lack of money, and uncertainty about your financial future. Ultimately, you have to follow your deepest desires, remain consistent, and unique.          BZ: Isabelle, do you still sing? IL:  I do. I sing every day, and I love to sing with my daughter. 🌀 Beatriz Zimmermann is an award-nominated fragrance writer based in NYC. An incurable Francophile (and romantic), she loves to connect some of her favorite things in her writing whenever possible, like art, fashion, history, and literature. You can find more of her musings @luxemlove .

Zoe Messinger, founder of the cult-favorite edible art brand, is reimagining gelatin as a medium for nourishment, beauty, and spiritual connection. Gelée founder Zoe Messinger. Photo: Courtesy of Gelée There's a childlike magic in watching food sparkle, sweat, glisten, melt, break, and freeze, and there's arguably nothing more satisfying than watching something as simple as jelly tremble under kitchen light. For Zoe Messinger, founder of cult-favorite gelatin brand Gelée , that tremble is practically kinesiology. What began as a personal healing practice around food evolved into a full-fledged design philosophy ("There’s something so true about joy and play being a vital nutrient to both our body and soul," she told Vogue in 2024 ), and found root in the retro-whimsical properties of gelatin. In conversation with HALOSCOPE, Messinger opens up about the journey of starting Gelée, and how texture and taste can converge into something both intimate and transcendent — not unlike fashion. This interview has been edited for grammar and clarity. Photo: Courtesy of Gelée SAVANNAH EDEN BRADLEY: You’ve said before that Gelée was born during a time of personal healing for you — how did that experience shape the brand’s identity and the way you approach food as both nourishment and play and art? ZOE MESSINGER: I'm somebody [who's] always been on the journey, whatever that means to you, just a deeper journey. An inquisitive, curious one that can feel really raw and intense, and also really alive and awake. I think that I've had many profound experiences in my life, and I built Gelée as a tool and a brand to help people on the journey. In whatever way they need — but encompassing nourishment, play, light, joy, and all the things that can illuminate life and yourself from the inside out. SEB: What I love about your brand language is how deeply sensual and playful it can be. How do you see pleasure and play informing not just how we eat, but how we connect with each other? ZM: Pleasure and play are the two most important things to me. I'm a very sensorial person: taste, touch, sound, smell — energy. Living through my senses, while being aligned with my intuition and treating life like a playground, is the most direct way for me to connect to Spirit, which then connects me to those around me. Pleasure and play are at the core of how we connect with each other. I mean, you can trace it all the way back to Adam and Eve — intimacy, creation, connection all come from play and sensuality. "What can we do to make this earth, that is so wonderful and amazing and expansive, alive?" SEB: Going off of the sensory world, we have to talk about your collaboration with Caroline Zimbalist. The edible rose dress was such a delicious moment. How did that collaboration come about, and what excites you most about working at the intersection of food and fashion? ZM: Food and fashion are two of my greatest passions. They are both self expressions that play with the seasons, tones, textures, how they feel against your skin, in your mouth, how they interplay — it’s all sort of the same, the same thread and ingredients. When envisioning Gelée, before even launching, I imagined models walking down a runway at Fashion Week holding orbs of luminous, glowing Gelée, with jewels or accessories floating. So when Caroline and I were connected organically, it felt like the stars had aligned. We were and are fans of each other's work, and it was all very synergistic. We work and play from the same philosophy. Caroline's work is biodegradable, good for you, good for the planet, sustainable, regenerative. In fact, her closet of curiosities is pretty much the same as my pantry — natural fibers and natural food dyes that are made from fruits and vegetables like beets, chlorophyll, and spirulina. There's so much alignment, synergy, and electricity.  The dress was hand-painted, hand-constructed, and very tactile, sensorial, and playful. This piece was created with an organic, holistic philosophy, keeping every part of the ecosystem in mind.  SEB: Gelatin, as you’ve highlighted, can function as a biodegradable bioplastic. How do you imagine Gelée contributing to conversations around sustainability, both in food, fashion, and design? ZM: Gelée is rooted in ancient philosophy with a modern lens. Gelée is made from grass-fed pasture-raised beef gelatin — just bones, essentially. And so that’s already naturally regenerative and sustainable, because it's bones that would otherwise get discarded from the meat, and you're getting all of the collagen and the protein. It's a full-cycle food system philosophy.  I think that's just one conversation out of so many that are being had right now, falling in the intersection of food, fashion, and design, and all three separate of— What can we do to make this Earth, that is so wonderful and amazing and expansive, alive? What can we do to maintain it and make it thrive, make it healthy, treat it like we treat ourselves and other humans around us, and realize that it's a living, breathing organism? Earth is not a grid on a video game or a simulation; it's elemental, it's energy, it's spirit. When it thrives, we thrive.  SEB: Gelatin itself is also quite visual, tactile, sculptural. Do you see it as more of a culinary product, a design object, or a performance piece? Or is it all of the above? ZM: It's all of the above. It has a life force. It moves. Jiggles. It's porous, it breathes. It's multi-dimensional. Gelée is your muse.  SEB: What’s next for you and the brand? Do you see any other future collaborations across art, fashion, or even architecture? ZM: There’s a lot going on — some things that I can’t disclose, new flavors are launching that I’m really excited about, [and] my second collection. My language here mirrors a season of fashion or a painter’s collection because it's so much more than a new flavor to me.  It’s my Monet's Lilies, my Miro Bleu, my expression of the era, the moment, the season. Future collaborations [are] where I like to live. I love playing with others to create and redefine.  SEB: If you could serve Gelée in any dream setting — whether that’s a dinner party, a concert, a runway show — where would it be, and what form would it take? ZM: This is a tough question because I'm a dreamer. I have a lot of dreams, and many of them come true, like the edible dress, which is wild and powerful, and I don’t take that for granted. I think it’s because I say no a lot, and the big yes drops in. Everything is intentional. Something intergalactic inspires me (however you define that). I felt inspired by the latest Chanel collection and Paris runway show. I felt a connection to the brand in a way I hadn't before. I witnessed people starting to catch on to the cosmic wave — the understanding that we are energy, interconnected, part of a solar system. Gelée in space. I won’t go into detail; I’ll leave it there. Since we're dreaming, I have a vision of opening a Gelée window, partnering with local farms for seasonal flavor drops and beautiful takeaway boxes. New Yorkers, Parisians, [and] Californians walking home with a translucent, luminous case of Gelée reflecting the seasons for the community, full of collaboration, alive with spirit. 🌀 You can learn more about Gelée here or via Instagram . Savannah Eden Bradley  is a writer, fashion editor, gallerina, Gnostic scholar, reformed It Girl, and future beautiful ghost from the Carolina coast. She is the Editor-in-Chief of the fashion magazine HALOSCOPE. You can stalk her everywhere online @savbrads .

West, behind the looks for Dracula and The Bride of Frankenstein, birthed a new idiom in fashion horror — but was largely forgotten by history.  L-R: Helen Chandler in Dracula (1931); Lou Chaney and Peggy Moran in The Mummy’s Hand (1940); Elsa Lancaster in The Bride of Frankenstein (1935) Before horror had its icons — the Bride, the Mummy, Dracula’s countess — it had Vera West. The Universal Studios designer draped terror in beauty, crafting the silhouettes that would define monsters for generations and laid the visual language of the horror genre. Her work still haunts Halloween costumes to this day, even though her name and legacy have been eclipsed by her mysterious death. West was born in New York City in 1897. After graduating from the Philadelphia School of Design for Women (now Moore College of Art and Design), she migrated to New York and designed dresses for a fashion salon on Fifth Avenue. After finding herself in Hollywood in the 1920s, for reasons that are as mysterious as the films she worked on, West rose to prominence and assumed the role of chief costume executive at Universal Pictures. It’s important to note, here, that many details of West’s life are lost to time — we may never know why she fled to Hollywood, nor the granular bits and pieces of her personal life, but we do know one thing for certain: how her spirit appeared in her indelible work.  During her time at Universal, West designed costumes for almost 400 films, a majority falling in the horror genre. From the 1930s to the 1940s, West’s work can be seen in Dracula  (1931), The Mummy  (1932), The Bride of Frankenstein  (1935), and Phantom of the Opera  (1943), among many other classics. West designed for the female principal roles while costuming for Universal, which included lots of “damsel in distress”-coded characters, who were often seen draped across the arms of a male actor, but also included dynamic female roles like the Bride of Frankenstein, made iconic by her striking bolt of white hair. Elsa Lancaster, the actress who played the Bride in 1935, was draped in white surgical gowns and bandaged opera gloves. This look is perhaps West’s most popular legacy on horror fashion, reminiscent of 1940s utility and wartime-inspired looks. It’s almost as if West’s costuming for Lancaster helped predict women’s fashion in the 1940s as the United States entered its wartime era. Although no one was walking around in surgical gowns and bandaged gloves, women were wearing structured, coordinated outfits that were sharp and utilitarian, accessorized by stylized gloves. The Bride of Frankenstein  costume has been replicated and referenced hundreds of times in popular culture, becoming synonymous with the character itself. In 2022, Kylie Jenner wore a copycat look  of West’s monster design for Halloween. The 1930s were defined by bias cuts and elongated silhouettes in women’s dresses. In the 1931 version of Frankenstein , Mae Clarke, who played Elizabeth, was exclusively dressed in white throughout the film. Her bridal gown in this film, designed by West, echoed these popular 1930s trends and drove the high-end bridal design, transitioning them into the shadowy corners of horror. Clarke’s dress was so popular and favored by audiences that it was replicated in department stores.  L-R: Martha O’Driscoll in House of Dracula (1945); Mae Clarke in Frankenstein (1931) Lots of West’s costumes could be categorized as glamorous formal dresses or silky lace-trimmed nightwear. Helen Chandler, who played Mina Seward in Dracula (1931) , is seen in one of West’s biggest successes in film sleepwear. Chandler’s costume is soft and romantic, a complete contrast to her monster co-star. The chemise slip lightly grazes the body, instead of constricting it. The dropped waistline and straight cut are distinct features of 1920s fashion elements. Her overlay jacket consists of long, flowy sleeves that emphasize a ghostly fluidity to Chandler’s role.  This boudoir-inspired costuming can be seen in more of West’s sleepwear, like The Wolf Man (1940)   and The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942) . Although West didn’t have a defining, recognizable, overarching aesthetic to her designs like some other designers, sleepwear was definitely one of her strong suits. The She-Wolf of London (1946) is a prime example of West’s sleepwear expertise, featuring more modest sleeping attire than Dracula , but still expertly crafted and elegant.  West, along with makeup artist Jack Pierce, created what would become the blueprint for monster aesthetics — an intricate blend of the grotesque monster and the glamorous damsel. West’s costuming transformed archetypes of fear into icons of style, her use of draped fabrics and elegance lending the unsettling horror an unexpected beauty. Pierce’s transformative makeup techniques and hair styling completed the vision, fusing fashion and fantasy in a way that still resonates as inspiration today. Before the CGI era, Pierce was crafting monster features by hand out of cotton and putty, instead of latex, to create realistic and haunting monsters. He used yak hair and shoe polish on Frankenstein to enhance his gruesome nature, as well as putty across the skull to create a distinctive flat forehead. Although his techniques were later surpassed by newer methods, Pierce set the design standard for creating distinguishable characters by hand for the screen, leaving no detail untouched, making sure that the fantasy was as believable as possible. Modern brands like Christopher Kane and Viktor and Rolf have taken inspiration from West and Pierce on the runway, referencing the gothic romanticism and striking color and silhouette combinations. Viktor and Rolf’s FW13 Ready-to-Wear collection is filled with dark, gaunt looks, enhanced by distinct silhouettes and intentional draping. Christopher Kane’s SS13 collection features actual screen-printed images of Frankenstein on tops, jackets, and bottoms. Both brands have drawn from the original creators of horror monsters for inspiration. L-R: Viktor & Rolf FW13 Couture; Christopher Kane SS13; Viktor & Rolf FW13 Couture West’s story, once marked by the glimmer of ambition, took on a darker legend in its final chapter. One morning in June of 1947, she was found lifeless in her swimming pool on Bluebell Avenue by Robert Landry, a photographer living in West’s guest house. Scattered nearby were notes hinting at a secret that had shadowed her for decades: claims of blackmail that stretched across twenty years.  “This is the only way. I am tired of being blackmailed,” West wrote in a potential suicide note . “The fortune teller told me there was only one way to duck the blackmail I’ve paid for twenty-three years… death.” West was alone at the time of her death. Her husband, Jack West, was out of town, following a quarrel the couple had the night before West’s death. During this fight, West threatened her husband with a divorce. Decades later, the circumstances of West’s death remain a mystery. Conspiracy theories and whispered rumors persist, each attempting to explain what happened to such a prolific, though arcane Hollywood artist. In the fixation on her death, rather than her work, much of her legacy has been obscured — the artistry of the woman who dared to challenge her era’s sartorial definitions of power and femininity has been lost to time. The media coverage following West’s death was plentiful for a few days, but suddenly, the information on West, both pre- and post-death, seemed to stop. In 1947, West’s husband had their Bluebell Avenue home destroyed not long after his late wife’s death. After her time at Universal and shortly before her death, West opened her own boutique in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, catering to celebrities and the upper class. What could’ve been if West had lived? Maybe a new trend in wedding gowns, evening attire, or sleepwear, but, like West, that remains a mystery.  In many ways, Vera West was doing for horror what Schiaparelli and Vionnet were doing for couture — taking familiar silhouettes and pushing them into the realm of the surreal. Though her life ended in mystery, her designs endure, and her fingerprints show. She may be a ghost in the annals of fashion history, but her work remains vividly alive. 🌀 Macy Berendsen is a writer based in Chicago. More of her work can be found at macyberendsen.com .

According to NYFW, if there is a future, it is not one of rebirth or transformation — but of oblivion. L-R: Grace Ling SS26, Meruert Tolegen SS26, Who Decides War SS26 The cries this season are loud as ever about the death of New York Fashion Week. It is an event for an industry increasingly dominated by large conglomerates and content mills, featuring collections showcasing luxe variations of the same ensemble: an expensive-looking figure-flattering pant and a vaguely interesting top, the go-to outfit of wealthy white women dominating New York City living and snagging every Greenwich and West Village apartment. According to Rent Hop, the average rent for a Greenwich Village studio in October 2025 is $4860, a nearly 40% increase over the last three years. In the West Village, the average studio is $5000 a month, a dystopian 70% increase since 2022.  SS26 is primarily catering to the uniform of the new generation of New Yorkers taking over the West Village, as outlined in Brock Colyar's article “ It Must Be Nice To Be A West Village Girl , ” published in The Cut earlier this year. It is a polished look with something expensive to say, but not anything particularly interesting, leaving viewers, critics, and New Yorkers alike searching for something more. One could argue that the New York of independent, working-class artists and laborers who fiscally and socially dominated the city's landscapes is dead, like many facets of modern American identity and industry. Fashion, like all media, is a reflection of the culture it is produced in. The broad strokes of current New York culture fall into a revived dadaist realm, from constant content creation, transplant champagne socialists, up-and-coming literary figures building careers on the provocation of absurdity, and the infringing use of a fascist politic as a semiotic device.  Historically, NYFW is known for its modern sportswear and its ability to innovate minimalism, simultaneously appealing to workaholics, materialists, and grunge enthusiasts. Beyond the sea of heavily reported boring luxury, though, there are shows highlighting the cultural and aesthetic tension of New York in this present moment. A distinct visual language has emerged on the SS26 runway in response to the growing monotony and cultural dissolution associated with New York City. On the runway, excess serves as a celebration, highlighting the spatial and social disorientation of an ever-growing population, illustrated with high shine textures, feathered accents, and massive proportions.  Area SS26 Shows like AREA  have leaned into the absurd aesthetics of wealth and spectacle, showcasing high-concept collections filled with surrealist pieces. The show notes at Nicholas Aburn's AREA debut last week are a collection of musings about the constant mobility of New York social life, and a celebration of the disorienting nature of getting ready for a never-ending party. “New York, an American city. Beautiful, despicable.” By the end of the mini screenplay unfolding in the show notes, the narrator monologues a series of questions: The first is “What if I never stop getting ready?” ending with “What if the confetti never stops falling?” to which the narrator finally answers “Even if it's over, I’m ready.” The show begins with black, then white looks consisting of hoodies and turtlenecks — staples for any New Yorker — accented by silver, highly reflective materials. By the end, dresses are multicolored or entirely made of silver material, a perfect look for the girl who never stops getting ready. She’s over the top and always pushing the envelope, always ready for what's next, even if it's already over. The Area runway creates a distinct mix of textiles and proportions for a Bataillean party girl's existential-crisis-turned-celebration. Aburn shows viewers they cannot escape the speculated downfall of New York, but must plunge toward it with complete boldness.  Where Area sees evolution, designer Grace Ling  sees tensions between future and history. Instead of showcasing excess, the garments emphasize expansion of form and reduction of space. In the SS26 collection titled “Future Relics,” Ling creates an archive for the future, combining minimalist silhouettes and monochrome palettes with ultra-modern textures. The opening look worn by East Coast native Debra Shaw consists of a metallic 3-D printed top resembling a flower and a long skirt that slinks with her as she walks. Ling’s collection plays with negative space, utilizing unique cutouts and button configurations to highlight what gets left behind in the absence of fabric. Another standout is a recurring textile in the collection with a burnout effect, causing variations in sheerness and opacity throughout a singular garment. The closing look is also a 3D printed top that looks as if it has been forged from fire and welded to Abény Nhial’s body. “Future Relics” is brilliantly of the moment; it captures this point in time where visual language and artifacts are constantly being generated and erased, proving that the only time is now. By combining the ideas of ancient and future, a living archive is walking down the runway, transcending time and trend.  Deconstructed garments were a central component at many NYFW shows, but Who Decides War  managed to strike a unique balance of flashy excess and raw materialism this season.  Their SS26 collection, titled “Read the Room”, consists of a series of looks envisioning fashion from the point of view of a decaying house. Even the title and concept alone are suggestive of the complicated state of New York City's affairs regarding social events, housing, and fashion. The housing crisis in New York is at an all-time high: natives have either been pushed out of family homes due to gentrification or are watching those homes crumble. Those who strike out on their own for housing make due with the decay of a poorly maintained home. Who Decides War showcases clothes that are deeply textural — rich, romantic forms start from a place of restraint, then completely dissolve into the spectacular chaos of material deconstruction. Look 44, worn by Grace Seeger, calls to mind a fallen crystal chandelier, while look 21 (Bernard Amoah) evokes a well-loved leather chair. A concept that could easily become cloying never does, as designers Ev Bravado and Téla D’Amore remain true to their vision of rugged American textiles, highlighting the beauty in the chaos of decay.  Designer Meruert Tolgen  also calls on the viewer's notion of time through her SS26 collection, featuring 21 looks of flawlessly tailored garments in a neutral color palette. Her clothes conjure a dark fairy tale, where the heroine's disillusion with pastoral life leads her on a path of feminine destruction. Tolgen relies on the re-imagining of vintage lingerie silhouettes and jackets to create an aura of darkness that never feels heavy, as garments are deconstructed and then reconstructed. Her use of volume is simultaneously enchanting and disruptive, while the era of the clothing is eerily unplaceable. The result is a collection that feels otherworldly, as if the cottagecore girl from Hudson Valley moved to the East Village and became a communist. Tolgen has provided a very grounded collection for the disenchanted New Yorker's delight.  While many collections explored destruction through concept and form, there is no speculation about what comes after. The process of life after decay remains in the dark. According to these collections, if there is a future, it is not one of rebirth or transformation, but one of oblivion. If New York Fashion Week really is dying, it is because the seams of New York City life are ripping. Its artists are disillusioned and disoriented; they have the style to prove it.  🌀 Ruby Ann Robison is a multidisciplinary artist originally from rural Oregon. She has lived and worked all over the United States as well as in Amsterdam as a writer, model, actor, and media researcher. Her creative process includes socratic seminars in the back of an Uber and sleeping 10 hours a night. Links to a variety of her works can be found on Instagram @darlingmsbaby .

During SS26, New York designers crafted a free-flowing woman in a time of intense political restraint. L-R: Anna Sui SS26, Diotima SS26, Anna Sui SS26 If there was ever a time to bring the myth of burning bras to reality, now may be the time. And it seems New York will lead the way. Amidst sustained tensions across America, New York City hosted its Spring / Summer 2026 presentations, business as usual. Except, of course, for the designers using their platforms to stitch commentary and resistance into their newest collections, like Rachel Scott and Grace Ling.  New York designers are crafting a free-flowing woman in a time of political restraint. Save for a few designers, silhouettes are highlighting the feminine figure in a softer, more liberated manner than in past seasons. This idea opposes the continued popularity of styles favoring a “ trad wife ” aesthetic across social media. TL;DR: corsets are out; mesh, flowing fabrics, and showing a little skin are in. Female creative directors — present at Anna Sui , Khaite , Sandy Liang , Diotima , and Grace Ling , to name a few — are particularly tapped into this movement. Designs from these creatives for the SS26 showings leaned into less structured bodices, still following a feminine silhouette. If there was a corset involved in a look, it’s built out to literally allow the wearer breathing space.  While there isn’t much confirmation that these designers are intentionally crafting looks rooted in political opposition, the correlation certainly isn’t lost on the viewer or wearer. Women and gender historian Einav Rabinovitch-Fox suggests that feminism has long been a fashionable idea in America, harkening back to the dress practices of suffragettes and their predecessors. However, in contrast with styles that have coincided historically with waves of the Women’s Rights Movement, the feminist wave metaphor, and thus associating specific clothing with swells, has become more problematic. “I think it might be more productive to think about [feminism] not as in waves, but where the conversations are,” says Rabinovitch-Fox. “In recent years, we see a lot more conversations about the body, for example, that we didn't have for years. Of course, the Dobbs [ v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization  decision], and trans rights, and all is part of that conversation. And I think even going through a pandemic that the idea of [the] body is really becoming tangible.” And the woman’s body is always center stage during New York Fashion Week. This season, Rachel Scott was a standout in the move towards womenswear’s free flow. As the newly appointed creative director of Proenza Schouler , her collaboration with Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez infused a new idea of femininity into the brand. This woman is just as sophisticated as Proenza collections past, but feels less constrained and more vibrant.   As if Scott’s new appointment wasn’t exciting enough, she also made a runway debut with her own brand, Diotima . The collection showcased cherry red and seafoam green tones paired with feathered, sequined, and netted textures amidst a landscape of minimalism across the designer’s contemporaries. In a statement made to Vogue , Scott said the SS26 Ready-to-Wear collection is “a moment of resistance that’s rooted in exuberance, joy, and sensuality, and is against any form of domination.”  L-R: Proenza Schouler SS26, Grace Ling SS26, Proenza Schouler SS26 Another attention-grabbing look was from Grace Ling  — a floor-length gown, whose broad shoulders glide down the chest and torso to cinch at the hip front, leaving much of the midriff bare, as the top connects to a slinking skirt. The cut of the bodice gives the illusion of the hourglass silhouette, but the gown itself offers no point of restriction or manipulation to the body. The model gracefully, sexily glided down the runway, commanding authority in her bodily freedom. It can be difficult to place attention and importance on fashion in a country losing democratic ground with each new policy proposal . However, clothing offers an everyday opportunity for resistance through bodily autonomy. The ideas of dressing an unrestricted woman, as crafted during the recent NYFW showings, carry political weight and ideas of hope that contrast with invasive government and policy happenings, like the Supreme Court’s current consideration of ruling against Colorado’s conversion therapy ban . “Why are we dealing with fashion, right? When the world is on fire and there are really serious things to worry about?” asks Rabinovitch-Fox. “But I also think that fashion is a really powerful tool of resistance and of making statements in that world of fire.” From the fashioning of the Suffragettes  to win the vote, to asserting sexual freedom with the mini-skirt , style markers of cultural change are woven into the fabric of American history. Even in the Supreme Court, Ruth Bader Ginsburg fashioned resistance via accessorized collars  as she contributed to groundbreaking decisions supporting gender equality, people with disabilities, and the LGBTQ+ community, amongst other marginalized groups. As of last month, Connor Ives’ Protect the Dolls t-shirt  has raised over $600,000 for the Trans Lifeline nonprofit, once again proving the power of clothing in political resistance.  Fashion can operate as a unifier on both sides of the political aisle. In our cultural environment, perhaps the power of absent corsets on the New York runway functions as an act of political resistance through bodily autonomy.  The body is a political battleground, and fashion adorns this front. New York runways are too important not to keep an eye on in the present moment. Designers like Rachel Scott, Grace Ling, Sandy Liang, Ulla Johnson, Anna Sui, and their contemporaries are infusing their clothes with resistance — one gentle silhouette at a time. “Even fascists understand the power of fashion,” says Rabinovitch-Fox. 🌀 Kaitlyn Rutledge is a writer, photographer, and Fashion Studies graduate student at Parsons School of Design. Though usually scouring the streets of New York City for the perfect lavender latte, she’s often covered in oil paints or finding zen at the yoga studio. Find her on socials @kaitlynsrutledge .

The Spanish-American artist kept a fashion diary of one whirlwind NYFW season — including a leopard-print midi dress. New York Fashion Week is as much about the stolen hours between shows as it is about the clothes themselves. Few people embody that divide — the grit and the spectacle, the exhaustion and the dopamine rush — quite like Alexa Dark . Singer, songwriter, DJ, and a fellow believer in animal print being a neutral, Dark's work blends the noirish, Old Hollywood-inspired pop of early-10s Lana with the fuzzy monotone of Mazzy Star. She's also a brilliant dresser, naturally. Over three days during the city's busiest fashion season, Dark kept a fashion diary for HALOSCOPE — a lived-in record of late nights, quick changes, and the surreal blur of Fashion Week as it unfolded minute by minute. Here's what she wore. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 6 I kicked off this year’s NYFW at the Prada Paradigme event wearing a stunning MISA Los Angeles dress paired with my Ottolinger bag — such a perfect start to Fashion Week. SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 7 For street style, I hit the buzzy NYC streets in an Ioannes dress, styled with my Alexis Bittar jewelry and purse, Prada sunglasses, The Great Frog ring, and my Cartier watch. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 9 A moment for this chic black-and-white look: an Empresa leather skirt with a crisp Ralph Lauren shirt, finished off with my Verafied NY bag. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11 One of my favorite highlights was The Champion Event—the energy was unmatched, and I met so many amazing people. I wore a Contessa Mills shirt-and-skirt set, elevated with my Dior bag. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 13 The Cynthia Rowley Show was absolutely amazing—I wore a gorgeous cheetah-print dress with knee-high boots, paired with my favorite sunglasses. 🌀 Savannah Eden Bradley  is a writer, fashion editor, gallerina, Gnostic scholar, reformed It Girl, and future beautiful ghost from the Carolina coast. She is the Editor-in-Chief of the fashion magazine HALOSCOPE. You can stalk her everywhere online @savbrads .

In perfume, nostalgia tends to rule: sweet gourmands, memory-laden florals. But when fragrance borrows from the cerebral world of chess, it opens a stranger, more imaginative territory. Frassaï's 2025 fragrance, Ajedrez, composed by Ralf Schwieger. Of the perfume, the brand says, "Time can move forward, or backward. Time is inverted. Sometimes, it seems to stand still. The pause gains importance. In standing still, there is movement." En passant  is one of chess’s more esoteric rules, referring to a pawn's ability to capture another pawn when special conditions are met. I learnt this mostly against my will when I sampled Frederick Malle’s fragrance of the same name . It dawned on me soon after reading the definition that the title must refer to the French phrase’s direct meaning,  passing through , not the chess rule – and yet I found myself captivated by the idea of trying to distill and communicate the essence of a player enacting the move in a game in scent. En Passant was inspired by   a spring garden in full bloom, filled with the scent of lilacs and the freshness of vegetation lingering after a short, heavy storm breaks the day’s heat. Why couldn’t it refer to an opportunistic pawn, drawing a parallel between the ephemerality of what happens on a chessboard and lilac’s notoriously short blooming season? In a way, both are passing through.  Though I was mistaken about the connection between En Passant   and chess, other fragrance houses have ventured there directly. Frassaï’s Ajedrez , translating literally to “chess,” is a journey to a darkly lit chess room in the 1960s. Tobacco, dry spices, and iris conjure images of a chess player, sharply dressed; the notes of dark wood, moss, and lavender evoke the materials a chess board is made from, the room it lives in. Vilhelm Perfumerie’s Morning Chess  situates the game during the summer months in Sweden’s coastal Falkenberg, verdant and succulent, with only an echo of leather and spice. Both are memoristic, elegant tributes to chess-playing grandfathers. Perfume is not immune to trend cycles. Even its resurgent popularity as a category within beauty is cyclical, and the current boom – though sustained – is likely to dip at some point. Chess’s presence in pop culture is more curious. It’s a game with a 1500-year history, but not exactly a mainstream interest or pursuit, until 2020 when The Queen’s Gambit  entered the cultural imagination at a time when, for many, TV was the main source of entertainment. Captive audiences couldn't get enough of the chess prodigy Beth Harmon, with her preternatural talent and dramatic character arc; the show quickly became one of the most-streamed on Netflix. The Queen’s Gambit  stepped outside chess’s entrenched symbology. Harmon was beautiful, stylish, sexy, transgressive, ambitious, an addict, a woman. She bore a whole host of dramatic attributes to find interest in beyond the inherent unfamiliarity of chess, while simultaneously immersing audiences in the appeal and tension of the game. The Queen’s Gambit  rendered the closed, internal experience of chess explicit; Harmon would look up to the ceiling to envision her next move, the chess pieces celestial objects she mastered at will. Searches for chess surged as did sales of chess sets, and in an amusing turn of events, The Queen’s Gambit  board game  was born, a simplified facsimile for Harmon wannabes.  More niche, though an indisputable event  in the literary world, was the 2024 publication of Sally Rooney’s fourth novel, Intermezzo . The hardcover features a fallen rook, which can move any number of squares in a straight line if not blocked by another piece, representing the protagonists’ tribulations and the freedom — with the right strategy — to move beyond them. An intermezzo,  an Italian term translating to “in between moves,” is an unexpected action in the game that disrupts an opponent’s strategy and necessitates an immediate response. Readers of the novel will be able to make the symbolic connection between those metaphors and the narrative arc of the two protagonists, though it’s the humanistic Peter, and not the chess-playing Ivan, who most embodies the cover’s clues.  Chess has long served as a metaphor for anyone looking to explore and express complexity. So why not fragrance, too? In the aptly titled novella Chess ,   also known as The Royal Game , Stefan Zweig asks us to consider whether chess is “not also a science and art [...] a unique link between pairs of opposites: ancient yet eternally new, mechanical in structure, yet made effective only by imagination; limited to a geometrically fixed space, yet within unlimited combinations; [...] no one knows what brought it to down to earth to vanquish boredom, sharpen the senses and stretch the mind.” It’s a fitting description for the art of perfumery, particularly when it draws attention to the function of imagination — it’s imagination that connects what’s inside a perfume bottle to its narrative and visual identity.  The high conceptualism of chess and the average nescience towards its nuances can only be a good thing for fragrance. A perfumer could start by translating each of the 32 pieces on a board into individual fragrances or reach for the thousands of chess openings, the oldest of which are named after nationalities of players who advocated for them; all ready-made genesis nodes for olfactory exploration. So many of the most popular scents today, even in niche spaces, over-index on nostalgia and gourmands, the two often present concurrently. Sweet and sticky, they harken back to places and memories stripped of contextual complexity and therefore negative associations. Chess, then, presents a new opportunity for perfumers and perfume enthusiasts alike.  Perfume house Mind Games  is putting this theory to the test. Launched in 2022, Mind Games “links the complex artistry best embodied by the strategy and brilliance of chess with the innovative and hypnotic effects of perfumery.” Naturally, the collection is divided into black and white flacons, adorned with a sculptural topper corresponding to different chess pieces. Scents mirror “the significance behind every move a player makes [...] Each note is carefully considered and selected, performing an essential role in the grand scheme, comprising a collection as layered, nuanced, and insightful as the ideas that inspired them.”  At Mind Games, this isn’t mere marketing. It’s a gamut of ideas striving to coalesce into a narrative detached from nostalgia, free from predetermined parameters. By building a brand around the concept of chess and all it encompasses, Mind Games has created an olfactory playground for the perfumers it works with. Grand Master, unexpectedly, opens with rose water, blackcurrant, and peony. The initial softness is bolstered by coffee and violet before the fragrance reveals a robust foundation of ebony wood, myrrh, and incense. Grand Master is unisex – if anything, it leans feminine – the soft, powdery flower petals concealing aromatic woods until a gust of wind blends them. Meanwhile, Gambit is herbaceous and spicy. Cloves and lavender open, leading to a cardamom and geranium middle, while patchouli, sandalwood, and ambrostar ground. I can extrapolate how the spicy opening notes translate to a player making a calculated sacrifice at the start of the game, as the fragrance transforms into a stable, animalic base, the player waits to reap the gambit’s advantage. Is it ontologically true? I don’t care – it’s fun to experience the notes like colours and brushstrokes in an impressionistic scape, conjuring previously unexplored and unexpected associations.  Julian Wasser, Duchamp Playing Chess with a Nude (Eve Babitz), Duchamp Retrospective, Pasadena Art Museum (1963) I often think about a 1963 photograph by Julian Wasser of a nude, youthful Eve Babitz playing chess with the besuited, aged Marcel Duchamp. An absurd contrast transpires between them, the game, and the Ferus gallery setting, surrounded by Duchamp’s artworks, including the famed Fountain . I long to know what the scene smelled like. Did Babitz arrive smelling of “swaying fruit trees and blooming bougainvillea, buffeted by earthquakes and the Santa Ana winds,” as she described her hometown of Los Angeles to smell like in Eve’s Hollywood ? Maybe Duchamp was wearing classic French cologne, or his suit was freshly laundered for the opening of his retrospective. The gallery must have had a smell, they always do, of expanse, and the recently installed artworks. Why not add a salty, aquatic note, courtesy of the Fountain ? The chess game between Duchamp and Babitz didn’t last long. “I tried my best, moving a knight so at least he knew I had some idea what a knight was, he moved his pawn and the next thing I knew, I was checkmated. ‘Fool’s mate,’ they call it when you’re so stupid that the game hasn’t even begun and you’ve lost,” Babitz recalled  of the experience. Sadly, there’s no fool’s mate fragrance, though I’m not surprised. It’s the fastest checkmating pattern in chess, predicated on white making awful opening mistakes, leading to a checkmate in only two moves. Perhaps in a fragrance, it would be embodied by two discordant notes, quickly going nowhere. It wouldn’t smell good, necessarily, but it would be fun to experience.  In The Queen’s Gambit , chess was a refuge for Beth Harmon, the process through which she transformed herself. It may be a conceptual refuge for perfumers too, a new semantic circle to play in. By centering chess, perfumers and perfume appreciators can, per Zweig, “sharpen the senses and stretch the mind,” vanquishing the boredom of revisiting well-worn olfactory concepts. To thrive as an art form, perfume has to look in directions other than the past; to concepts and ideas that uncover possibilities: cerebral, delightful, unexpected – without this move it may grow stale, blundering into a fool’s mate. 🌀 Zhenya Tsenzharyk is a writer and editor living in London, covering (most) things sensory through a culturally critical lens. She loves to over-intellectualise her ever-growing perfume collection.

Some perfumes feel like déjà vu. Dandelion Butter, the latest from Chicago’s Clue Perfumery, is one of them: an olfactory whisper that tugs at a half-forgotten childhood memory. The smell is faint at first. A delicate green whisper with the tender bite of early summer air. Then it deepens, unfurling into something creamy and salted, like butter pulled from a cool ceramic bell on a kitchen table, soft enough to spread with the back of a knife. The moment is fleeting but disarmingly vivid, as if it’s been waiting in the wings of your mind for decades.  This is Dandelion Butter , the newest creation from Chicago-based Clue Perfumery , a fragrance that smells not only of its ingredients but of a childhood game passed in whispers from playground to playground, generation to generation: hold a dandelion under your friend's chin, and if it casts a yellow glow, you must  like butter. Laura Oberwetter, co-founder and perfumer of Clue , first heard of the game from her business partner and fellow founder, designer Caleb Vanden Boom. She had playfully dismissed it at first, convinced it was some eccentric tradition unique to his school. But then, years later, it resurfaced, as mentioned in passing while filling studio orders and listening to The   Virgin Suicides  audiobook. What once seemed like an obscure oddity began to feel like a collective memory. “It was so nonsensical, yet unexpectedly catchy and sticky,” she recalls. “The kind of thing that burrows in your brain.” Dandelions, as it turns out, don’t have an essential oil. Perfumers can’t simply reach into a kit and pull out “dandelion” the way they might with vanillin or Iso E Super. This made Dandelion Butter both a creative puzzle and an irresistible challenge. Oberwetter began with research, ordering every perfume she could find that listed dandelion as a note, only to discover that most relied on conventional “perfumey” interpretations rather than the real scent of the flower. She needed the raw thing. So, in the depths of a Chicago February, a grower in Atlanta shipped her fresh dandelions overnight so she could study them in person. What she found surprised her: the flower’s greenness was more prominent than its floral character, with a vegetal, yeasty, almost bread-like aroma touched by a watery citrus quality. She layered hay-like notes with subtle powder and earth to construct it from the ground up, blending 42 materials; 16 dedicated solely to building the dandelion accord. Then came the butter. Inspired by her parents’ kitchen, she sought a note that felt cool or room temperature, not hot; mild, creamy, and faintly salty. Butter in perfume can easily tip into cloying territory when paired with rich vanillas or caramelized notes, so she stripped it back, avoiding anything that might veer rancid. As the scent of Dandelion Butter fades, it leaves behind a ghost of warmth and green. An echo of that strange, sticky playground game, refracted through artistry, discipline, and a refusal to play by the rules, the final effect is uncannily lifelike, bolstered by a subtle nod to human skin’s own “butyric” warmth under sunlight. It is a scent of impossible familiarity: a game you may or may not have played, a flower no perfumer can bottle, a moment that feels like yours even if it isn’t. In Clue’s world, perfume isn’t just what you wear; it’s a clue to who you are, who you were, and who you might remember being. Laura Oberwetter and Caleb Vanden Boom shot by Kate Doyle and Breakfast For Dinner. That strange blend of nostalgia and surrealism, the slippery space between the familiar and the uncanny, is the essence of Clue Perfumery. Founded in 2023, Clue has quickly become one of the most talked-about names in the indie fragrance scene, not through celebrity endorsements or sleek corporate campaigns, but by crafting scents that read like dream fragments, anchored in precise, tangible detail. The Clue studio is tucked in Chicago, where Oberwetter and Vanden Boom do nearly everything in-house: formulation, packaging, fulfillment. They are, in their own words, equal parts “perfumer and email person,” “designer and box packer.” This end-to-end approach allows them to maintain the balance of thoughtfulness and playfulness that has become the brand’s signature.  Their bottles — elegantly structured, smooth, with a bold, keyhole-like silhouette — stand out as much as their olfactory compositions. They are objects meant to be handled, displayed, and loved, but never treated as too precious. (And the scents inside are IFRA-certified, built from both naturals and synthetics without a trace of pretension.)  From the beginning, Clue positioned itself not in the crowded space of luxury exclusivity, but in a rarer, riskier territory: conceptual scents that spark joy and curiosity while refusing to cater to trends. “We’re not chasing the rarest rose oil or glorifying the materials for their price tag,” Oberwetter says. “We’re chasing an idea, a feeling, a moment you can’t quite name.” When Clue launched its debut trio in 2023, the reaction was instant and effusive. Morel Map conjured the deep earthiness of a forest floor after rain, mushrooms threaded with balsam fir and oakmoss, a fragrance that radiated like a living thing. Warm Bulb was a cozy vignette of dust-dappled light and yellowed paper, sweetened with vanilla and sandalwood (my favorite scent, by the way). With the Candlestick leaned into ritual incense and melted wax, cherry wine over labdanum and musk, evoking candlelit mystery without descending into gloom. The scents were cerebral yet wearable, drawing a devoted following that Oberwetter affectionately refers to as “the club”. Both she and Vanden Boom resisted the temptation to ride their momentum to rapid expansion, choosing to instead preserve their control and integrity. “It takes dedication not to sell out,” she says. “But for us, it’s not even a question.” Clue’s work occupies an unusual emotional register; mysterious but never joyless, nostalgic but never syrupy. “We’re drawn to concepts that are a little surreal, but always playful,” Oberwetter explains. Even With the Candlestick, arguably the most shadowed of their creations, approaches darkness from the perspective of childhood fear, tinged with innocence rather than menace. This ethos extends to their limited-run “Slipper Series,” which allows them to release experimental “sketch” fragrances that don’t fit the mold of a full Clue launch. The first, Like Mesh, was literally composed in a dream — an unbalanced but beguiling neroli-heavy formula that sold out quickly despite minimal fanfare. The series, Oberwetter says, is like uncovering an artist’s demo recording: imperfect, ephemeral, and treasured by those who seek it out. Clue’s audience is geographically diverse but concentrated in Brooklyn, Chicago, and, unexpectedly, Minnesota. They’ve resisted international shipping so far, instead partnering selectively with independent retailers who share their ethos. A Greenwich, Connecticut boutique, also frequented by Hamptons clientele, was one of the more surprising stockists, and Oberwetter still delighted in the juxtaposition of her surreal vignettes sitting on the same shelves that attract reality-TV stars. Pop-up events have become a way to connect directly with customers, though demand has sometimes outstripped their expectations. “We thought, Who’s going to come?  And then it sells out before we’ve even caught our breath,” she says.  For someone who spent her teenage years scouring Fragrantica, Oberwetter has, in recent years, stepped away from the churn of perfume content and online trends. “I don’t read our reviews anymore. I don’t go on TikTok. I don’t want to know what the trend is, I’m waiting for it to be over,” she says. This isn’t contrarianism for its own sake; it’s self-preservation for the brand’s creative core. “I don’t want to be tainted by it. I want to find inspiration somewhere else.” Still, Clue often finds itself inadvertently aligned with trends (lactonic “rice” notes, for example), only to pare them back to avoid being lumped in. In an industry that can sometimes feel like an echo chamber, this kind of selective isolation is both rare and, for Clue, essential. Looking ahead, Oberwetter hints at materials she’s eager to use: Peru balsam, for one, "because it smells like a cinnamon roll,” and even a sweaty “B.O. accord” inspired by hot yoga studios. They're just awaiting the right context. The possibilities, she says, are less about keeping pace with the market and more about finding the right story to tell. For now, thrice sold-out Dandelion Butter feels like the purest distillation that bypasses the intellect and lands directly in the body, like the way certain songs can make you feel something you can’t quite articulate. 🌀 Allison Skultety  is a PR Coordinator, writer, baker , and occasional funny girl.

The Mobular founder talks architecture, Margiela, and challenging overconsumption through functional jewelry and homeware design. CONCRETE. SLAB. STONE. BLISS. The first time I laid my eyes on Mobular  — the hybrid 3D-tech and craft studio based in Le Marais, Paris — I was ensorcelled by Franco-Portuguese founder Mariza Joana Gomes Rodrigues ’ ability to provoke rich emotion via rigid geometry. Borne from Rodrigues’ desire to “merge minimalism with the cosmic vastness of space,” Mobular counts homeware and jewelry among its spate of offerings, from brutalist ashtrays and spherical candles to bangles, earrings, and rings that jut over the body like cubic halos.  This past January, I sat down with Rodrigues to discuss Mobular’s design ethos, playing The Sims, and what comes next for the emerging brand.  This interview has been edited for grammar and clarity. SAVANNAH EDEN BRADLEY:  I’m curious about the genesis of Mobular — as well as your personal genesis as a creative director. Take me to the beginning.  MARIZA JOANA GOMES RODRIGUES:  I've always been this creative child. I played instruments, liked to draw, [and] liked to create homes on The Sims, but never really played afterwards. I was basically super interested in creating singular universes in general. I think I was born with this creative energy in me. Growing up, I found a big interest in graphic design, without knowing it was graphic design at the time. I liked to create beautiful layouts for school [and] for my personal interests in general. I always loved to curate a beautiful Instagram feed, and my friends used to give me a lot of compliments about my vision of aesthetics and harmony. I knew that, at some point, I would have to take this seriously and initiate my own creative project, but I never knew what and when exactly. I tried different things, helped friends with their own projects, [and] helped family decorate their homes. At around 18 years old, I started to be really interested in interior design and architecture, but didn't [study] at all. I went straight to work after a few months of studying foreign languages. So I documented myself a lot, visited a lot — living in Northern France gives me the opportunity to explore a lot of different countries and environments that literally are pioneers in terms of design, like Belgium, for example.  I curated some inspiration pages on Instagram about fashion, design, [and] architecture. And then all this knowledge kind of intertwined perfectly with my intuitive insights. I woke up one day in 2023, after a solo trip to Lisbon, [which] inspired me a lot — being a mixed Franco-Portuguese child — and [I] was like, “OK, I'm gonna design rings that can also be used for homeware and  furniture.” This is how I created Mobular [...] the brand name came naturally, too.  SEB: One of the things that struck me about your work is how it coalesces classic brutalist forms with organic textures — these pieces don’t feel cold or stark, but instead pleasing and warm, made to be cherished. What goes into the design of every Mobular piece? How does the process differ between homeware and jewelry? MJGR: Working with bio-sourced material was super important to me. As an immense Earth lover, I wanted to create objects that wouldn't hurt our environment. After long research, I found that organic polymer looked like the perfect compromise. I think that their matte and soft texture gives this “second skin” feeling, and we have to cherish our skin, right?  I started to draw the first three rings in 2023; they were inspired by furniture at first sight. Then I introduced myself to 3D design. I am 100% self-taught in [all of this]. So, I decided to [model] and print them in this organic polymer. Thanks to 3D printing, this process also gave me the chance to be fully independent in the production process. Every other piece unfolded intuitively and naturally from one another. I play a lot with 3D design to envision my different works, and the whole collection is the perfect ecosystem to me; [all the] pieces are relatives.  What differs from jewelry to homeware is the material and scale choices. When you design homeware pieces, you have to make sure that they are solid, practical, and safe to use for their different purposes. As a brutalist lover, I always wanted to work with concrete. This is how I also introduced myself to molding and casting techniques. SEB: You’ve described your work as “the new ornamentals.” What does that mean to you, and how do you see ornamentation evolving in design today? MJGR: I aim to transcend the law of “form and function” through my designs. I wanted to break the rules of aesthetics in terms of jewelry, getting out of this “elegance must be delicate” law. We are able to create chunky pieces that are very elegant and delicate, too.  I also want to invite people to expand their vision of an object being stuck into one exclusive function. I find this so reductive. In our era, to escape this overconsumption society, we need to create designs that are versatile. For me, versatility is timelessness and longevity. For example, the Dome earrings  can transform into the Dome Incense Holder , playing with its scale and material. SEB: How is your own style reflected in the work that you’re doing? What inspires you? MJGR:  The biggest inspiration I have is all these [timeless] references we know today, whether from fashion like the Martin Margiela years, sculptors like Brâncuşi or Noguchi, or, of course, architecture. I really appreciate the minimalism of John Pawson or Álvaro Siza, a Portuguese modern architect who excels in perspectives and proportions.  I love how strong simplicity can be so efficiently drawn in different fields. Finding the way to express strong simplicity is a holy grail to me. This is how society can save itself from overconsumption. I like to play around with my style, of course, as a fashion lover, but I tend to buy less, stay away from temporary trends, and work on building a timeless capsule wardrobe year after year. SEB: We often associate 3D printing with functionality over beauty — Mobular seems to subvert that expectation. How do you approach making technology feel deeply human? MJGR:  Very true. At its essence, 3D printing was created to compensate for production shortages in the mechanical engineering industry. It's still very young compared to traditional savoir-faire . I think that Mobular subverts that expectation thanks to my desire to share the whole human scale process behind it and how I handle this creative project by myself, as an independent self-taught woman. People can resonate with it, [and] it feels more natural and reachable in a way. You can buy your own 3D printer nowadays and play with it at home, [and] make your own creations tangible if you're familiar with 3D modeling. And that's fantastic. SEB: What’s next for Mobular? Are there specific scales, mediums, or ideas you’re excited to explore in the future? MJGR: As I introduced the homeware scale lately, working for the first time with concrete, I'm looking forward to [expanding] the collection with more pieces and [transforming] more jewelry designs into homeware ornaments. The Dome Incense Holder [has been] a success, and I am so grateful for that. I already have ideas on how to transform this particular design into a bigger scale. A sink that works like a fountain, for example. I also envisioned one of the rings as a beautiful bedside lamp. So many ideas [are] popping in — honestly, I can't wait to be able to work with bigger resources. I am also currently working with a 3D architect to create beautiful immersive renderings of my pieces in [curated] environments. I would love to expand Mobular as a creative studio that works with different mediums and with different creatives of their own or on collaborative projects. Saint Heron by Solange is the perfect example to me. SEB: What advice would you give to yourself one year ago? MJGR:  What I would say to myself is: always trust in a good and healthy process, don't try to be overproductive, don't be scared of voids, and embrace those contemplative moments without feeling guilty — because they feed your mind and body with space to receive tons of new ideas and inspirations. Don't doubt too much; actions always lead to a new level of creative expansion. I would like to give this advice to any creative reading these words. Owning and running a creative project is such a blessing — don't let those negative thoughts ruin the whole process behind it. It is a catharsis before becoming a potential full-time job.  🌀 To view more of Rodrigues’ work, visit MOBULAR , as well as on Instagram  and X . Savannah Eden Bradley  is a writer, fashion editor, gallerina, Gnostic scholar, reformed It Girl, and future beautiful ghost from the Carolina coast. She is the Editor-in-Chief of the fashion magazine HALOSCOPE. You can stalk her everywhere online @savbrads .

The four perfumes — Mons Venus, Dauphine, Viva Maria, and Josephine in Furs — demonstrate a perfumer setting a dazzling precedent for an up-and-coming fragrance house. All photos by Roxy Lee . Faux Rose ’s perfume collection is a look into the inner sanctums of desire. Fronted by fashion designer and stylist Amelia Rose , the collection invites you to gaze into a boudoir triptych, a sun-soaked lactonic, an ode to the endless symbology of women and their erotic power. Inspired in part by Rose’s work in visual culture and experience as a stylist for Vivienne Westwood , Rose’s perfume collection puts visuality at the forefront. What transpires is an olfactory journey through the senses. The four perfumes — Mons Venus, Dauphine, Viva Maria, and Josephine in Furs — demonstrate a perfumer setting a dazzling precedent for an up-and-coming perfume house. After meeting Rose by chance at her place of work — an erotica shop based in North London — I became acquainted not only with her, but her perfumes. Taking inspiration from mythology, erotica, and the matrixial folds of desire and the body, Faux Rose invites you into their parlour of pleasure. This interview was conducted in June 2025 and has been edited for grammar and clarity. M.P.S. SIMPSON: Hey Amelia, it’s lovely to get to talk to you like this, although I know we’ve been chatting on and off for weeks over text. I wanted to start here: what’s your favourite perfume?  AMELIA ROSE: Vivienne Westwood, Boudoir. M.P.S.: Why do you love it?  AR: It was one of the first perfumes I felt instantly connected to, and I fell in love with the concept and visual aesthetics of it. Since then, I have always searched for perfumes that emulate this powdery and animalic feeling. Westwood used to have a range of Boudoir products during the ‘90s/2000s,  and I have the pearlescent pink dusting powder, which still smells incredible. The whole bottle design and packaging are beautiful, too. It’s so sad that it has been discontinued! M.P.S.: I agree, it is such a shame. I’m inclined to believe that our experiences — which not only shape our entire worldview — very much shape our interests in terms of perfume, and the types of olfactory experiences we lean towards. What’s your most vivid scent memory? I think mine has to, unfortunately, be the smell of cigarette smoke on skin, when the person’s been smoking so long it almost seeps out of their pores.  AR:  My most vivid scent memory is from when I worked at a morgue. I didn't last more than a day there as I could not get over the smell, which was like a salty, high-pitched amber intertwined with lactonic, raw meat and chemical bleach. It was like a scented hum in the background, humming in tune with the sound of the fridges while I was physically there, but once I left, it did not fully leave my nose for days, and the scent would reappear out of nowhere like a phantom ghost. A fter some time had passed, I was in a garden centre, and that smell hit me again. I had a rush of adrenaline and felt like I was going to vomit instantly. When I turned around to see what it was, there was a butcher's counter. So yeah, that one has probably been etched into my brain forever. M.P.S.: That’s fascinating. I can only really begin to imagine what effect coming so close to such an abject scent had on you, not only in terms of your perfumery journey, but as a shaping personal experience more broadly.  I remember you saying how you purchased Cadaverine — the scent that emulates certain abject bodily odours  — in an initial interest in creating perfumery along those more provocative lines. I’m interested as to why you decided against this?  AR: Yes, that was the first aromachemical I purchased with the scent descriptions as “sperm, dead animal, animalic”. I bought it out of curiosity, which then led me to Secretions Magnifiques , which I  loathe. I tried smelling it once diluted at 1% but it was so repulsive that I felt like I was going to vomit again, so I put it in a plastic bag and hid it in the drawer, as I didn’t know what to do with it. It made me realise that I wanted to make perfumes that people actually want to wear and not smell like death. Although I am really curious if anyone has been able to use Cadaverine in a perfume. M.P.S.: Besides your experience working in the morgue, I’m curious if there’s anything else t hat inspired your start in perfume?  AR:  I remember just before COVID, I wanted to turn my boyfriend's natural body odour into a perfume; we joked that we would sell it and call it SWEAT. I bought a bottle of perfumer's alcohol, and it sat in the drawer for over a year before I started experimenting with it. And then the day at the morgue happened, which was when I became fascinated with the power of scent and what visceral reactions it can have on someone. It almost felt like a forgotten sense to me that I had rediscovered through this experience. M.P.S.: I’m always enamoured by stories like that. It’s not only experiences that shape us, but the people we find along the way, the communities we develop, and the connections we forge. It brings to mind how we actually met by chance, as I was writing an article for Jouissance Perfumes  and I referenced your place of work — the erotica shop Ram Books  in North London. I’ve only been to Ram twice, but it feels like such an enclave of the weird, strange, and perverted. No wonder I feel so comfortable there. But how does Ram, and working with erotica more broadly, shape how you approach perfumery?  AR: My favourite category at Ram is the 1950s and ‘60s glamour magazines, featuring icons like Pamela Green and photographers such as Harrison Marks. I love everything about this era of erotica — from the dreamy neon pastels on film to the nostalgic set design and furniture that you would find at your Nan's house. The models appear ethereal and have a glow-like aura, photographed in saturated boudoirs with exaggerated, sculpted hairstyles; they are so vivid you can almost smell the hairspray. Immersing myself in this imagery has shaped my approach to perfume — not just in the scents, where I like to explore the duality of femininity between primal and delicate, but also in the visual worlds that surround them. M.P.S.: In my opinion, the duality of these images really comes across in your perfumes. And, on that note, how does your experience working with erotica shape your interests in perfumery?  AR:  I think it deepens my love for vintage scents, including the bottle and packa ging design — so many of the bottles are artworks in their own right. So metimes, while flipping through the magazines, I will spot vintage perfumes used as background props — some I've never heard of before — or I’ll find a cover featuring a woman standing semi-naked next to a bottle of Bandit . Or, if I get lucky, I will find an original sealed perfume sample stuck between the pages, like a little scented time capsule.  M.P.S.: Your visuality is an element of the perfume that really strikes a chord with me. Alongside your experience in the erotic, I know you worked in fashion — particularly for Vivienne Westwood — for a number of years. Does your experience in fashion shape your approach to perfumery?  AR:  Yes, I think it does — I see scent in colour and I like to feel the textures, so I work in a very similar way to designing a collection. I usually begin with visual research and then start matching the perfume materials to these references, in the same way I would select fabrics to reflect a mood or theme. Compounding formulas is also similar to the trial-and-error process of toiling garments, except instead of sewing, I'm using a scale to weigh out formulas.  M.P.S.: You described to me that Mons Venus, Dauphine, and Josephine in Furs as representing a boudoir triptych — could you expand on that for me? What sort of a boudoir? What sort of fabrics? Silks, velvets, pinks, reds, blacks? These scents bring to mind Belle du Jour  on a CRT television.  AR:  A lot of my research for Dauphine came from oil paintings of Marie Antoinette poised in her early years as the Dauphine of France, dressed in blue-lilac silk and frilled lace-corseted gowns, with lilacs and ribbons woven through her powdered hair. I imagined her chamber filled with vases of lilacs and framed by pale blue satin drapes. I wanted the scent to feel coquettish and blue-toned, like a powdery, plastic lilac. Josephine in Furs represents the peach boudoir with champagne-gold accents. It has soft peach silk curtains, plush carpets, a champagne bedspread, and a big gold chandelier in the centre. There's definitely a white fur rug on the floor, and a vanity scattered with used makeup and a powder puff. And there's probably some light sandalwood burning in the background.  Mons Venus represents the purple, velvet suede-like boudoir. I envisioned it like the yin to   Josephine in Furs’   more angelic yang. It’s almost like an alternate dimension,  where while the dressing table in Josephine in Furs is perfectly poised and pretty, the one in Mons Venus has shattered glass and snuffed-out candles. It has a dusty-violet note and a darker undertone. It feels like smoking a long cigarette in soft black leather opera gloves. Photos by Roxy Lee . M.P.S.: Josephine in Furs is one of my favourites, the aldehydic, sweet peach opening that dries down to a musk is very reminiscent of iconic scents like Guerlain’s Mitsouko , and other “old-school” feminine fragrances like Naomi Goodsir’s Cuir Velours . It holds this incredible aura of vintage glamour. What was the inspiration behind this fragrance?  AR: A lot of the inspiration behind Josephine in Furs came from the idea of Old Hollywood and the platinum blondes of that time — Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield, Diana Dors, Jean Harlow, and Mamie Van Doren. That era had this heightened, almost surreal sensuality and darkness that I endlessly obsess over. Josephine is actually a reference to my Nan, who I've always seen as this cinematic, Marilyn Monroe-type figure in terms of her aura, beauty, and talent — they were also born in the same year. When she passed away, I kept her makeup bag, and now the scent of her makeup powder and lipstick is like a portal — it takes me back to watching her get ready at her dressing table, which I also kept and have in my bedroom now. M.P.S.: Speaking of Josephine in Furs, you sent me a wonderful selection of reference images that inspired your perfume collection. I was beyond excited to see several images of Diana Dors in the Josephine in Furs folder. I could clamour on about the enigma that is the Siren of Swindon for days. Do you know she claimed to have auditioned for Powell & Pressburger’s Black Narcissus , which, if true, means she auditioned for one of Britain’s most iconic erotically charged films at the age of 15? What about Diana Dors — and other iconic women like her — inspires you and your perfumes?  AR:  No, I didn't know that! The images I sent you are from a tiny magazine called Diana Dors in 3D . She is photographed nude, wrapped in this white fur stole, and the images are printed in this neon acid-peach tone that gives them a fuzzy, radioactive quality. I wanted Josephine in Furs to emulate this visual feeling of these images. Diana has always been a muse alongside Marilyn, whom I feel most enamoured with.  M.P.S.: I have to say that another one of my favourites is Viva Maria. Now, this is pretty big coming from me, as I have never been a lactonic enthusiast. But there’s something about the salty brine, the crushed seashells, the sand in-between toes, sticky sweat-slicked and sun-kissed skin motif that I am absolutely in love with. It’s especially good on top of sun cream. In terms of notes, it’s creamy, lactonic, and salty. We spoke about this fragrance in reference to Secretions Magnifiques, where you hoped Viva Maria was a more palatable fragrance that indeed possessed similarities whilst being wildly different. Given its lactonic motifs, how did you navigate the more provocative angle with something so subtle and beautiful?   AR:  Viva Maria is rooted in Italian iconography — I’ve spent a lot of time in Italy over the last few years, especially in Rome and in the South. I am always drawn to the deep symbology [there], especially in the Madonna, the ultimate matriarch, where there is this interplay between purity and sacrifice, life and death. There is a subtle lactonic jasmine note that was my way of referencing the breast milk — something both sacred and bodily, nurturing and animal. I contrasted this with a salty seashell accord to represent that same duality between the maternal and the erotic. And although I hate Sécrétions Magnifiques , there’s still something [addictive] about the way scent can evoke bodily fluids, intimacy, and revulsion.  M.P.S.: What really fascinates me about the collection is the ideas of artifice and interiority. The perfume simultaneously constructs fantasies of the self, whilst also expressing inner desire and the inner self. It's bold yet secretive. Was this something you were considering when creating the perfumes?  AR: It’s interesting — while I always begin with the intent to create a mood, a feeling, or [an] alter ego, scent is so subjective that I can never control how it will be perceived. When someone who doesn’t know me smells my work, there’s a vulnerability about it. The way you described the perfumes to me — without any context —  felt like you were giving me an eerily accurate psychic reading. It made me realise I may have revealed more of mys elf through the perfumes than I ever int ended to. M.P.S.: Scent is a portal — but you never really know where you’ll end up. You told me that a friend of yours described one of your scents as similar to “opening a package of vintage stockings”. I find it really interesting that in your olfactory expressions of sex, sensuality, and pleasure, there’s a real focus on objects  and materials  of sexuality, rather than just the bodily materials.  AR: I really love the stocking analogy. I think this has been unconscious, but I guess it must link back to my background in fashion design, and from being a visual person. It is a concept I want to continue to explore.   M.P.S.: We’ve spoken about your visuality as a key cornerstone in the perfume’s construction, and I wanted to further that point. One of the elements of perfumery that I love, and I think is utilised even subconsciously by perfumers, is the ability to transcend the more traditional sense of the “gaze” as found in visual culture. As it’s not a visual medium, but an olfactory and thus sensorial one, the whole idea of the gaze shifts significantly. In actually wearing a perfume, the visual sense is overridden by the olfactory sense. Given the inspiration behind your work, I was curious to hear what you think of this?  AR: That’s such an interesting observation. I do think perfume shifts the power dynamic of the gaze in a compelling way. Unlike visual mediums — where the body is looked at and often consumed passively — scent is invisible and difficult to control or define; it can trigger memory or desire without explanation. What I love about perfume is that it can be provocative without being explicit in a visual or literal way. Unless someone understands what certain notes or materials reference, it leaves more room for provocation. For example, indole occurs naturally in faeces as well as white flowers such as jasmine; therefore, how do you know if the perfumer intended the perfume to smell just like a beautiful flower, or if they were adding a darker layer to it? In this way, perfumery can push boundaries far more quietly and interestingly than visual culture allows. M.P.S.: Yes, exactly. I find this fluidity in perfume so fascinating; the line between the abject and the sublime is often crossed, something like a Janus-head, always influenced by each other.  But, speaking on abjection and the splendid, I’m really interested in the moment we’re having culturally, where it seems that sexuality is both at the forefront but also intensely scrutinised from all angles, particularly expressions of sexuality from women. We have photographers like Roxy Lee shooting wonderful campaigns for Martine Rose  (and also for Faux Rose , of course), books by fetishists like Anastasiia Fedorova published through Granta  on fetish and kink, and Kylie Jenner collaborating with designers like Dilara Findikoğlu . And yet, Sabrina Carpenter’s album cover wreaks complete havoc on social media . Given your clear interest in erotica, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on this, especially with creating perfume art inspired by erotica.  AR: That theme of duality definitely comes up again here. I don’t think the tension or division around sexuality is anything new — it’s always been there — and it will probably only get more intense with the upcoming and confusing internet censorship laws enacted in the UK this year . I think what's shifted the most is how immediate and visible people’s reactions are now because of digital media. Expressions of sexuality and erotic autonomy have always existed in this strange space between freedom and control, and I think that duality is just as present today. While you’ve got kink and fetish aesthetics becoming more accepted in mainstream fashion, music, and media, there’s still this discomfort when people express sexuality on their own terms. M.P.S.: And finally, just because I’m curious, what’s your favourite scent in the collection?  AR:  Right now, it’s Viva Maria as it reminds me of summer in Italy, but otherwise it’s   Josephine in Furs. Faux Rose’s perfumes have been a feature of The Hard Sell  — a women-centric design pop-up based in London — for both installments, most recently ending in June of 2025. Going from strength to strength, the Faux Rose collection is now also available for purchase at Melbourne’s Sanguin Studios , as well as featuring alongside a host of iconic designers and pave-way renegades through APOC Store’s London shopfront  from the 18th of July. Or if that’s not your style, buy straight from the source . M.P.S is a writer, zine-maker, part-time urban researcher, full-time perfume over-thinker, maximalist fashion enjoyer,   and creature from East London. You can find her looking gorgeous on Instagram as @_femmedetta  or giving unsolicited opinions as  @cyberyamauba  on X.

Fashion FYI’s in the Chi. Chicago sits as the third-largest city in the USA, making it one of the many nationwide fashion capitals outside of NYC. Chicago fashion is unique  — not as cutting edge and “trend-setty” as New York, nor as basic and athleisure-driven as L.A. Any Chicagoan will correct you if you dare call it a Midwestern city. The city   transcends Midwesternism, distancing itself from its own Lululemon and PacSun suburbs, and instead prides itself on its working-class culture via (vintage) Carhartt and Dickies.  If you’re looking for fashion in Chicago, you should explore three neighborhoods: the Gold Coast, the West Loop, and the infamous Wicker Park. GOLD COAST The Gold Coast (as you can tell from the name!) is home to the city’s millionaires, billionaires, and dozens of luxury shops for them to peruse. At the north end of the infamous Magnificent Mile , you can escape gawking tourists and chaotic traffic and seek a peaceful refuge at The RealReal, get lost in Aritzia, or window shop for Lamborghinis. From Chicago Avenue, you can zigzag your way, smelling the exuberant amounts of wealth this neighborhood has to offer. WHERE TO SHOP TheRealReal specializes in preloved luxury. Having recently downsized, the vibe has become very relaxed and intimate. TheRealReal embraces a wide variety of styles in its well-curated sections. Their sections include Modern Luxe, Street Maven, and the ever-so-classy British Countryside. They also actively buy luxury items!  The Loewe store is a brand-new addition to Chicago’s booming luxury scene. As soon as you walk in, you’ll be greeted with the most beautiful collection of buttery leather bags. Also, HUGE shoutout to Lo, who gave me a tour and showed me her faves (including their new Campo denim boat shoes that are now on my wish list!).  The boutique is on Oak Street, a street lined with many more high-end retailers covering a variety of styles from BAPE to Hermes. Kith is a streetwear lover’s dream. Coming soon to the neighborhood, Kith will open its first doors in the Midwest to join its other locations throughout NYC, L.A., and Miami. Housing the coveted Coperni and crisp Casablanca, Kith is set to make a mark in Chicago’s fashion sphere. WHERE TO EAT 3 Arts Club & Café ($$) is if IKEA was reinvented by RHONY’s Brynn Whitfield. Have a delicious brunch at their opulent restaurant and then explore the six floors of interior decor inspo 3 Arts has to offer. If you’re particular about how you like your steak, go to Gibson’s ($$$). This Chicago staple will give you a luxurious dining experience that will truly make you feel like money. If you have room for dessert, you can't skip their macadamia turtle pie that stands nearly as tall as the Hancock Tower. It’s a level of decadence you can’t find anywhere else in the city. If you want some Chicago-style deep dish, head to Lou Malnati’s ($). Every Chicagoan will tell you it’s not  true  Chicago-style (it’s pizza cut in square slices), but we all recognize deep dish as a tourist trap. It’s worth a taste, but by Chicago Law, if you live in Chicago, you can never have it again. WEST LOOP The West Loop has changed a lot in the past 15 years. It’s gone from an old industrial district of warehouses to luxury lofts and corporate offices for the likes of McDonald’s and Google, while the bars, shops, and restaurants offer a playground for Gen Z and Millennials. Oh, I forgot to mention: Soho House Chicago is tucked right off Randolph Street. WHERE TO SHOP Between Randolph Street and Fulton Market, locals dine, drink, and shop their hearts out. Aside from chain faves like Free People and a flagship Patagonia store, every local streetwear enthusiast knows about Notre and SVRN . West Loop is also home to several bars and world-class restaurants such as Au Cheval and Bisous , establishing West Loop as Chicago’s favorite social playground.  Notre houses brands such as Acne, Entire Studios, and Ganni. The store’s vibe is cozy and free, with an open lobby perfect for exclusive in-house events and spaces allowing you to immerse yourself throughout the store. In the back, you can find a room of freshly curated vintage finds, including classic Levi 501s and varsity gear from the ‘70s. SVRN is a boutique with phenomenal editorial direction from its site alone. The store gives the ultimate boutique experience, complemented by the smooth aromas of Margiela Replica fragrances. If you like a Rick Owens kind of vibe, this is the place for you. SVRN has proven itself to be on the pulse of fashion, catering to a customer with an edge. If you love a classic style with a bit of edge, they carry Dries Van Noten. If you like more edge, they have Willy Chavarria, too! WHERE TO EAT The Drip Collective ($) has an amazing feel. It’s a super casual coffee shop with great music, and it even hosts networking events sometimes! Often airing anime or old movies on their projector, Drip Collective establishes a cozy feel for Chicago’s most eclectic and fashionable. Their Turon drink (made with banana milk) is something I didn’t know I needed until I had it. Au Cheval ($$) isn’t your average burger joint. This spot is great for after-work drinks, a date night, birthday dinners, or whatever! With a rustic feel and a homey vibe, Au Cheval won’t disappoint for a night on the town. Whatever you get, go ahead and ask for bacon. You’re welcome. Trivoli Tavern ($$$) is perfect for anyone who wants a moody yet whimsical ambiance. Hidden away in an alley, Trivoli will transport you to 1920s Chicago. The menu has something for everyone, from savory pasta to fresh sushi selections. The drinks are amazing (my personal fave is the Bella Punch). If you’re ever in Chicago during the three months of spring/summer we have, def get a table in the alley. WICKER PARK Wicker Park is essentially Chicago’s answer to Williamsburg (take that as you will). The Milwaukee-Division-Damen triangle and surrounding area are home to Chicago’s premier indie boutiques and vintage shopping. Vintage pop-ups, such as curations a la Olio, are scattered up and down Milwaukee Avenue. If you crave a sneaker, hit up Saint Alfred . They have your Asics, New Balances, and Salomons. If you have a wicked taste and want a unique boot, visit John Fluevog . And you’re bound to find stellar second-hand streetwear finds at Round Two . You also can’t miss the dimly lit dives in the area. (If you can make it to the bathroom without getting sidetracked by a beer-boozed patron at Gold Star or Rainbo , you’re not doing it right.) WHERE TO SHOP Away from the Milwaukee Ave. bustle, you can find a more curated experience. On Division, there are three boutiques that neighborhood locals and tourists love: Gemini , Independence , and Penelope’s .  Independence is for denim lovers. If you like a classic all-American flare with a twist, this is the place. They also carry Japanese denim and one-of-a-kind designs that you can’t find or compare anywhere else in the city.  Gemini and Penelope’s are sister stores for those who value fun, freshness, and sustainability. Penelope’s is for that playful young adult finding their way through fashion, experimenting, but on the right track. Gemini is for that same person who has found their unique sense of style and owns it through and through. They express themselves through their Wax London cardigans and Paloma Wool skirts, always leaving room for wardrobe development. WHERE TO EAT After a fun day of vintage shopping in Wicker, you’re bound to develop an appetite. If you’re craving a cheap, greasy burger and fries, then Devil Dawgs has your order. If you want to enjoy some of the best French dining in the Midwest, Le Bouchon is right at Six Corners (the busiest and most daunting 6-way intersection in the city). The Chicago food scene is indubitably one of the most diverse food scenes in the country, and the options available in Wicker Park are just colorful examples of that.  Phodega ($$) is pho -nomenal. Just across the street from Penelope’s, Phodega has some of the best pho in the city. Their portions are big, so it's lunch and dinner served. The restaurant also carries some Vietnamese drinks and snacks right by the counter (which are also cheaper than regular snacks at a convenience store). If you’re not in a pho mood, their fried chicken fried rice is delicious — even more so with their sauces mixed in. It’s broiled perfection. Bongo Room ($$) is an absolute brunch go-to, especially for people with a sweet tooth. The pear and apple challah French toast is scrumptious and will guarantee to fill you up and power you for a day of shopping. Established a block away from the Shit Fountain (real thing), Kasama ($$) has earned itself the reputation of being the premiere restaurant on the near west side. Kasama specializes in putting zesty twists on Filipino cuisine. Having gone viral on TikTok for their now-infamous longanisa breakfast sandwich, it’s no wonder there are 2-hour waits on any given morning to get in (you can’t make breakfast reservations either). 🌀 Ken Downs  is a writer, fashion stylist, and certified hater who, in high school, was nominated as Most Likely to Be on Reality TV. He is a fashion writer for HALOSCOPE. You can follow him here on Instagram and TikTok .