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The hottest brands and products of Q3 2024 have been released by Lyst. And so another three months have passed by and, as usual, in that tight timeframe the fashion industry has undergone monumental change. Creative directors have discarded their posts and brands have gone bust, yet one thing remains constant — consumers have purchased. With November and the conclusion of a turbulent year on the horizon, Lyst  has formulated their quarterly data Index analysing the online shopping behaviour of over 200 million individuals. Many familiar names retain their hotly desired placement on the list of the world’s 20 hottest brands, including Miu Miu, who has retaken first position from Loewe, who briefly held the role. Searches for Prada’s little sister have jumped a further 30% quarter on quarter (Prada, by the way, maintains its place at number three.) Saint Laurent sits one spot below, the same as the previous quarter. It is evident these are the four mega houses leading the luxury market and stamping their ideals on the cultural zeitgeist.  There are new entrances to admire as well. Jumping onto the list in the fourteenth slot is Americana giant Ralph Lauren, and after a superb Summer of USA athleticism, is it really any surprise? Product engagement for the 57-year-old brand spiked 151% in recent months as they kitted out Team USA for the Paris Olympics — and continued their position as the official outfitter for Wimbledon ( this was a Summer dominated by tennis culture, after all. ) Elsewhere, Toteme enters at the sixteenth position, with demand for the Swedish fashion house increasing 51% as they open a second brick-and-mortar store in New York City. Chloé also becomes a hot brand for the first time, sitting precariously in the twentieth spot. Under the fresh creative direction of Chemena Kamali, Chloé’s revival is just around the corner, if not already underway — demand for Kamali’s boho creations is up 21% this quarter, coinciding neatly with an 82% increase for the term “boho” in general.  In case you’ve been living under some deliciously quiet rock recently, you shouldn't be surprised to learn that the hottest individual product of the quarter is the Alaïa fishnet ballet flat, which first appeared on the hottest product list in Q2 of 2023. Searches for the much-imitated shoe have swelled a further 8%. Perhaps the growth in popularity of these ballerina flats has had a direct impact on the wider brand, propagating Alaïa to fifth place on the wider hottest brands list? Almost certainly.  All those bored by the dominance of Adidas in the sneaker market rejoice, for the Puma Speedcat is here to claim its admiration. Worn by the likes of Dua Lipa and Emrata, searches for the sneaker spiked 523% in August. Sticking with footwear, Clarks’ Original Wallabee has become a Gen Z staple as demand increases 32% this quarter.  Fervent, and frankly non-fervent, admirers of the people’s Princess, Bella Hadid, will have noticed the model sporting the Coach suede Brooklyn bag on numerous occasions recently, making the slouchy purse the second hottest product of the quarter. After an outing with Hadid in August, searches for the bag rose 263%. Meanwhile, general searches for suede handbags also grew by 175%, aiding in ranking the Miu Miu Arcadie suede bag as this quarter’s fourth hottest item, with demand soaring 588%.  🌀 Molly Elizabeth  is a freelance fashion writer and commentator based in London.

" It was undeniable glamor, the kind that I associate with girls who don’t brush their hair but always wear lipstick." Miu Miu SS25 was a conservative provocation that stirred guests and viewers to question the truth behind women’s wardrobes and the media as a whole. It’s what so many shows this season have attempted to do: try to connect their luxury products to larger issues so that attendees and consumers can feel like they’re buying into something bigger than themselves. In recent years, Miu Miu itself has become that bigger thing. So many luxury brands try to create their viral moments on the runway to arouse conversation and excitement, but Miu Miu doesn’t need gimmicks to provoke desire. The garments, styling, and casting are enough. Their micro mini skirts, buckle boots, and creative layering on the runway have spawned countless online video trends and fast fashion dupes — while that might sound counterintuitive to real-life profit, the brand’s retail sales increased 93%  in the first half of 2024. Miu Miu cannot miss.  The SS25 show was set in an art installation titled “Salt Looks Like Sugar” by Polish artist Goshka Macuga . Guests received a printed newspaper named The Truthless Times,  covered in QR codes and headlines where fashion and fact intertwined. These newspapers revolved on the ceiling in a production line, creating printed movement above the catwalk. “A constellation of elements deciphering the concept of truth and its representation… guiding the viewer along various paths toward understanding the human experience of reality in today’s world where the truth has to be found by individual investigation rather than available in commonly distributed sources,” read the show notes. Though I try not to compare Prada to Miu Miu despite their sisterhood, both shows in Milan and Paris took a whack at criticizing the media and its ever-present algorithm, and, too, how much our perception of art and fashion is influenced by conglomerates rather than individuals. Some of these messages successfully trickled down the venue into the collection, but not without some Miu Miu cuteness. What felt like an ironic opening to the show after reading so much promotion of the raw human experience, 16-year-old Sunday Rose Kidman-Urban wore the first look. The daughter of Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban had an endearing Bambi strut, wearing a barely sheer cotton shift dress with eyelet trims and cutouts at the waist. Knee-high leg warmers were layered under peep-toe leather stilettos that tied in a bow around her heel. As she walked further, the back of her dress was revealed to be left unbuttoned, showing a swimsuit underneath in blue with white piping. Why wasn’t her dress closed all the way? Why did she wear heels with a swimsuit? Recurring Miu Miu stylist Lotta Volkova  prompts modest perversion with her vision that repeats as seasons progress.  What followed this initial look was maximalism — collages of textures, techniques, and hardware. Ginghams, patents, neoprenes, cottons, suedes, leathers. Athletic but nowhere near athleisure. One-pieces and bikinis were combined with pleated leather skirts and chiffon mini dresses. These dresses were ruffled yet compressed, like they had been slept in, then hastily half-buttoned after the wearer slept through her alarm. It was undeniable glamor, the kind that I associate with girls who don’t brush their hair but always wear lipstick. These girls mix metals. Silver and gold antique belts with metallic florets were slung over classic leather ones (some buckled in the back). Even cuter were smaller belts on the upper arms that kept sweaters scrunched at T-shirt length. Panty lines were visible under colorful tights that stretched down into the shoes: thonged Mary Janes, pumps, flip-flop kitten heels, clogs, sneakers, boat shoes, and penny loafers.  The bags and purses were sweetly predictable. Soft rectangle leathers thrown over shoulders and held in the crooks of models’ arms in soft shades of olives, browns, and a few navies with recurring white contrast piping. The quilted Napa leather hobo bags appeared in a larger size, which was softly slung over shoulders. They were a much better adaptation of the quilted code which I’ve found to be rigid and stale when adapted into smaller bag silhouettes. The moments that spurred the most joy for me were the return of geometric prints and leather eye motifs, first seen on the Spring/Summer 2005 runway, now in the form of trench coats and skirts. Miuccia Prada is only inspired by herself, as she should be. The mantra “ugly chic” was initially Prada’s modus operandi but it’s been affectionately modernized to be a relieving exhale, a return to something that is not for everyone.  Accessories and styling made the collection sparkle: oversized 1980s sunglasses in pinks, purples, oranges, reds, and beiges. Leg warmers and socks. Sweaters tied around torsos like soft tactile corsets. Multiple layers of shirt collars folded over onto themselves. Hair was tousled and hastily bobby pinned. Models’ cupid bows were dusted in metallic pigment and their fingernails were meticulously manicured with chipped pink polish.  Cara Delevingne, Alexa Chung, and Hilary Swank walked the runway, and who else could close it other than Willem Dafoe, who previously strutted for Prada in 2011. Although I’m not sure the intention behind the casting choices was other than a display of the brand’s “look what we can do” attitude, the audience loved it, and perhaps that was the only goal.  Miu Miu girls are aspirationally messy. They are tomboys and tomgirls who don’t care about being seen, only witnessed. When so many stunts are presented during each Fashion Week of the season, this little sister label continues to tune out the noise and build on their strong foundation of identity and provocation. They don’t rely on handbags and sunglasses to sell their fantasy because their formula of unconventional femininity just keeps working — and we keep buying it. Sometimes all an audience needs to make their heart pound is a cheeky bikini line peeking out from beneath an unbuttoned slip. 🌀 8.4 Jane Lewis is HALOSCOPE's Runway Editor based in New York City. She grew up on farms in Southern California but now she always  matches her shoes to her bag.

Wait… why do I dress like a homesteader? Have you ever felt haunted by the people who buy the same clothes as you?  In my long list of sartorial desires, quite a few entries are dedicated to the silhouettes and fabrics that, in recent years, have dominated the collections of Simone Rocha, Batsheva, Molly Goddard, Rodarte, and Miu Miu. I share these cravings with a large number of people who probably watched a little too much Little House on the Prairie as children and read The Virgin Suicides a few too many times as adolescents.  Whether I’m daydreaming, thrift-shopping, or getting dressed, these are the textures I run my hands and thoughts through: lace, ribbons, silk, organza. I pair ballet flats with everything. I scout sales for Reformation milkmaid dresses. I have to drag myself away from racks of broderie anglaise slips because I already own too many. I don’t just dress a bit like a tradfemme; I could slip into their ranks without comment if I had more money and worse politics. Earlier this year, when the “girl” discourse reached its peak, everyone tied themselves in bows trying to decide if it was antifeminist to wear a ribbon in your hair. What was lost in the conversation (which, over and over again, seemed to focus on aesthetics first, politics second) was that there was already a whole bunch of women making content on the internet who wore ribbons in their hair to signify their genuine antifeminist views.  No one quite has my dream wardrobe like a particular breed of hyper-online, hyper-conservative, and hyper-pro-lifers. They are a group that includes both Hannah Neeleman  (aka Ballerina Farms) and Dasha Nekrasova  (part of the increasingly alt-right Red Scare podcast). Nekrasova, who recently filmed herself doing target practice  on a dummy wearing a Palestinian keffiyeh , wore a sheer, be-ribboned Simone Rocha dress  over the summer. Neeleman, the princess of the tradwife movement who breezes between birthing children and walking beauty pageants, has filmed herself wearing a milkmaid dress I once saved on Pinterest, whilst milking literal cows .  Nekrasova and Neeleman dress for the jobs they want. The job in question is, on the surface, no job at all. The “tradwife” lifestyle, advocated implicitly and explicitly by both women, embraces traditional gender roles within marriage, homemaking, and child-rearing. Nekrasova, who coats herself in silky layers of irony, tweets about loving Donald Trump and loving pointelle knits in the same keyboard-breath. Neeleman, who leaks sincerity from every pore, was recently the subject of a viral interview in the British Times  in which, when asked if she was a feminist, replied that she felt her lifestyle was “absolutely” politicised by other people: “We try so hard to be neutral and be ourselves and people will put a label on everything.” While Neeleman wears practical dungarees for farmwork and Nekrasova occasionally dips into e-girl aesthetics, their dominant fashion instincts are traditionally feminine and more than a little old-fashioned, which, coupled with their politics, feel like one of those Reformation newsletters with a jarring subject line (think: HOW TO DRESS LIKE YOU’D NEVER GET VACCINATED).  Nekrasova was recently the rumoured muse of a song by Charli XCX which includes both the lyrics: “She’s out there in the sheer white dress” and “You say she’s problematic”. The implication of the song is that the aesthetic and the political are linked (Charli has since said that her music has nothing to do with politics). When Brat  came out, before I knew “Mean Girls” was about Nekrasova, I strutted around London feeling like a hot bitch in my own “sheer white dress” and contemplating vaguely the politics of buying a crucifix necklace (I was raised non-denominationally, attended Catholic school, and came out of the whole thing vaguely spiritual, technically agnostic, and deeply superstitious). I’m a Lana Del Rey fan, like the titular “Mean Girl,”  and I spent my adolescence on Tumblr, so I’m accustomed to the kind of cognitive dissonance required to enjoy the cultural products of people who have misread Lolita . But something stirred inside me, under the lace and the gauze: discomfort.  I wonder if I could, or even should, copy Charli, and argue that politics doesn’t feed into my fashion choices. Alternatively, I could adopt the internet’s favourite excuse: it’s ironic . I’m camping  tradfemininity, I’m joking  about self-infantilization, my tongue is demurely  in my cheek, etc. “I am not trying to make a conscious feminist statement with my clothing,” Molly Goddard told Dazed in 2015.  But I’m still wearing a tradwife’s milkmaid dress. I’m still walking miles in a Red Scare girl’s ballet flats. We know what those clothes mean when they  wear them, so what do they say about my beliefs? Political movements from every part of the spectrum have employed specific aesthetic signifiers as a form of both recognition and protest: the Nazi brownshirts, the pussy-hatted Slutwalkers. Dress reform was an important part of the Suffragette movement: crinolines and corsets had and have specific associations with female subordination.  Through time and change, sometimes those signifiers retain their affective power — MAGA hats, keffiyehs — and sometimes they come unstuck, floating into the mainstream. It’s the latter I’m interested in, the items of clothing whose associations are a little more blurred, which we might choose to wear without any political intentions. It’s just a milkmaid dress! It’s easy to start sounding like that one tweet: “Is [pop star] a feminist? Is Mastercard a queer ally? Is this TV show my friend?” (Are puff-sleeves crypto-fascist?).  But dressing yourself does not exist in a vacuum.  “We live in a society” is a truism we’ve come to accept to the point of meme-ification (in slightly more legitimate terms, the feminist scholar Clare Chambers wrote that “there can be no subject without social construction” ). The way we dress is never an isolated choice, because none  of our desires exist in isolation. Fashion does not make it easy to address these choices for what they are (see: the Ouroboros of the “girl” discourse). In their essay, “ Fashion, Representation, Femininity ,” Caroline Evans and Minna Thornton call the application of feminist theory to fashion a “perverse” project, where “a meaning-generating system” is applied to a “meaning-destroying” one.  So let’s be perverse for a moment: let’s talk about the milkmaid dress. The milkmaid silhouette can be found in the pandemic-era Hill House nap dress,  in Molly Goddard’s tulle fantasies , and in Reformation catalogues ; it continued to (nevertheless-she-)persist through Fashion Month this year on the bodies of Simone Rocha and Batsheva and Rodarte models. Nekrasova wears sheer versions over lace bras or nothing at all, and Neeleman tends to opt for something more demure, but there are obvious, instant signifiers embedded into this design: femininity, tradition, pastoralism. But before the dress was bought up by tradwives and Dime Squareans and cottagecore brands, it belonged to actual seventeenth-century milkmaids. A Western woman working on a farm in the 1600s woke up to a similar set of responsibilities to those in Hannah Neeleman’s “day-in-the-life”  vlogs, only with more blood and less Dyson Airwrap. The milkmaid dress as we wear it today — pristine, white, expensive _ would not have enclosed her body as she squeezed, beat, and cleaned the animals whose lives and deaths she depended on to survive. What floats down runways and hangs on Pinterest boards is a fantasy, one which has long been used to corroborate a specific trad vision of femininity whilst erasing the reality of working-class women’s lives (the arduous physical exertion required to carry milk pails; the inherent violence of farming; the very real threat of sexual assault). As the Wellcome Collection’s article  on the subject records, some of this dream was cultivated by the milkmaids themselves, who, on May Day, dressed up in their best clothes and “played up their wholesomeness and beauty to help boost their trade and entice donations from the wealthy elite.” By the eighteenth century, this marketing gimmick had worked its way into the increasingly embattled aristocracy, from Marie Antoinette’s farm retreats to English noblewomen dressing like peasant girls to have their portraits painted. As the ruling class felt its foundations crumbling, it’s unsurprising that they clung to conservative visions of serenity and tradition that had never really existed. In 2018, the New York Times   reported on a trend amongst white supremacists for chugging gallons of milk. A very popular tradwife, who films herself twirling in puff-sleeved dresses under captions like “ aborting your baby is not worth climbing the corporate ladder ,” goes by the username @GwenTheMilkmaid  (she lives in suburban Ontario). Duchesses and queens, like alt-right figures today, fed gluttonously at the teat of the milkmaid myth, which emphasised the connection between traditional modes of feminine labour and the purity and wholesomeness of milk itself. That symbolism is still used by Big Dairy today. It sells milk, dresses, and reactionary politics. Does the history of our clothes matter? On the surface, it makes perfect ideological sense for Neeleman and Nekrasova to wear milkmaid dresses. Simone de Beauvoir wrote that “fashion does not serve to fulfill [woman’s] projects but on the contrary to thwart them.” The question is: does adopting feminine dress — and particularly clothing that has as much gendered history as the milkmaid dress, or the corset, or the crinoline, or, on the other side of the spectrum, the mini-skirt — work against the project of feminism? Choice feminism gives us the easiest answer: i t’s feminist to just, like, do whatever you want!  But if, as Clare Chambers argues, none of our desires exist in isolation, then autonomous choice is also limited by social factors. In “ How To Dress Like a Feminist ,” Charlotte Knowles and Filipa Lopes emphasise that choice as liberation does not tackle women’s complicity in upholding patriarchal structures and norms. This “naive picture of agency,” they write, risks a return to traditional styles — and, I add with one eye on tradfemmes, the values they connote and sanction — while rejecting any attempt to look at those choices through a critical lens. Simultaneously, they acknowledge, to say that women should opt out of fashion or femininity is equally limiting. I love clothes! I love thinking about them, putting them together, and attempting to translate my feelings and dreams into the fabrics that touch my skin. “To deny women’s experience of genuine pleasures and creative self-expression in clothing,” write Knowles and Lopes, is to “perpetuate a misogynist dismissal.” So where does that leave us?  I think there is room for pleasure in our politics. It’s an idea I feel keenly in Vivienne Westwood ’s body of work, from the bondage dresses in her Kings Road boutique  to the grinning model casting off her staid grey suit, mid-catwalk, to reveal her lacey petticoat underneath . The latter image is from Westwood’s SS94 “Café Society”  show, which saw models dressed in crinolines and other restrictive, traditional modes of feminine dress. Throughout, the women unbutton their cardigans, pull off their gloves, unwrap their skirts, discard their coats, and lift their dresses. There’s a sense of play that runs throughout — a delight in taking off clothes as much as putting them on — and yet this is not a straightforward rejection of traditional clothing, but a reimagining of its possibilities. My favourite part is when a topless Kate Moss , made-up incongruously like a Marie Antoinette Halloween costume accessorised with a Napoleonic hat, walks on wearing a mini-crini (half mini-skirt, half crinoline) and eats a Magnum. She drips melted ice cream and insouciant grace in equal quantities.  At the time, the journalist Alix Sharkey wrote a review of the show for the Observer (republished by The Guardian ). In it, he wrote that the clothes in Café Society “intensify and refine the wearer’s sense of physical presence, provoke a reaction, charge the atmosphere with sexual and political tension; alter the physical reality of the world around them.” Thornton and Evans see Westwood’s clothes as exploring “not… what could be done, but… what could be signified” . What is at stake here is the crafting of meaning as much as the crafting of designs: for example, Westwood’s mini-crini brings together the crinoline’s “mythology of restriction and encumbrance” and the mini’s “equally dubious mythology of liberation.” In gesturing towards both, the mini-crini acts on multiple levels, raises questions, winks at the viewer, all the while — crucially — also being a beautiful piece of clothing, something you gain as much pleasure out of wearing as you do thinking about. In feminism, we are at the wasteland of a crossroads — caught somewhere between, and in the aftermath of, second-wave sex-negative repudiations of femininity, and the capitalist sloganeering of girlboss feminism (“Eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man,” Dior’s “We Should All Be Feminists” t-shirts, empowerment as sold through pop songs and makeup collections). In 2014, when I was fifteen years old, I watched Beyoncé dance in front of a large neon “FEMINIST” sign and thought: we did it! The word that meant so much to me, which had been so belittled throughout the 2000s, was finally, irrefutably, in the mainstream. Where is that word now? People using words out-of-context for suspicious means, what George Orwell called “consciously dishonest” language, is not new. What is relatively new is the result of a combination of watered-down liberal thinking trickling into the zeitgeist and the internet becoming increasingly irony-pilled. And so Katy Perry can use the language of feminism to explain why it’s okay that she worked with Ke$ha’s abuser; the Red Scare girls can use knock-off Marxist theory to argue that a woman’s place is in the home; and tradwives like Hannah Neeleman can claim any criticism of their life is misogynistic. What is at stake here, I think, is meaning. If Nekrasova can call herself a feminist, and Neeleman (as she does in the now-infamous Times interview) can almost call herself one before she cuts herself off, does the word even signify anything at all? What does any  of it — tradwives, milkmaid dresses, cottagecore, feminism — even mean? 🌀 Ismene Ormonde is a culture writer and essayist based in London. She writes about the pursuit of pleasure on her Substack .

In case you’re ballet flat-maxxed. Do you own everything on Vogue’s essential fashion items list ? Even if you don’t, there’s a high chance you’d be able to name them: the white tee, the perfect pair of jeans, the signature gold hoops.  The capsule wardrobe has long been advertised as the be-all, end all of fashion essentials — yet, on closer inspection, you’ll find it doesn’t really pass muster. In fact, it’s not nearly as universal as it is lauded to be. To break down each wardrobe essential from its history to its purpose, alternatives can be offered for those who realise the “classic” item doesn’t complement their style or isn’t what they’re looking for.  The White Tee The blank page of a wardrobe, the white tee has its origins as an undergarment, popularised when it was issued by the military in World War II. How scandalous would it have been to wear it as we do today? How hedonistic? When Marlon Brando starred in A Streetcar Named Desire  in 1951, it was exactly these feelings that his white t-shirt evoked. It served to bolster his character, Stanley Kowalski, as the temperamental, brutish, but sexual being that he was.  It then evolved during the ‘80s and ‘90s as the perfect item to modify — logos were added to represent brands, slogans were added to represent movements, and it became an emblem of popular culture. Now, a blank white tee is the first item included in any essentials list. It calls on the understandings of the past century as a garment which you can project anything onto, whilst also serving as a neutral starting point for the rest of your outfit. Nothing will clash with a white tee, so it’s easy to see why it’s a staple. However, its blankness can lend it to be somewhat dull, uninspiring, and lacking excitement. To counteract this, a tee or a blouse with some nice detailing can be a good substitution. This way, you’re still retaining the essence of the tee as a simplistic piece whilst adding some character to your look. The 02 Amour Organic Blouse  from Luciee is a nice one as a starting point or this Lace Panel Blouse  I own from & Other Stories.   Something a little more complicated is the perfect white jumper that can act as a replacement — but, then again, not really. There’s a never-ending search to find the jumper that Harry wears in When Harry Met Sally  but it seems a combination of good quality, good fit, and a garment that moves well is particularly difficult to find. Personally, though not exactly white, this knitted jumper  from Paloma Wool is my idea of perfection.  The Classic Jeans Like the tee, this may seem a simple addition to your wardrobe, but styles change too often for a single recommendation to keep everyone happy. Are you a straight-cut person or are you looking for a flared style or are you a misguided individual searching for a good skinny pair (you won’t find one; it doesn’t exist)? Do you want your denim stretched or unstretched? Distressed or not? Jean styles are expansive, but it all started with Levi’s, founded in 1853 by Levi Strauss. During the 1870s, they created blue jeans for working men, aimed at labourers who worked on ranches. Nearly a century after their inception, Levi’s would launch their “Lady Levi’s” line, which were the same as the men’s version but cut to fit women. Though this is (still) a lazy practice, it was this uniform style that became popular in the U.S. Because of their entrenched history as workwear, jeans are difficult to replace. Therefore, a focus on style takes precedence. Not everyone wants the Levi 501 regular fit. A part of your style journey will be to find what you like and what suits you, and not just what you think  you like — and this only comes with trying things on. Ganni have a nice range , in fact, they have an expansive denim collection.  If you want a more alternative style, Colin Horgan has some interesting pieces . But if you’ve sworn off all jeans, then what’s the replacement, here?  With its origins lying in workwear, there is a parallel with the modern workwear trousers. Sezane  have a fantastic range of trousers in different styles, cuts, and colours. Timna Weber also has some alternative  styles .  If you don’t want trousers at all, you can opt for a staple skirt. As an alternative to jeans, a longer skirt is more applicable here, so opt for choosing a maxi.  The Trusty Gold Hoops When wearing a pair of gold hoop earrings, you’ll be carrying on history dating from the Bronze Age — where hooped jewellery was plated in gold, bronze, and silver. The earliest pair of actual gold hoops were found dating to the time of the ancient Sumerians, around 2500 B.C. in what is now Modern Iraq. We have been adorning ourselves with jewellery since antiquity and, to start us off, I’ve attached some photos of my go-to gold hoops. The focus of these earrings is not necessarily the hoop itself, but it provides an idea of the realm you can expand to. However, sticking with strictly gold hoops, there’s still a lot to decide on. Do you want a close-to-the-ear style, a pair that fully cups your ear, or ones that dangle? Do you like a tapered style or a uniform one? Big hoops or small hoops? Smaller ones offer more variety but they might seem too dainty for some. Melody Ehsani has them available  in four sizes. Or if you’re looking for a place with more variety, Merjuri’s options  are perfect.  A snap gold bangle works in the same way as an adornment. You could opt for a necklace or a ring. The key is to find one piece you genuinely like and wear it every day. From there, you can begin expanding or layering but you won’t understand the importance of an accessory unless you wear one consistently.  The Little Black Dress From the mind of designer Coco Chanel came the little black dress (LBD), designed with the “Chanel woman” in mind — a woman who was classy and elegant and needed a simple dress to wear when attending parties. Accessorising the dress with a set of pearls became popular after Audrey Hepburn showcased Holly Golightly’s black dress in Breakfast at Tiffany’s  (though this was designed by Givenchy, not Chanel.) Perhaps a modern day equivalent that offered more variety was Hervé Léger’s bandage dress , the dress that made everyone look amazing.  When opting for your version of the LBD, you might not choose something little, or something black, or even something that’s a dress. Lauded as the ultimate outfit for going out, the LBD has infinite variations to choose from. You might stick with the singular colour, but go for white instead. Alternatively, a patterned dress might be what you’re looking for. Or not a dress at all, but a suit. Discovery awaits — from AllSaints to Reformation . The Well-Worn Flats Flat shoes with a pointed toe were worn by the nobility during the Renaissance period — the higher up the status of the noble, the pointier the shoe. Throughout the centuries, they became associated with ballet, hence the new branch of “ballet flats,” characterised by their square-toe shape and strap. The Sandy Liang Pointe Flat  is a wearable ballet flat, imitating its namesake down to the folded fabric effect.  However, the function of the flat is less for it to actually be flat, but more as a comfortable everyday shoe in your wardrobe. It can be substituted for loafers, boots, pumps, or anything else you feel good in. Carel’s heeled Mary Janes have become popular, drawing on the transition of the flat to a heeled shoe after Catherine de Medici suggested it to appear taller at her wedding. They offer their most popular Kina Mary Jane  with a 4cm heel and the Ariana Mary Jane  with its 2.8cm shorter heel, amongst other styles.  Personally, I own two pairs of flats in black and dusty pink, but my go-to shoes are my Vans Slip-Ons  in black. They’re smart, comfortable, affordable, and, most importantly, perfect for my day-to-day life where I do a lot of walking and standing, though they’re more like my version of Doc Martens than flats, and they don’t work at all in any other situation, turning a nice outfit ugly very quickly. This is to say that one item for each section might not be enough… but when is one pair of shoes ever enough?   The Trench Coat Fox Mulder and Dana Scully solving mysteries as they lugged themselves around wearing the most amazing trench coats flowing behind them were (and still are) a huge influence on me. Namely, the silhouette that they provided the two characters has ingrained itself in my mind. However, the trench coat of all time for me is the one  Robert Redford wears  in The Sting . You can just see how well-made it is and how it fits his proportions perfectly. It has movement even when he’s still. Given it’s an action crime film, the coat is worn dramatically — but the fundamentals of it are present.  Now, there’s not many alternatives to this one. For the shorter individuals who perhaps don’t want the full length of the average trench coat, there are mid-length options available. Be mindful when buying if you want the belt, the back vent, and a double breast. A lot of modern trench coats neglect to include these elements but, of course, it’s personal preference. Also be aware that modern trench coats aren’t as breathable as vintage ones, and aren’t really made to be layered on top of something, instead cut to the perfect size. Therefore, they might not look as airy or like they could function as an overcoat — unfortunately, it’s because they aren’t made to. Vintage is your best shot at finding something that fits well. London Fog have some great selections. During university, I took a linguistics class where the word “formal” was banned — no person’s language should be marked along the invented scale of formality. A similar rule can be applied to fashion: no singular item can be classed as essential. The essentials wardrobe stops you from being a conscious consumer, instead turning you lazy as you search for supposed “must-haves” and preventing you from finding your own style. The wardrobe does work as a starting point, allowing you to understand the purpose of each item, but it shouldn’t be used as a checklist. 🌀 Aisha Zahira is a writer living in Manchester.

What body horror says about the beauty industry’s use of false expertise. So on the nose it will cause a bleed, The Substance  offers a bold and cutting criticism of female beauty standards. Written and directed by Coralie Fargeat and starring Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley, this film arrived in cinemas last week — and has received raving reviews from critics and audiences since its debut at the Cannes Film Festival, where it won the award for Best Screenplay. I was thrilled when Polyester Zine offered a preview with Mubi in my home in Manchester. It is a film that leaves you bubbling with the desire to discuss it, which is why the live podcast that Polyester offered was well-suited. I have grown to love horror so much in a brief amount of time; I’m still warming up to the subgenre of body horror, but The Substance made me realise that it is fine to squirm. The beauty industry lures us to bleed and cut at ourselves to pay for perfection. The film is unflinching — because we must not look away from the dangers of female beauty standards. At the centre of this compelling and cautionary tale is the titular Substance — the product that promises to give actress Elisabeth Sparkle (Moore) so much more and instead takes everything. The Substance looks like a one-of-a kind product, and only advertised on a pen drive. It’s only available in some sketchy building that is a minimalist marvel on the inside. It is like no beauty procedure we have ever seen; in spite of the singularity of the product, the Substance has a lot of similarities with modern beauty treatments. It presents itself as a scientifically-sound product. Terms abound, such as "activator," "stabiliser," "matrix," mentions of DNA. This jargon is why customers fall for the trap the Substance sets up — that beauty is equal to life. Of course, there are scientific benefits to youth: strength, better control of your bodily functions, sharper cognitive abilities. But beauty is not a benefit of youth that is lost due to age. The hunt for beauty is a maze of madness that women are trapped in from their childhood until their deaths. For society, girls and women, no satisfaction is guaranteed. The Substance and other beauty products present themselves as a logical solution. With just a few twists of a telescope in a lab, beauty can be achieved.  The branding of the Substance is also strictly business. A no-nonsense sans serif font on a crisp, cold, blank screen. It’s a product that looks like it knows what it’s doing. But beauty is only skin deep. Beauty products often use a clean appearance in their branding to gain the trust of customers. “Pure, clean, gentle." There's hardly a product label that doesn't use these words. Yet according to Skin Deep , up to 80% of products may contain one or more hidden hazards that are not even listed on product labels. The Substance, though fictional, is the most dangerous of them all. Every new product insists that it will resolve all your issues with previous products, but as they all continue to prioritise their profit over your health, they all end up the same. Elisabeth’s 50th birthday, a day that is supposed to be a golden celebration of her life, is punctured by views of her alleged decay. Her boss, Harvey (Dennis Quaid) grotesquely munches on shrimp as he fires her for being too old. On her way home, Elisabeth sees construction workers tearing down a billboard with her face. She leans in to get a closer look as if she’s looking at the wreckage of a car crash. The focus that society forces women to place on their looks is very dangerous, as Elisabeth’s distraction leads her to get into a car accident. At the hospital, she is deemed the "perfect candidate" by one of the doctors, and given a pen drive with a number and a note saying, "It changed my life." Elisabeth watches the advert and then throws the pen drive away. After a lonely birthday celebration leads to her vomiting in the toilet, Elisabeth retrieves the pen drive and makes a call. The events of Elisabeth’s birthday are presented as a prompt for the question: “Have you ever dreamt of a better version of yourself?” But already the product presents faults as a means for perfection. Elisabeth has to scramble through the bin to get it. When she goes to collect the Substance, she has to duck under a door to go inside. Decades of these beauty standards and yet the Substance and other modern beauty products seem to pride themselves on the difficulties of just obtaining the procedure. The hassles of the Substance are just beginning with the purchase. The application of the procedure involves injecting a neon green liquid into your body. Neon green is the official colour of toxic substances in film. After no immediate results, Elisabeth turns away from the mirror, disappointed. Suddenly she is writhing in agony on her bathroom floor. Her back tears open, and Sue (Qualley) is born. I have neglected many beauty treatments and routines because, as well as doing my best to reject society’s toxic beauty standards, they sound completely exhausting to maintain. This is very true for the Substance. One week, Elisabeth lives as herself and the next as Sue. While one is out and about, the other lies lifeless, fed from a food matrix with a tube. Sue must stabilise herself everyday with fluid from Elisabeth’s body. They must switch every seven days, no exceptions. The beauty industry presents itself as a form of leisure, enjoyment even, but that is only superficial. Women are coerced into ascribing to rigid Western beauty standards because, supposedly, we will achieve success and respect in our lives through this beauty. For such a presumably pleasant prospect, maintaining beauty is no walk in the park. Every aspect of maintaining the treatment of the Substance is painful. Is there really pleasure in beauty if it comes at the cost of all comforts? Elisabeth sacrifices her health, her personhood for an image of perfection that is Sue. Throughout the film, no monetary price is mentioned for the purchase of the Substance, but the cosmic price is very clear. The Substance promises to resolve all the problems Elisabeth believes she has with her appearance, but the fine print is that her internal appearance suffers much more. In perhaps the most poignant part of the film, Elisabeth is preparing for a date with an old classmate. But everytime she prepares to leave, a billboard of Sue pushes her back to the bathroom to change her appearance again and again. The Substance has not liberated Elisabeth, it has imprisoned her. The advertising of the Substance constantly reminds Elisabeth that she and Sue are one. But with a separation from her older body, Sue gives voice to Elisabeth’s insecurities. She is comfortable spouting the vitriol that pushed Elisabeth to use the Substance in the first place. When she goes out with colleagues one night, Sue tells an unconscious Elisabeth “Don’t eat too fast,” so she isn’t forced to end her night too early to take care of Elisabeth — or herself. Elisabeth does "eat" too fast and Sue reuses the stabiliser… for an eighth day.  Elisabeth now unfortunately relies on Sue for her self-confidence and Sue cannot function without Elisabeth. They need each other but they resent each other. They lash out at each other, often — Sue by abusing the Substance, which rapidly ages Elisabeth, and Elisabeth by spending nights eating junk food. Female beauty standards demand that you tear at yourself just so you can buy the requisite products to fix it. In one article from The Review of Beauty , the Substack newsletter that robs the industry of its beauty sleep, Jessica DeFino writes : “The void between the Beauty we crave and the beauty we’re sold can’t be filled with a 0.5mL syringe of hyaluronic acid — and anyway, the point is not to fill the void but to feel the void.” Elisabeth and Sue have a biological connection, but instead of being mother and daughter, they are much less feeling. The battle we see between them is of a creator and its product. Elisabeth and Sue being viewed as products by Harvey and the rest of the executives is highlighted in the nature of their dream role. It’s not a major blockbuster but a fitness show. We understand that The Substance is set in the 21st century, though a workout show hosted by an actress is more reminiscent of Jane Fonda’s workout DVDs from the '80s. This fitness show represents the wellness culture of Los Angeles very well, and Elisabeth’s termination highlights how little Harvey and the executives know about their female target audience. An older woman hosting a workout show would not isolate younger women and would inspire older women to join in. It is a role where age and experience are valuable. When men say they desire youth in women, they mean naïveté. Clare Chambers, professor of Political Philosophy, said in The Review of Beauty  on society’s obsession of youth within women: “It is idealising the point in a woman's life when she is less experienced, less wise, less competent, less powerful.” Society pressures women to go backwards to maintain their beauty, all to prevent us from progressing to question why these standards exist in the first place. It’s the system’s attempt to maintain control over women. “The more legal and material hindrances women have broken through, the more strictly and heavily and cruelly images of female beauty have come to weigh upon us," writes Naomi Wolf in The Beauty Myth. Modern beauty standards and products exist to move our attention away from the possibility of liberating ourselves from them. The Substance and its titular product highlight the false advertising that is practised industry-wide. The Substance and all other products present themselves as a solution. But our bodies aren’t a problem. No formulaic beauty product can lead women to perfection because it doesn’t exist. The beauty industry coercing women into tearing themselves bloody to suit a standard that never satisfies anyone is more flawed than we ever could be. 🌀 Sandra Ubege is a writer and author of The Musing Notes. She enjoys consuming, critiquing and commenting on culture. Sandra can be found on Twitter , Instagram , and whatever magazine shops are nearby.

How the L.A. and Barcelona-based design studio Feels Like is bringing the illustrious prize closer to the people who love fashion. For over a decade, now, the LVMH Prize has acted as a launchpad for emerging designers. Previous finalists of the prestigious award include both Jacquemus and the late Virgil Abloh. For the 2024 edition of the award, LVMH has again partnered with Feels Like , the design studio specializing in creating bespoke digital experiences, to create a digital showroom in a bid to democratize fashion and bring the luxury experience online. But the question remains: do audiences truly connect with digital fashion spaces?   LVMH has been working with Feels Like on its awards platforms since 2021, aiming to create digital experiences that move beyond generic templates. Bel Lipikson, a Client Partner at Feels Like, says: “In an industry where digital experiences often feel templated and impersonal, our work with the LVMH Prize allows us to break away from the conventional.”   While the winner of the LVMH Prize receives $400,000 euros and a one-year tailored mentorship, LVMH themselves obviously stand to gain from the prize, as it solidifies their role as both a shepherd and predictor of the future of fashion. Trying to answer the question of how to capture an audience through the digital realm is therefore paramount.   Lipsikon says the goal of their collaboration with LVMH is “creating an emotional connection between the designers and a global audience.” As the fashion world moves more and more online, it makes sense that its awards initiatives and prizes would follow suit — and, after the real-world shutdown of the pandemic, digital experiences persist. What is perhaps most successful in Feels Like’s website design is that it weaves together all past winners, creating a real feeling of lineage in LVMH’s vote for the future of fashion.   The website really does give the sense that this year’s winner, Hodakova by Ellen Hodakova Larsson, becomes part of a heritage by winning, joining more recent finalists like Peter Do and Chopova Lowena. When your mouse hovers over the faces of these designers, their creations spring to life behind them, centring one thing we don’t always see from a fashion brand — the designer’s face. This creates that intimate and personal touch that Feels Like aims for.   But there seems to be a fork in the road. While some fashion houses, like Prada and Balenciaga, have invested in fully digital clothing in the last few years, others are instead starting to reject the online move. The Row famously banned cameras and phones  during their presentation for the last two seasons, a decision that was quite well-received by the fashion community at large. However, one does have to wonder if this attitude springs forward from the impulse from some to shut fashion behind closed doors. Whether or not consumers will eventually turn away from digital fashion spaces may be one thing LVMH can’t predict.   Whether you agree or disagree with the increased digital turn, one thing is certain — Feels Like’s approach works. Their efforts have led to a 400% surge in votes for the LVMH prize itself, and the studio has earned numerous accolades from the partnership, receiving both the Red Dot Design Award and multiple Webby Awards. 🌀 Olivia Linnea Rogers  is a Norwegian-British writer, fringe enthusiast, film watcher, and poet, if you're lucky. Based in London. She can obviously be found online on   Instagram  (@olivialinnearogers) and   Twitter  (@olivialinrogers).

Let's talk the evolution of headphones — and how to style them for every affair. In the mornings when I go through my getting ready ritual, my little accessory closet is my last stop. It’s filled with costume jewelry, hair clips, vintage silk scarves, and a variety of thrifted belts. Once the outfit is complete and before heading out the door, I decide between one more thing — my tech of choice. I have three options: my over-the-ear pink headphones (hurts my ears after a while but they look cute); my AirPods (currently broken on one side); or my wired earbuds (a trusted companion, but gets tangled on whatever bag I’m using).  Tech is a last-stop accessory we grab before braving the day that isn’t considered a typical style item — but if you’re anything like me, it’s subconsciously in the back of your mind while getting ready. Which headphone choice fits the vibe of the outfit today? The tech accessory isn’t just relevant now because of how crazy the tech world is, it’s been relevant since portable tech was accessible. Music, podcasts, and audiobooks are companions while we navigate each busy day. Even as a child, I had my portable CD player with an old pair of school headphones that played audiobooks rented from the library. Although I wasn’t into fashion and style the way I am now, it was a subconscious choice to choose the CD player with headphones over the iPod Shuffle (the screenless square music playing device) with wired earbuds. The cassette player, MP3 player, iPod, CD player, and the smartphone, along with the accompanying headphones and earbuds, are all evolutions of tech we’ve been accessorizing for years without totally realizing.  Headphones and portable technology were born for military use, but started to gain entertainment popularity around the 1960s, thanks to jazz musician John Koss, who invented the first stereo over-the-ear headphones. Although the design was not very chic and definitely a little clunky-looking, the Koss company started the interest for other companies to enter the headphone market. One of the first headphone sets with initial style and purpose was the Koss “Beatlephones,” headphones that were a beautiful vintage blue and had a graphic of the Beatles plastered on them. The choice to wear these communicated to others that style and representation were important to the user. I’m sure that the bright blue and Beatles graphics were mostly chosen by the younger generation at the time, opting for something more funky than maybe the “boring” choice that the older generations were using if they were even into wearing headphones at all. Headphones before the advent of cassette players were not really seen on the go as we see technology today because there weren’t any portable players. In 1979, Sony debuted the Walkman, which began headphones and portable players on their true style journey. Now, people were out and about and could be seen using the Walkman with headphones not only for its functional purpose, but also to portray a curated vibe. Walkmans and the other models of skinny headphones can still be seen nowadays as a vintage style choice instead of modern wireless headphones. Retro headphones are now like vintage clothing — you have to source and pay big bucks for them, just like a pair of vintage Manolo Blahniks.  In our modern era, headphone choice and style seems to be mostly notable among commuters in big cities. The second you step outside in a big city like New York or Los Angeles, you’ll probably be able to spot at least three different versions of a headphone within a minute.  As a city commuter myself, I am fully conscious of the technology choice of others and myself. My wired earbuds are perfect with a slicked back bun and baggy jeans, like Bella Hadid. It’s an odd choice because it’s evident that supermodel Bella Hadid could afford the latest and greatest headphones that are sleek, modern, and advanced, but she chooses the same wired headphones that a retail worker in a big city has. (There is even an Instagram account dedicated to the trend and aesthetic of wired earbuds called Wired It Girls. ) When we saw the release of Beats by Dre in 2008, it was the hottest new headphone and endorsed by celebrities like Michael Phelps, Nicki Minaj, and DJ Khaled. Everyone was seen sporting the new headphones. Now, in 2024, we have the Apple headphones that replaced the craze of the Beats headphones over a decade ago. Our trusty ear companions are always changing — and just like everything we wear, communicate to others about who we are through our chosen style. Style can be found in everything, not just what one would typically think of as fashion objects. Even before technology became the revolution it is now, headphones established themselves as a style choice, whether we were conscious of it or not.  If you’re in the market for some new ear accessories, here are a few choices for your consideration: Marshall Major V Wireless Over-the-Ear Headphones Bowers & Wilkins Px8 Wireless Noise-Cancelling Headphones Bang & Olufsen's Beoplay EX Next-Gen Wireless Earbuds MEE M6 In-Ear Headphones With Memory Wire Earhooks Happy styling! 🌀 Macy Berendsen is a writer based in Chicago. She can be found online at @macyberendsen .

The once-trendy aesthetic has found miraculous staying power, but it's beginning to change. Just yesterday, we were having a coconut-pilled Brat summer. Now we’re slipping into a mindful and demure fall thanks to tips by TikToker Jools Lebron ( @joolieannie ). It feels like the internet culture pendulum has swung back towards modesty, harking back from earlier this year to the craze that reminded us to “be mindful of why we were invited to the section.” Femininity coach Quill ( @littlebrowncharmschool ) was genuine in her etiquette teachings, giving us dating tips and guiding proper conversations in bondage dresses. Jules satirically showed us how to come to work correctly: clean makeup and a little chichi — no chocho.  True demure culture comes with emulating the ways of the 1%. The masses have developed fantasies from their perceptions of the upper crust, from playing tennis to weekends in the Hamptons or some other exclusive international locale to wearing beige. With this fantasy, people can escape reality or at least be delusional about it. Even though the economy seems to have rebounded from the pandemic, people are still directly struggling, as seen in grocery price gouging and the unemployment crisis. In the face of economic uncertainty, people are looking for ways to emulate wealth to boost their self-esteem. If you don’t have a million bucks, you might as well try to look the part!  Searches for modest outfits  on Pinterest have increased by over 30% from 2022 to 2023. Along with the obvious religious implications of modesty, quiet luxury and old money are styles that have taken Gen Z and Millennials by storm. Searching “quiet luxury” on Pinterest myself, I’m met with color palettes of neutrals and earth tones, Princess Diana, minimalist monochrome outfits, and clean black leather bags with gold accents.  So — truly, what is quiet luxury?  In short, quiet luxury refers to understated, high-quality clothing with an emphasis on minimalist shapes, tailoring, and invisible branding. Logomania is deemed a fashion sin within the old money movement. Monograms became the markers of “cheap” taste, as our A-Listers and fashion aficionados traded their Gucci Ophidia  totes in for Margaux bags , courtesy of The Row. The purpose of quiet luxury is to act as if money isn’t new to you instead  of sending clear branding signals to people that you had an endorphin rush when you got your Balencigucci  set. Wealth is meant to be stealthy here, not on display.  Founded in 2006, The Row  is a relatively nascent brand that succinctly gives that old-money look. The Olsen twin-helmed brand is one of the hottest labels right now, ranking at #16 after the second quarter of 2024, according to the Lyst Index . What’s interesting about The Row’s success is that it shows that quality branding and storytelling appeal to consumers just as much as decades of legacy, if not more. The Row is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to being in the know about “true” luxury, as authentic old-money East Coast WASPs shop brands most of us plebes haven’t heard of. At heart, old money shops Valextra, Bruno Cucinelli, and small local clothiers with centuries of legacy. They would modestly shop Burberry on the go but wouldn’t even think about shopping at Anthropologie — and vomit at the thought of shopping at Zara. This is a culture that revolves around exclusivity and sharpened taste. Looking at cultural inspirations In case you’ve been living under a rock, Succession  was a very popular drama series about a fictional global media family dynasty ( remember Kendall’s hats with no logo? ). Costume designer Michelle Matland captured the characters’ refinement from slight, youthful whimsy into professional power dressing, from Shiv’s power suits to Tom Wambsgans’ late mastery of personal tailoring. The Roy family, however fictional — though based on the Murdochs — has become the symbol of true wealth to the general public in the way the Kardashians once did a decade ago.  And who could forget Gwyneth Paltrow’s civil court case, where both she and her luxurious lifestyle were on trial? Sued for a ski collision at a posh Utah ski resort, Gwyneth wore Prada, Celine, and The Row, among other labels,  to court — just anything that didn’t have distinctive branding. Her outfits were strategically put together to make her look like Gwyn , a successful entrepreneur and mother, instead of Gwyneth Paltrow , a rich Hollywood snob building a health and wellness empire. Her styling may have helped her win the case in the public eye, along with the fact she only asked for $1 from the defendant (as if she needed any more money anyway.)  A lifestyle for the “most modest” Quiet luxury is more than clothes; it’s a surprisingly relatable lifestyle for some people. If you can look past the multi-thousand-dollar tennis lessons and multimillion-dollar vacation homes scattered around the globe, the über-wealthy are kind of like us. People take pride in their homes, with inherited furniture that isn’t like your first-apartment couches taken from your parents’ basement. It’s well-worn, aged wooden desks and display cabinets, and century-old trinkets and finery. It’s a high investment in beauty, avoiding frivolous cosmetic surgeries and instead opting for the best personal skin care products recommended by top-notch aestheticians. It’s having regular exercise and self-care routines, along with time to spend with family and friends. Sadly, for us regular people, some of these things are merely luxuries in a society that prioritizes work without the balance of life and leisure. See how you can shop Vestiaire Collective? Very demure, very mindful.  While some of us probably make a couple of big splurges a year on designer goods, we must be mindful of our shopping habits, both in personal expenses and the expense of the environment. While quiet luxury isn’t going away — and may arguably become a timeless style — we should focus on personal investments. Your fast-fashion purchases will disintegrate by the end of the year. Maybe you should just get that authentic, sustainable cashmere sweater from that small brand or thrift some Ralph Lauren pieces where and while you can. And if you want to fully commit to quiet luxury, you can embrace your inner Kendall Roy and develop a personal, dependable uniform that shows your self-assuredness and maturity. 🌀 Ken Downs is a writer, fashion stylist, DJ apprentice, and certified hater who in high school was nominated as Most Likely to Be on Reality TV. He is a fashion writer for HALOSCOPE. He’s on IG as @kowboy.kxnny and yapping on X and TikTok as @kxn_dxwns .

Leather and lace in London for Chappell Roan. Briefly interrupting your fashion week coverage with some fan fashion from the streets of Brixton. Although dressing up for concerts has been a regular praxis since the advent of live music — from shaving your head for Sinead O’Connor to wearing your best dress to see The Beatles — after the pandemic, there has been a considerable uptick in elaborate costumes and theming for must-see gigs. Last summer, I was on the tube dressed up to see the Arctic Monkeys, crossing paths with feather boa-d girls set for Harry Styles when the conductor over the speaker made an announcement prefaced by a loud crackling: “ HARRY STYLES FANS, LISTEN UP. ” Dressing up for concerts has made fan power visible. The inescapable Eras tour has also championed referencing niche jokes and images from a songwriter’s discography as well as, of course, the concept of dressing based on an artist's “era” or album.  Dressing up for a concert is a creative and jubilant way to identify yourself with a musician and its fanbase, expand the excitement for the evening, and start a conversation with other fans. And I knew I would be offered some sartorial delights when seeing rising (more like rocket-launching) star Chappell Roan at the O2 Brixton. The Missouri-born musician has also been implementing themes  for her concerts — assigning a moodboard and title based on one of her singles, or Roan’s own personal style, for fans to dress up accordingly. Our theme was Kink is Karma . Think — kink! Red and black, hearts, devil horns, cowboy hats, clown makeup, fringe, and feathers. Take a look at some of the interpretations of this theme from fans below — and click each photo to expand. 🌀 Credits Pictures: Olivia Linnea Rogers Assistant/Scribe: Molly Pickup Olivia Linnea Rogers  is a Norwegian-British writer, fringe enthusiast, film watcher, and poet, if you're lucky. Based in London. She can obviously be found online on   Instagram  (@olivialinnearogers) and   Twitter  (@olivialinrogers).

Finally: some uplifting moods. As a shock to none, the classic fall hues of taupes, burgundy reds, and rich browns danced across various runways once more during FW24. The shocking colors that left us playing back runway show after runway show this past February were the vibrant hues often seen in spring and summer: pale yellows, baby pinks, and even sky blue tones were surprisingly present as color trends for Fall 2024. While our minds might be on SS25 and what next season holds, let’s not forget about what designers promised us this last season. As we dive into the six most popular colors for fall and where they were seen, one thing is evident — this fall is one of hope, excitement, and cheeriness.  The Classics Make a Return  Hot Reds  From burgundy tones to cherry dreams, bright reds have been taking over the fall season. Thank goodness! These classic fall tones bring a sense of vibrancy to the runways. Spotted mainly at Stella McCartney and Miu Miu, red tones took many forms from figure-hugging dresses to subtle accessories.  Chestnust + Chocolate  Subdued, romantic, and so fall-themed it might as well be sipping a pumpkin latte while reading a book in a forest café, rich browns have entered the chat once more. The dark tones of both chestnut and chocolate proved to be particularly popular. This trending color was a hit in both New York and Paris with designers from Alberta Ferretti to Saint Laurent heavily leaning on the hues to give the quintessential taste of fall.  Taupe Tones  Earth tones in the colder months are never much of a shock, as the grounding tones provide stability during all the holiday hubbub. This season appeared with a particular need for richer green and beige hues at Auralee, Acne Studios, and Chloé, something we haven’t seen for a few seasons.  The Mood Brighteners  Pale Yellow Often a tone for warmer months of the year, designers decided to challenge themselves this season and bring it into Fall. And now we’re convinced this might need to become a Fall classic simply because it pairs so perfectly with browns! Used in simple knits at Blumarine and leather items at Gucci and Jil Sander, yellow has a surprising range for fall and winter.  Pink Hues  When it comes to fall, we’re often used to rich, rosey pinks rather than soft shades that feel as light as a baby’s kiss. This season, brands like Alaïa, Bottega Veneta, and JW Anderson fell hard for pale pink tones that were light and airy. Whether used for a party dress or perfected into a wool coat, the use of pink brought about an exciting touch of femininity for fall.  Baby Blues  This fall, be prepared to be washed away in a sea of blues. European brands in particular fell hard for baby blue tones. It didn’t seem to matter whether it was a pale sky blue or a light powdered tone reminiscent of ski slopes, brands such as Bally and Chanel fell head over heels for the light, airy color. 🌀 Sydney Yeager  is a fashion writer and content creator who explores luxury fashion and trends with the gaze of how it can be accessible to the everyday consumer. As much as she adores avant-garde fashion, elegant and feminine looks will always have her heart, this is seen in both her writing and on her Instagram   @sydselegantfinds .

From Coco Mellors to Allie Rowbottom, the intersection of fashion and literature is getting much richer — and more human. It is a glittering Friday night in early August. I am 23, traversing Soho with a group of girlfriends, a mini margarita MOTH can in hand. I am scantily clad in a vintage Italian cami top with bow details sewn into the low-cut neckline, a white ruffle miniskirt, and denim pumps that borrow inspiration from Diesel but were purchased from Bershka for £22.99 because, I regret to inform you, my dear reader, I do not have casual-ability-to-spend-ludicrous-amounts-on-shoes-type-of-money (yet). The air is hot with sex and second-hand cigarette smoke and the blush pink cardigan I brought in case I got cold is wrapped up like a burrito and shoved inside my brown crochet, shell-embellished shoulder bag. Our heels clatter on the concrete and we are beautiful and it is so warm and we are so young and the pleasure of it all almost amounts to its opposite — pain. It feels like a scene out of a book I used to love when I was younger.  Recently, I have been thinking about the intersection between literature and fashion. Take the ultra-feminine ‘60s style in  Valley of the Dolls,  the Coco Chanel-inspired luxury in  Rebecca,  or Anna’s glamour and physical charm in  Anna Karenina . More contemporary examples include the ample sartorial references in  Cleopatra and Frankenstein,  Ottessa Moshfegh’s journal entries for a Proenza Schouler  runway show, and of course, we can’t forget perhaps the most apt congruence of fashion and writing:  The Devil Wears Prada. As Katja Horvat writes for  Not Just a Label,  “Both fashion and literature occupy a fetish for fantasy inside the minds of so many people [...] Literature has given the fashion world some of its most enduring icons [...] and these iconoclasts were firstly fashioned with a pen, yet they continue to catalyse inspiration for many designers, stylists, and readers.” My favourite part of reading a book is the hallucinogenic effect it has on my mind, where entire cities and faces and events are constructed from mere symbols inked to a page. This commonplace magic is heightened when fashion and fiction converge, as author's craft characters that readers can dress, animate, and envision in their imaginations. Patterns, shapes, and shades come alive; the pulse of an intangible rhythm is given physical form. To me, the combination of these two disciplines is the most wonderful form of  synaesthesia . Take a quote from Coco Mellors' debut novel: “She found the dress she did wear buried at the back of an overpriced vintage store on Perry Street, a liquid silk slip [...] When she slid it over her head, she felt as if she had taken a knife to the surface of the sky, skimmed a little off the bottom, and worn the peel.” I feel as if I can almost taste the fabric of the dress, like I can drink its aquatic properties and azure colouring. Another example of the blending of perception is found in Mellors' newest book,  Blue Sisters : “Her outfit was suspended on a velvet hanger with a Polaroid of her taped to the hook. It was a halter-neck ball gown with a flared skirt the shape of an upside-down martini glass. The fabric was the palest confectionary pink, like the underside of a kitten’s paw. Across the artfully draped bodice, a network of silver beaded branches sprang heavy with sparkling cherry blossoms.” Such descriptions make my senses coalesce in the most divine burst of pleasure. I can hear the swish of dresses and crystal glasses clinking and a tiny cat meowing, and I can smell all the flavours of spring — light notes of rose, magnolia, and vanilla. It makes me feel alive and powerful, to be able to tap into sensations with such evocative radiance, merely by deciphering black letters off a cream paper page. But taking fashion seriously as a creative interlocutor is not just done because it’s something pretty and fun to describe. No, it is a worthy, dare I say noble, quest, and I believe the importance of writing on fashion cannot be understated. Using it as a narrative symbol provides a medium through which authors can discuss heavier themes. Take Joan Didion’s use of clothing in Play It as It Lays , where Maria Wyeth and the colour white are repeatedly linked to express the protagonist's desire to start anew, as well as illustrate the apathy and white nothingness that has become Maria’s existence. Through the examination of aesthetics, something that may ostensibly seem vacuous, writers can dissect the intractable and rather nebulous themes of gender, capitalism, and modernity. This ties into the recent phenomenon of literary “It Girls,” defined in an NYLON article  as a new generation of savvy, young, female writers who are “beautiful, stylish, and social, with a certain je ne sais quoi . But what really makes them influential is the creative ways they stage and elevate their work — both on the page and in persona.” Yet arguably, this new social construct is the ultimate reflection of how patriarchy still seeps into modern literature. Allie Rowbottom articulated her experience of this two-edged sword for Byline , relaying how “I have been conflated with my body since the age of twelve. That such conflation has become both a burden and inextricable from who I am is an internal conflict that cuts to the quick of my relationship with womanhood, a relationship that informs my writing.” I do not aim to be reductive here, either, because as it is not incorrect to say that female novelists are writing about fashion to reclaim patriarchal control, it is also just one edge of a multi-sided prism. Fashion instructs us in both real life and the novel, and it is easy to assume that writing about fashion is an aesthetic pose rather than a narrative one. This is also not to mention the typification and necessity necessary to appear as an effortlessly cool and proficient novelist — especially if you are female.  As a woman, there is no way to escape the pressure of the patriarchy completely. What we can do is mould, sculpt, and bend it to our advantage. I like to think of it as being ceramicists in an unfair system; though we cannot change things entirely, we can create something beautiful out of the mess we’ve been given. There’s always a way to make light of adversity, and that’s exactly what literary It Girls are doing: reclaiming control of their physicality in a way that benefits them. Unfortunately, the opportunities for exposure that women writers get are often tied to their looks, even in fiction. Think of Andrea in  The Devil Wears Prada.  When renowned journalist Christian Collinsworth offers to look at her work it is not because he sees some invisible brilliance in her. No, quite the contrary; he helps her because he finds her attractive and hopes one day he will be able to sleep with her in exchange for professional favours. So, isn’t it time women writers reap the rewards of how they look, instead of being punished for them? After so many decades of male voices marginalising female ones, of men hating women for desiring them, of generally thinking of female intellect as lesser-than, I think it’s about time women repossess the narrative. Fashion is all about self-presentation and, in a world where women are judged so heavily in this regard, it seems fitting (excuse the pun) that female authors are transforming this curse into a blessing. As I’ve matured, I can honestly say that I have both profited and paid for being thought of as attractive by men. I will continue to write, to pour my soul into my work, and this inevitability will not prevent my other fate: that I will continue to be judged based on my appearance and garment choices. Fashion and literature will go on bouncing off each other, like light refracting through water, as women and their sartorial decisions will carry on influencing, informing, and inspiring their words. 🌀 Jade Serna  is a writer and aspiring journalist from London, England. She can be found on Instagram @jadesernaa .

How are we using gourmands — or, at least, the suggestion of gourmands — to offer public insight into the self? I’m scrolling X, and three separate Fragrantica  screenshots appear on my feed. Toffee, Baileys, Creme Brûlée, Whipped Cream, White Chocolate, Ice Cream, Brown Sugar, White Sugar, Candy Floss, Bubblegum.  It’s not just that these fragrances are sweet; they’re also all gourmands. Gourmand, meaning scents that mimic edible qualities, is a very particular form of perfume. Wearing a gourmand, compared to almost any other type of perfume, is interesting in effect of its pure synthetic nature. Wearing a toffee, whipped cream, or ice cream noted perfume will  always  smell synthetic because, well, whipped cream is a “synthetic” consumable object. It’s a food comprised of processing other edible materials to create something new. And so, when wearing a perfume meant to mimic this, the man-made quality jumps out. You can walk out into the world, and can smell from the earth’s bounty of marigolds, roses, sea salt, lemons — but a creme brûlée has to be made, so too toffee, Baileys, and candy floss. Gourmands then, have a unique quality of drawing attention to its own artifice. A cursory search through Google will find Reddit posts asking where to find gourmands that don’t smell so obviously like perfume. But that’s hard to find — even the softest touch of bubblegum will conjure the act of putting it on. It will always carry an aroma of process.  Now, measuring someone’s actual perfume taste against a Fragrantica screenshot is essentially meaningless. Of course, I’m not the first to note that there are many in the online perfume space that have never tried much of their posted catalogue, and use Fragrantica screenshots as a kind of social correspondence. Perfume critic Audrey Robinovitz ( @foldyrhands  on X, also HALOSCOPE’s Fragrance Editor) has made the claim that the visuality of Fragrantica, compared to the more classic copywriting style of perfume marketing, has allowed for a new method of communicating about perfume on online platforms. By turning the world of niche luxury perfume — both intangible in its qualities and granular in its specifics — into a visualised index, Fragrantica has transformed the ways in which people online discuss perfumery. You no longer need to have experienced the scent of a perfume to discuss its qualities; you only need to experience the notes in a visual format to “understand” its composition. It has transformed perfume, a largely untranslatable commodity object, into a visual currency of taste and identity.  I think that perfume functions differently than any other form of luxury cosmetics, although there are obvious crossovers. Perfume, by its nature, is highly  individualised . There are some current brands that foster widespread internet fawning (Le Labo and D.S & Durga spring to mind here), but there’s a key difference between a perfume brand with a cult following to a makeup line with a cult following. Makeup still has a long way to go in terms of diversifying its stock and range, especially for people of colour. But, compared to perfumery, makeup’s online social engagement is much more far-reaching. Even more conceptual and avant-garde makeup brands find their way onto websites like BeautyBay and Cult Beauty. And the reverse is also true — you can create an otherworldly makeup look using cosmetics found for cheap at a high-street shop. Makeup gives someone the opportunity to create, experiment, and take bits and pieces from different styles and fashions, collaging them into a unique interpretation on the skin. Whereas there are ways to work with cosmetic products that don’t quite suit your needs or fit your style, perfume is rigid in its subjectivity. Sometimes, there are scents that will touch you as purely putrid and disgusting, but to others, they may be delicate, beautiful, and sensual. There are hyped scents that fall bland on your skin. Sure, you could layer it with another fragrance, but when an individual perfume from a luxury perfume house can cost you anywhere from £120 to £300, most people don’t. Therefore, this exclusivity and subjectivity are at the root of how perfume is communicated in online spaces, only heightened via perfume’s complete untranslatability. You can watch a runway show, delve through archive photos, and see Daniel Roseberry’s hand-sketching each dress behind the scenes. You can absorb the world of the catwalk as a visual medium without ever coming near the clothes in your day-to-day life. Sure, it won’t match the actual experience of wearing the clothes or sitting front row at the catwalk, but it’s a good enough facsimile for most. But, even with the visual aids of Fragrantica or the copy of perfume houses, you can’t translate the experience of smell virtually.  So, why all the synthetic sweetness, then?  I think, really, this trend falls into wider preoccupations dominating certain streams of fashion intrigue targeted towards women. Bows, pinks, frills. An obsessive tilt towards infantilisation and self-creation. A turn backward into the crutches of youth. It offers little more than nods and winks to the past. Heightened by artificial gourmands and teeth-fuzzing sweetness, this trend in perfume asks the wearer not to imagine a future, or to imagine a world, but instead to fall backwards without self-reflection. When I think of this perfume trend, I think of the recent Sandy Liang SS25 pre-show copy:  “Being a princess is a job, just like being a spy girl is a job. This season there’s something to… live in, to create your own world in.”  Perfume is an experiential, sensorial, and ultimately impermanent object, that within the span of hours waxes and wanes, producing waves of different sensual notes. But, I wonder if the focus on this type of perfume elides the physical properties of perfume in favour of socially and virtually communicating “taste” and by extension, identity. The ribbon bows of perfume don’t often ask you to think critically about why perhaps you’d want to smell like a sugar cookie at the age of 27, or why you’re fixated on a certain youthful period of of your life. This communication of the “I’m just a girl” aesthetic ultimately goes beyond the products themselves. I wear this because I want to communicate  that . I like this  because I want to be that .  Even Britney Spears’ Fantasy had orris root and musk, and even Mugler’s Angel tried to balance the overwhelming sweetness of fruits and sugar with the amber sandalwood and anise of caraway. Although these are perhaps not apt comparisons, as they are dominated by overly sweet gourmands, they still attempt to communicate adult feminine sensuality. This online social communication of scents that relies heavily on childish feminine pastiche toys with nostalgia in an uncritical way. It invites the wearer to go back and re-imagine their childhood. I can guarantee that most childhoods did not smell of toffees and whipped cream, but for some, perhaps it is comforting to re-imagine it so, to cocoon oneself in the blankets of sentimentality. Perhaps it is comforting to remember your youth as untainted by the boundaries of modern living — no you can’t eat this, no you shouldn’t be that  — and re-remember youth as untethered from the “rules” of feminine adulthood.  The synthetic edible notes of whipped cream, frosting, cookies, and toffees, invite the wearer to figure themselves as a fixture of indulgent pleasure. Critically so, this lean towards indulgence within this variety of perfume alludes to femininity coded as indulgent. The use of overly sweet pastiches of “feminine” fragrances invites the wearer to posit themselves  as an indulgent treat — something to be enjoyed. And I think this idea is engendered into the very fabric of perfume marketing from the youngest of girls to the oldest of women. It is desirable to be desired. All of the traditional Western marketing of feminine-angled products tells us so. But being desired is not a singular activity. To be desired is to always  involve the presence of the other at any and every turn. It involves an outsider, a third party, a watchful eye, or an inquisitive nose. Perhaps this is the backbone of all perfumery. Is it ever enough to smell divine for oneself, or does it always need to be quantified by the ghost of another?  Taking the infamous quote from Barthes’ The Fashion System, he concludes the introduction to his semiotic analysis of fashion magazines by stating, “It is not the object but the name that creates desire, it is not the dream but the meaning that sells.” He meant this to explain how the written vestiary code of fashion as expressed in magazines works on a meta-linguistic level that goes beyond the material reality of the garments themselves. It is the meaning , the signals of the words, that introduce desire into the world of fashion copywriting. I think that this exact sentiment applies to the world of how perfumery is discussed online. The proliferation of saccharine sweet gourmands that dominate certain online discourses of perfumery perfectly illuminates how communicating about perfume has gone beyond the material composition of notes and silage. Perfume communicates ideas about desire. Openly acknowledging one’s desire for a decidedly childish or youthful edible gourmand communicates a specific desire that has been keenly fixed to the feminine sphere. The desire to be desired, the desire to be devoured, the desire to be seen as indulgent, the desire to be seen as sweet. The artificial construction of these gourmands only adds cloying insult to injury.  I think this engagement towards infantilised feminine aesthetics doesn’t always have to be mindless, and I think some brands engage with this gendered nostalgia effectively and critically. Nor do I think that all powerfully sweet scents are indicative of this trend — I don’t think Stora Skuggan’s explosion of narcissus, cherries, and honey in Thumbsucker falls into this category. But, that’s because, behind the scent,  there’s a story  and a world . The desire expressed in Stora Skuggan’s iconic scent comes from the perfume itself, how the narrative of childhood and youth reflects its construction. It comes from the inside out. That’s what separates these types of perfumes and the way they get spoken about online. On the one hand, some perfumes invite the wearer into a specific world, and on the other, some perfumes invite the wearer into pure self-world-creation. 🌀 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.