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A mini-history — from Charles Frederick Worth to Jean Paul Gaultier. Less than a week after the end of the highly commented Olympic Games,all eyes are still on Paris — be it with travel fanatics' desire to get a table at the infamous Café de Flore or fashion devotees' preparations for the Paris Fashion Week next month. As fashion has been a prominent feature of this year's games — from the runway in the opening ceremony to the controversy over Team USA's Ralph Lauren uniforms to the Louis Vuitton medal plaques — it's hard to have a conversation about Paris without mentioning fashion and hard to talk about fashion without mentioning Paris. But why? From Paris Fashion Week closing fashion month with a flourish to numerous high-profile designers being born in France, a few explanations might emerge to account for the city's longstanding relationship with fashion. While these circumstances have undoubtedly contributed to Paris' emergence as the fashion capital of the world, the real catalyst dates back earlier than many might assume. As far back as the reign of Louis XIV in the 1600s, fashion was part of France's cultural repertoire, from the opulent and extravagant dress code of the royal court — which were significant markers of status and privilege — to the lucrative textile industry that The Sun King boosted. It was during this period that the French sartorial appeal began, with other countries seeking to emulate what France was creating. Its influence became even stronger during the rule of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, who was dressed by Rose Bertin , a French fashion designer who has been widely acknowledged by historians as a symbol of Revolutionary clothing excess. But what cemented the city’s status as a fashion capital was the beginnings of haute couture  in the mid-19th century. When English tailor Charles Frederick Worth opened the first couture house, Maison Worth , at 7 Rue la Paix in Paris in 1858, creating custom clothes for high society, a key moment in fashion history was beginning to take shape. Not only were his designs considered visionary, but his use of tags in his creations solidified him as the first couturier who would soon transform the industry forever through branding and thereby popular recognition. By presenting his creations in runway shows with live models, rather than the traditional practice of showing the designs on mannequins to private clients, Worth revolutionized fashion and became known as the father of haute couture.  A decade after its establishment and its triumphant success, the House of Worth founded a syndicate with the main purpose of preventing couture designs from being copied — the Chambre Syndicale de la Couture, des Confectionneurs et des Tailleurs pour Dames et Fillettes, which, with a slight makeover in 1911, was renamed the Chambre Syndicale de la Couture Parisienne.  It was not until 1945 that the term "haute couture" was introduced — with the name changed to Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture. The organization acts as a regulatory council that defines which labels can be considered haute couture houses and establishes rules that brands must follow, such as presenting at least two couture collections per year — each with no less than 50 designs — and employing 20 full-time staff.   But in 1945, during the Nazi occupation of Paris, more rigorous requirements were set. Since Hitler recognized Paris' cultural and economic power, the dictator wanted to move the headquarters of the Chambre Syndicale to Berlin, determined to destroy the economy of France. But Lucien Lelong, the president of the Chambre Syndicale, prevented it with another rule: a mandatory location in Le Triangle d'Or — the Golden Triangle — located in the 8th arrondissement between three of the city's most prestigious boulevards: the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, the Avenue Montaigne, and the Avenue George V. By introducing a stringent regulation, Paris' position as the world's leading fashion center was secured. Despite the prevention of haute couture's relocation to Germany,  Paris' social, economic, and political situation was far from favorable.From the anti-Semitic actions of the Nazi army to hunger and intensified propaganda, the life of Parisian civilization was marked by instability and frustration. After the city's liberation by the Allies at the end of the War, habitants who had fled returned. The French capital started to recover economically, attracting clients from overseas while maintaining its status as the pinnacle of luxury in fashion.  While the regulations have gotten stricter across the past 100 years, many labels have come to define the French's capital haute couture scene, such as Schiaparelli, Patou, Lanvin, Poiret, Dior, Fortuny, Balenciaga, Pierre Balmain, and Chanel — the bulk of which still exist today. From Christian Dior to Hubert de Givenchy, various French figures became the bellwethers of couture, exemplifying to the world the finesse of French savoir-faire, be it with the legendary ''New Look'' or sophisticated ball gowns as seen on the likes of celebrities like Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn.  As the ‘60s arrived, more renowned couturiers like Yves Saint Laurent, Pierre Cardin, André Courrèges, and Emanuel Ungaro entered the scene. But as the demand for accessibility grew, ready-to-wear started to take over and the importance of haute couture began to decline. With the proliferation of prét-à-porter, global fashion weeks like those in New York, Milan, and Tokyo also began to gain influence. While Paris still had its prestigious reputation, its leading sartorial position seemed to be in jeopardy.  In the 1970s and '80s, however, designers such as Thierry Mugler, Jean Paul Gaultier, and Christian Lacroix brought a modern attitude and fresh spirit to the city's fashion that has secured Paris's fashion leadership to this day.  Haute couture may no longer be a major economic factor in fashion, as it still serves the interests of private clients, but it still has a huge impact artistically — in terms of publicity for a label's creative team and clientele. But when it comes to ready-to-wear, the Parisian allure is still vibrant. Considered by many to be the best city of the top four — whether it's for digitally watching the shows of legendary brands or seeing details of pure excellence carried over into everyday life pieces — Paris allows us to see that the tradition of craftsmanship continues to thrive in the city. With a growing number of domestic and international brands basing their ateliers in the French capital, as well as prestigious fashion schools such as Parsons Paris and Studio Bercot growing in size, the city's sartorial influence continues to bloom — as does its fashion-related income. A study carried out by Institut Français de la Mode and Quadrat Etudes  shows that French fashion represents €154 billion in direct turnover, a direct and indirect added value of 3.1% of GDP, and generates 1 million jobs in France yearly. With Fashion Month kicking off in New York on September 6, Paris will soon be on every fashionista's radar  — ending the season on a high note. 🌀 Ana Reitz  is a Brazilian fashion writer who breathes fashion. As a Latin American fashionista, she values a diverse and inclusive fashion landscape and aims to make a difference in the complex yet beautiful industry that surrounds her. She writes anything fashion-related for her own Substack For Fashion’s Sake .

The Olympics saw a resurgence of Union Jack, American flag, and football jersey fashion. But does it have staying power? July 14th, 2024. In the Caribbean coastal city of Cartagena, Colombia, a sea of yellow surrounds me. The air is thick with heat and hope and ice-cold cans of Aguila  beer are sold from portable, Styrofoam coolers. It is 7:01 PM when we arrive at Torre del Reloj  and already twilight, the sky a deep indigo, nature abiding by the tropics and their never-changing sunset timetable. My sister and I, two British Colombians, are with a group of people we’ve met at our hostel: a pair of endearing, cheeky Essex boys, an adventurous Australian solo traveller, and three lively English girls. Despite their lack of Latin heritage, our new friends have come to watch the Copa America final in their recently purchased, probably knock-off, Colombian football shirts. They are not alone: the thousands gathered on streets and in crowded bars, Colombian and gringos alike, are all sporting patriotic garments. The world is buzzing with yellow light.  I spent this July travelling around Colombia with my sister, which happened to coincide with Copa America. For the football-illiterate, a category that until recently I am sure I fell into (one I probably still fall into), this is the top men’s quadrennial tournament of national teams from South America. As we are half-Colombian, the unexpected alignment of our trip with such a huge sporting event was an added bonus. The lead-up was insane. Everyone (and I mean everyone ) was swept under the wave of patriotism that flooded the nation.  But what is patriotism? Is it a movement? An identity marker? Like many large concepts, it is rather nebulous. But patriotism as a fashion statement? This is easier to delineate. Wearing a country’s flag, or the national team’s football shirt, communicates to the external world that, at least to some degree, you are in support of said nation.  Football jerseys have recently become a staple in streetwear. If you’ve watched the blue sweater scene from The Devil Wears Prada , you’ll know that what we see in fast fashion trickles down from the high-end. If fashion was a water cycle, high-end would be a glacier: icy, sleek, uncompromising. Everything after that, all the myriad tributaries of different river systems, would be the commercialised, cheaper garments that we see on our streets every day.  Think Inamorata e Mirror Palais , where Emily Ratajkowski marketed the collection by riding around Rio in Ipanema mini shorts. Think Reiss or Burberry capitalising on Britishness. These campaigns have intensified the cultural relevance of patriotism, making wearing patriotic fits seem far less nationalist oddball and much more it-girl cool. As José Criales-Unzueta writes  for Vogue Business, “One is not buying into the country or its politics or its traditions by consuming these clothes. The product is aspirational, and what one aspires to is not the nationality but what the look represents in culture.”  In Colombia, wearing a football jersey during Copa America made one feel, if only temporarily, like a member of the country. Famously welcoming, Colombians accept foreigners with open arms; wearing their colours was the natural choice when one felt immediately at home in a country so different, and usually so geographically distant, from their own. To wear the football jersey made one a fraction more “Colombian,” and what this represents in culture is warmth, rhythm, and an infectious sort of kindness.  Natural observer that I am, I wondered what this active consumption of the state meant on a deeper level. I think it’s a comment on human nature more than anything else: that being united by a common cause feels good. Psychologically, it plays directly into our desire for group acceptance. Sartorially, it looks phenomenal when thousands of strangers are united by a nation’s colour scheme. In Colombia, this meant La Tricolor — yellow, blue, and red.   And it wasn’t just visually. Vallenato, salsa, and “ El Ritmo Que Nos Une ” (translated to “The Rhythm That Unites Us”) by Ryan Castro and SOG — undoubtedly Colombia’s summer anthem — poured out from inside taxis, electrifying street corners and booming through restaurants, corner shops, and clubs alike. Perhaps that’s why seemingly every foreign traveller we met turned spontaneously patriotic: they all fell slightly in love with Colombia.  As we find ourselves reeling after the 2024 Olympic games, supporting a nation through clothing is only becoming more à la mode. Though again, what this really concerns is supporting the fictitious “idea” of a country, and what it represents culturally, rather than actually supporting the politics of the nation. For example, the rise of Brazil-core  has nothing to do with Lula’s policies and everything to do with the mythologised image of Brazil: beautiful, tanned bodies wearing colourful Havaianas and scaling Christ the Redeemer; happy people drinking fresh coconuts on Ipanema and playing football in the favelas. I saw a TikTok captioned “Everything about it (Brazil core) just screams happiness and nature.” What people are buying into when they purchase patriotic paraphernalia is a carefully-curated abstraction, a snippet of utopia, that for most citizens is not an everyday reality.  The stories and memories we associate with our clothes are what generate their meaning. One may covet Italian style, for example, not because one necessarily champions their foreign policy, but because the look is synonymous with elegance and beauty, and perhaps even the famous Italian belief in il   dolce far niente  — the sweetness of doing nothing. Therefore, if we dress “Italian,” we too can be beautiful, chic, and able to indulge in languorous, laughter-filled, espresso-fuelled afternoons.  The cultural tales that create the image of place tie into the idea of spontaneous patriotism. In our globalised world, a young girl can identify with the idea of Brazil from what she’s seen in a 30-second video — palm trees and tropical flowers and golden sunsets — and suddenly feel inexplicably aligned with the country. The next week, to the perturbation of her cowboy boot-wearing, Americana-loving Texan mother, her 14-year-old daughter is wearing a mini-Brazil crop top and asking her, “Do you know what saudade  means?” Psychologically, one could argue that this is a form of escapism. Someone could be unsatisfied with their prosaic life, so they yearn for a distant land where everything sparkles with joy. Nevertheless, dressing patriotically seems like it’s here to stay. There is an argument for the beauty of cross-cultural links; that weaving someone else’s flag into an outfit communicates a sort of light alliance with that nation. And although it is usually spontaneous, and often aligned with sporting events or internet trends, I think it’s rather wonderful that our modern world is disintegrating the barriers between nations, connecting us through our clothing in a way that’s never been done on this scale before. 🌀 Jade Serna  is a writer and aspiring journalist from London, England. She can be found on Instagram   @jadesernaa .

Sayna Fardaraghi talks her first-ever narrative short, Glint. The fashion film is recognizable. It is a Devil Wears Prada- type glossy industry bouquet; a Robert Altman Prêt-à-Porter -type half-love letter, half-send-up ; or, if we're really scraping the bottom of the barrel, a Confessions of a Shopaholic -type ditzy romp. While these types of films are all set firmly in the fashion industry's aorta, very rarely do they have anything to do with actual clothes. Garments are afterthoughts, plot devices, a means to an end. The fashion is set dressing, indistinguishable from medicine on a hospital soap or a pair of handcuffs on a daytime procedural. That is precisely what makes British-Persian filmmaker Sayna Fardaraghi's debut narrative short, Glint, so delicious. Here is a film that is not set in the fashion industry — instead, we are trapped in the house of a depressed teenage girl — that has more to say about clothes and how they ensnare us than many fashion films. When protagonist Helena (Kate Lindsey) is invited to a high school graduation party, her sour mother's peach slip dress begins to invade her brain. Saying more, here, would dull the film's razor-sharp horror edge. "Helena is forced to face the person she could become," Fardaraghi says, continuing, "and the world outside of her childhood home." Below, read our conversation with the director on film fashion, Sofia Coppola, and the intimacy of borrowed clothing. This interview contains spoilers. It has been edited for length and clarity. Savannah Eden Bradley: As an artist who’s worked on commercial projects, how has fashion become an interlocutor for you narratively? I’d love to know if — and how — your work with brands and designers influenced this project. Sayna Fardaraghi: I think my fashion work has always been experimental in nature and has never been bound to a particular script or rules that a traditional narrative has, like sound sync and diegetic audio dialogue. So it always allowed me to break any molds or boxes that exist in that world. And when it came to doing this, especially not knowing anything due to it being my first time — I had a completely clean and fresh perspective on how to approach it, and how "filmy" I wanted it to be. In some ways it was scary, but in other ways, I think it's given me an edge. SEB: On a broader scale, what led you to Glint as your first-ever narrative short? SF: I always knew that I wanted to make a film about growing up and the many pathways one can take in a lifetime — I just never knew how to tackle it. My initial ideas were so frivolous, and thinking about it now, [they were] completely false representations of my own reality at the time. The truth was, I was in a complete state of panic, absolutely petrified, the reality of graduation and adulthood was a really scary thing for me to face. It wasn't until I was sat in a beautiful field around sunset, completely entrapped in tunnel vision, sobbing to my mum about my fears that things started to click. I still remember the walk home and the color of the sky where I had that lightbulb moment. Growing up isn't easy, it's pretty fucking terrifying — we don't discuss it enough. Why not portray it in a film the way it actually is? SEB: With that in mind, I have to ask about the dress. I thought it was so apt that you have Helena in a pajama set, and then the dress that haunts her be this pink, almost skin-colored slip. You’re seeing two discrete approaches to intimacy. What was the costume process like for this? Did you choose designer pieces or opt for vintage? SF: Oh yes! The dress is so special, isn't it? It was actually a vintage dress I found whilst Julian [Stoller] and I were writing up the script ideas. The moment I spotted it, I was mesmerized. There's something very enchanting about that one perfect slip.   Pretty much everything in this film from the props to the costumes is a vintage piece belonging to a crew member. I think that's what makes it so special and lived in — it really comes through the screen. In terms of the dress itself, and it being a slip that she goes for, we knew we didn't want it any other way. I feel like there's something really special about that first slip you buy when you're a teen. You see something in it that those older than you don't. Like, the meaning of it changes at a certain age — for the younger eye, it's kind of chic. But to older adults, it's like, Oh... what are you wearing? and Why is it out of the house? Now that I think of it, the concept reminds me of Jenna Rink in 13 Going on 30. SEB: Let’s talk about the intimacy of borrowed clothing, especially between women. There are clear generational differences between Helena and her mother, seen stylistically, but they begin to blur when she sneaks into her mother’s closet. How did you approach that? SF: I wanted it to be super, super subtle. A big theme in this film is how much in her head Helena is, and, in turn, how often she's zoning out. We don't really notice ourselves changing, nor growing... we just slowly end up there. And for that specific scene, I wanted it to feel that way. She just slowly falls into this action, an almost ritualistic act of getting dressed, exploring herself and how she sees herself. Until mama comes in and ruins it. SEB: Speaking of intimacy, those wonderful flourishes — the lived-in feeling of Helena’s teenage bedroom, the dreamy breeze through the trees — felt reminiscent of Sofia Coppola’s work. And then that Bergman-esque duplicity is there, too. What directors and films have influenced your craft and Glint in particular?  SF: So happy to hear! Persona and The Virgin Suicides were very inspirational to the film — a few other films that inspired me in the process were 3 Women , and the short films Softcore , Nimic , and Freckleface Strawberry . Another thing that is always influencing my work is music — I truly believe sound is everything in a film to really feel it. I've been curating a playlist for this film from the moment of its inception until now. SEB: While watching, I kept thinking about this infamous John Berger quote: “Men act and women appear.” Helena is constantly appearing, watching — the boundaries of her little world, her mother, her own body. In the Glint making-of book, we see someone, possibly Helena herself, sleeping beside her in the opening shot, but this is changed in the final film. How did the short change shape as you underwent production? SF: I'm so glad you noticed that! I put a lot of myself in Helena, she's certainly an observer, and in turn, a bit of an overthinker on all grounds. The film itself changed a lot. It's no lie that filmmaking can be a journey and [can] often eat you alive and chew you out. We went through a lot of financial and locational hardships, which really delayed the process — and, in turn, that changed the short itself and limited the things we aimed to explore originally. The most prominent thing was losing our location prior to our pickups, making most interior shots redundant. Soon after, we had to find a new house to re-shoot all that footage in. There's a few cuts in the film where we switch from shots of the old house we had, to the new house we got... try and spot it if you can! SEB: This is such a huge moment for you, moving into narrative shorts. How do you think your creative process has metamorphosed since the beginning of your career? What’s next on the horizon? SF: It's made me so much more of a planner in my process, and given me the necessary skills when it comes to narratives and directing in general. This was a high-risk training ground for me since I've never done anything of the sort before, [I was] just learning on the go when I began my career. I feel like I'm so much more of a resilient person, as well as a good communicator of what my vision is and how to bring it to life. For now, I want to cherish and enjoy the fruits of my labor, let the little baby Glint take its footsteps into the world and see what happens! But I do want to have more fun with the experimental side of my brain... sometimes the confines of a traditional narrative can feel a bit too binding. 🌀 You can pre-order Glint on Mubi here . 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 .

Yes, you can wear the same pants as your tall friend. It’s a tale as old as time plaguing anyone shorter or taller than the “average,” dissuading them from wearing and purchasing trousers (or, depending on your vocabulary, pants). When shall we ever find a pair of pants whose hemline actually hits at the perfect spot for each individual?  Leading the march to revolutionise the hyper-functionality of our garments are Josh and Shanelle — the ingenious minds behind Neil Vernon , an Australian brand launched last year. Named in memory of Josh’s late father, the pair took time to plan and build their brand by diligently researching the industry, honing tactile skills, and discovering the house’s message. “When we started out we didn’t quite know what we wanted the business to be, but naturally it evolved into an amalgamation of both of our personal styles,” Josh told HALOSCOPE. Eventually, the “what” revealed itself with stark clarity, presenting essential items derived from typical tailoring.  However, it is in its atypicality that Neil Vernon has formulated a unique approach to fit and form, designing pieces where wearability doesn’t come at the expense of style. “We always knew we wanted to release a capsule of essential tailoring pieces as these types of garments — pleated pants and button downs — exist heavily in our own personal wardrobes,” the pair explained, adding that their design process begins with one simple question, “What do we already wear in our wardrobes that we can improve on?” Much like all of a shorter stature, 5’2” Shanelle has grown accustomed to manually re-hemming pants. While certainly a useful skill to possess, Shanelle questioned why this was the norm. “When we started asking these questions is when we began to wonder whether a pant that is entirely adjustable is even possible.”  Enter: The Signature Adjustable Pant . Featuring hidden clasps around the ankle to adjust the height of the hem and a modifiable elastic waistband, Neil Vernon’s unique fastener technology can temporarily shorten the inseam by up to 5 inches. “We came across some old marching band uniforms which used hand-sewn-on buttons to adjust the hems,” said the duo, who took inspiration from the solutions of days gone by, replacing the hand-sewn element with machine-pressed snaps for durability. “Then we decided to go further and re-use the adjustable waistbands we all had in our pants as kids, giving us our first entirely adjustable pant.” “Given they’re intended to be your forever wardrobe items, we hope that it means you can buy it once, and buy well,” they said of their ethos, manufacturing items that grow with the wearer, “rather than exist as pieces that serve as a momentary marker of your style at one point in time.” Retailing for $190 AUD (£98 or $127 USD), the pants intentionally sit around the average cost of such products for the consumer, although, “this has definitely meant we’re taking a large cut on the cost of the pants given its complexity to produce.” The two don’t mind, though. “It’s important to us that our base products, like the Signature Pants are something everyone can access.” It has been on TikTok  where support for the young brand has swelled — one video showcasing their signature pants’ height settings has a hearty 2.8 million views . “We’ve had such a positive response online to these pants which has been incredible to see,” they said. It’s clear, therefore, that demand for such a garment exists. “As small business owners, we’re planning designs 6+ months ahead which means we truly have to back ourselves the entire way with the design,” Josh and Shanelle said, adding that, “When we see designs like the Signature Pant and Daily Shirt receive such positive sentiment online — it’s the biggest motivator to continue.” As for the future, their goal is to pursue further adjustable designs. “We’re currently playing around with some capsule denim jeans to be released next year, which we foresee to be a really strong product to shake up the denim industry!” 🌀 The Signature Pant is available here ($131). Molly Elizabeth  is a freelance fashion writer and commentator based in London.

" I used to be so driven by the idea of passion, but I think trust and respect can take you further." Every Stitch is a new interview series asking fashion’s new creative class how they manage their closets, lives, and careers. Yasmin Bahrami is the founder of Moonkissed Collective — the brand behind everyone's favorite Little Women top and these ridiculously comfortable shorts (guilty as charged). I first met Yasmin when we worked together on the launch of DRESS AN IT GIRL! , accompanied by one of my favorite HS interviews , and it's been a joy to watch her scale Moonkissed to new heights. Here’s how Yasmin picks up every stitch. The self-appointed work uniform: [None], except that I made a vow that I can no longer work in what I slept in the night before. Things have been better since. The journey to becoming a founder: I got a lot of mail sent back for filling out some forms wrong. I also thought I was going to jail about three times for, again, misreading something a form said. I had to ask my friends for favors, which I hate to do — but I also found out I have some great friends. There were lots of papers and printing labels on the floor and also an air of excitement that I was doing something that was my very own instead of doing other people’s things for all my working life. I had a really vague vision but it was bright enough for me to see it through. The morning ritual: Since I couldn’t get out of the habit of going on TikTok the first thing when I woke up, I made a collection called “Everyday,” where I save videos that say something positive or that I would like to be reminded of so I am not at the mercy of my For You Page. It still gives me that scroll that wakes me up but I don’t have to anticipate coming across something horrible that will put me under an existential spell the rest of the day. Then I get myself up to go on a walk and run an errand if there is one. I have to be real before I sit behind the computer for hours on end. The typical Moonkissed day: Unglamorous, I have to say. I use Google Calendar as my guidance and I try to avoid emails until I’ve had something to eat. Sometimes it’s only emails and phone calls and taxes — and other times it’s really nice and I’ll get to make something, like a social media post or a new design, for example. I’ll say that those stream-of-consciousness days where I’m only obliged to creativity make the 1 + 1 = 2 days seem like a fair part of the puzzle. Most days I know what my accountant ate for lunch but sometimes I get to have a good idea and share it all within the same few hours. The personal style of it all: If style is “...not about what you wear, but how you live,” like that saying goes, I’d say my inclination toward nostalgia and sentiment — and the way those feel like inherently feminine things — results in what you see from Moonkissed. I myself may come off harsh and fail to wear colors but Moonkissed, in a way, is what I’d be wearing if I were naked. The moment she knew she made it: If you know anyone who feels like they made it, please let me know. I’d like to take them out to lunch. The boundary-setting practice: I’ve gotten better at this. I think the more you know yourself, the easier it is to set boundaries. The hard part about boundaries is when you can’t tell if you’re saying “no” because you’re a horrible self-indulgent person or if something just genuinely isn’t in your capacity or value system. The more you know yourself, the easier it is to identify the latter. The advice she'd give burgeoning creatives: I’ll pass down advice I got from Diane von F ü rstenberg’s memoir, where a friend of hers told her: “Trust your own talent. Learn to respect it.” I liked this because it said nothing about passion or love. Those things dwindle and some days you can declare they died. But trust and respect are more of a stagnant line that just needs your own commitment to cater to. I used to be so driven by the idea of passion, but I think trust and respect can take you further — a love for what you do forms from that base. 🌀

A look into the everlasting obsession with the Miu Miu archetype, the impending death of girlhood-inspired fashion, and our favourite contemporary collections at the intersection of joy and nostalgia. The Miu Miu ideal is a woman beholden to becoming.  In 2022, she lived in half-states between the structured demands of the workplace (her slacks lazily dropping off the waist , simultaneously awkward and lax) and an instinct for recklessness (hems frayed like scored in a burst of passion, work socks stuffed into chic patent stilettos). Her office wear is cropped and creased; she is Innocence Shrugged. Three years on, and not much has touched our girl — this year, she’s going on holiday  — and the carefree heart of Prada’s younger sister can be heard beating through every collection.  You can easily picture her off the runway as this wide-eyed emblem of tenacity à la Cindy Sherman’s girlish, bright-eyed starlets. Her fashion reveals her first encounter with a world outside herself, constructed by people unlike herself and, ultimately, almost as naïve as she to everything she values as being her “self.” The reconciling of outer and inner, work and play, tenderness and constraint is, for me, everything that has come to spark love for Miuccia Prada’s youngest. This contrast Miuccia herself defines as sourced from the “ spontaneity”  of the creative process, and this spontaneity I define as a joy bound to, yet distinctly not restrained to, youth. Looking backward to fashion trends of the near past you will encounter women who refuse to look forward to adulthood. The infantile girl-consumer has been operated on extensively by writers far more in the know than I with  the mechanisms of the coquette capitalist fetish,  so I'll spare you the autopsy notes. Indeed, this coquette preoccupation seems to wane and wax in and out of the trend cycle — we are never quite done with her, or rather, we do not know quite where to go. Narratives of victimhood hold saccharine fashion sacrosanct, yet ultimately reveal the symptoms of a culture sick with a simulacral nostalgia.  For the twenty-something dedicant, aspiring to the high-end saints of trite femininity seems to be the cure. To carry with you girlish beginnings, every dull moment of the present is simply an opportunity for another  pink satin ribbon.   Yet, this refusal to engage with the reality of the adult world is nothing more than a denial of any beauty it may possibly serve to offer. In the trickle-down from luxury market to self-conscious urbanity, the feminine ideal becomes polluted, and the seed of subversion that keeps Miu Miu oh-so-fresh (its spontaneity and in this, joy), sprouts into something a little less pink and pleasant, something that I cannot quite wrap a bow around. Unfortunately, as much as the modern girl-woman may strive to eventually morph into the Miu Miu ideal, the operator of the sign and the sign itself appear to exist in two completely different realities.  In adorning the costuming of a homogenised girlishness, the camera-still image of our youth becomes benign, innocent, and familiar. The future is rendered malignant rather than evolving. Womanhood presents no space for the young woman to grow into but rather a resignation to which one is condemned to dwell. For me, this space is the absence of hope and perhaps it is this absence that underlies the resistance to overcoming girlhood.  In this sorry scenario, no other saviour will do but Issey Miyake’s hopeful young woman, all dressed up in Pleats Please. Fashion writer Madeleine Rothery’s interview with long-time aficionados of Miyake  basks in a rare sensitivity as they reflect on the brand’s presence throughout their early adulthood; Charlene Prempeh comments, “I wore a lot of it when I was pregnant, and I loved how it moved with my body […] I love the idea that I’ll be wearing it in my mid-twenties and my mid-eighties because, not only does it move with your body shape, it moves with your life.” Across Miyake’s lines, the colours and rhythms of life are abstracted and, in the dynamism of material, form is freed from adult constraint, rendering you vibrant and deliciously youthful.  Here, the spontaneity that colours youth for Miu Miu is sacralised in every leap, bounce, and twirl. The feminine archetype has grown out of awkwardness — she moves with the current.  Miyake’s nostalgic device is not concealed in any signs and signifiers — no bows and frills here — but in the perspective with which he asks the wearer to carry with her through early adult years into motherhood, if she so pleases. Miyake offers you movement and asks only for you to be unrestrained, to revel in experiences unique to womanhood, and to bound into the future with the unchecked earnestness of which you gaze into the past. This summer, Marc Jacobs offered a sermon on how we might use joy and nostalgia uncorrupted.   Whilst Miyake delights   in the joy of the present, Jacobs’ allows for a moment of silence and stillness; cartoonish dresses in doll-like proportions drift down the runway, halted in time. Models, as if asleep, wear kitsch eye coverings to the effect of sleepy lids, and, in their hazy daydreams, we encounter our childhood selves.   The new Jacobs ideal is a girl beholden to becoming.  A child steps into her mother’s shoes, still much too big, and plays pretend; Jacobs’ girl adorns the garments of her icons, Marilyn and Minnie alike, and in this, nothing is held back in honouring the simple splendour of potential.   Jacobs affirms at once it is not enough to merely have access to these memories nor is it ideal to live in them permanently, but we must use the past as a spring for inspiration, with childlike joy as a well of creativity. Where the consumer-dictated   ideal fails in its over-generalisations (the embrace of generic “girlhood” much too easy to digest), Jacobs asks us to lean into the specifics of our unfiltered daydreams prior to the hunger for bowage. These are not dreams to live in but to make  real. Here, the gift of womanhood becomes the gift of creation out of nostalgic temporalities into a new self, into new presents.  All ideals present the same conclusion: There is no one, definitive way to be a woman. But you must be. You must enjoy the awkwardness of the present with unabashed spontaneity; you must luxuriate in the movements of life and family in all its sweet nostalgia; and, you must remember your own  ideals of woman, personal and hopeful. But you must be a woman. 🌀 Leola B  is a writer and budding art historian based in London. You can find her toeing the line between scholar and starlet across all socials as @babeofprey .

Indulge your inner Carrie Bradshaw without the questionable life choices. Fashion has always played a vital role in Sex and the City, spurring the plot of the show and reflecting the distinctive personalities of the four thirty-something best friends as they rove through New York City, have sex with men for pleasure, and break hearts — or get their own hearts broken. As early as the first season, Carrie Bradshaw ditched Mr. Big after a divorced friend of his crashes their sort-of date. “I decided to walk to clear my head,” Carrie reflected as she walked out of the restaurant, clad in a heavy fur coat over a clinging navy blue dress. “So I walked. I walked 48 blocks in $400 shoes.” After hooking up with a guy she meets in the infrared haze of a nightclub, Carrie decides to replace her addiction to men with an even bigger addiction to shoes, which later drives her into $40,000 of debt and puts her on the verge of losing her apartment. And yet, it makes sense: “When I first moved to New York, and I was totally broke, sometimes I would buy Vogue  instead of dinner,” Carrie says. “I felt it fed me more.” As such, fashion recurs as a prominent plot driver throughout the series. In season 4, Carrie wears a dark blue robe and sheer glittering underwear at a charity fashion show — before falling on the runway.  “She’s fashion roadkill!” Stanford quips. In another iconic scene, Carrie’s Manolo Blahniks and Fendi baguette bag are stolen at gunpoint. 

 Sex and the City was significant in its canny mix of high and low culture, as well as for mainstreaming luxury brand names like Fendi, Manolo Blahnik, Dior, Hermès, and more in humorous, tongue-in-cheek ways. By satirizing the women’s love for brands, SATC made the idea of luxury designer items more accessible to the mass public. Most people probably learned about the Birkin bag when Samantha tried to use her influence as Lucy Liu’s publicist to bypass the five-year waiting time to purchase the $4000 handbag, and Alexander Petrovsky is deemed husband material after he buys Carrie an Oscar de la Renta dress she saw in Vogue .  Today, the fashion in SATC is immortalized on the internet in countless memes and Instagram accounts dedicated to archiving the best friends’ outfits, showing that authentic and entertaining style never really goes out of fashion. Read on and learn how to curate your wardrobe to reflect the sartorial sense of the best friends at the heart of the iconic HBO series. Carrie Bradshaw Carrie Bradshaw’s whimsical fashion sense defined her impulsive personality, what stylist Patricia Fields   called  “princess syndrome” in daring to stand out from the rest of the crowd — whether   clad  in a white vest over a taffy-pink shirt, the iconic tutu skirt with a pink body-tight top, or the sensual white slip dress in which she asks Big, “Why wasn’t it me?” Much of Carrie’s wardrobe was thrifted due to SATC being on a budget in its early days, but also because the (anti)heroine lived in Manhattan penning a sex column for a living, hence the iconic line: “I was looking for the perfect $7 vintage dress to go with my $300 shoes when. . .” To channel Carrie’s bold, dramatic style, invest in... ... an overflowing rose tulle  skirt  from Anthropologie ($158). ... a satin slip  dress  from Aritzia ($128). ... or a  white vest  from Ralph Lauren ($175). For shoes, opt for these strappy  Manolo Blahnik  heels ($825). For an affordable nameplate necklace (remember when she loses then finds her “Carrie” necklace in Paris, as her then-boyfriend threatens to overtake her sense of self?), check out this   MeMoShe Layered Necklace  ($20). And if you’re a curly-haired girl, buy  Ouidad’s Heat & Humidity gel  to scrunch bouncy curls in all kinds of weather ($26).  Samantha Jones Samantha favored power dressing, accessories that made a statement, and touches of gold reminiscent of the 1980s (it’s often implied she’s older than the rest of the girls). A PR professional, Samantha understood the power of luxury, styling herself as the prize while being a maven of pleasure herself. If you want to embrace Samantha’s bling and confidence, check out: ... Melody Ehsani’s  Sade hoop earrings  ($25). ... DKNY’s  belted blazer ($189). ...or a versatile  white trench coat  from Aritzia ($208). And, of course, as a party girl who once frequented Studio 54, Samantha   loved  sumptuous colors and   glittering   maximalism . For a night out, wear this Hervé Léger burgundy bandage dress ($252)... ...a pale blue sequined minidress  from Paloma and Lira ($693)...  ...or buy these  shimmering pants  from Meltem Ozbek ($301). Miranda Hobbes Before androgynous style was a thing, Miranda Hobbes wore svelte pantsuits that could have easily been bought in the menswear section of any department store. A lawyer by profession, Miranda’s wardrobe either reflected the formality of her work environment or relaxed into sportswear staples like denim and puffer jackets, or   halter tops  and   breezy maxi dresses .  Whether attired in a Jean Paul Gaultier pop art dress or a crisp white-collared   shirt  with a blazer and a skinny tie, Miranda exuded power in a way that confounded the male gaze. To dress like the OG girlboss, invest in: ... this  structured black blazer  from Phoebe Philo  ($4,500). ... and a  white shirt  from Banana Republic   ($49). For an off-duty look, try this  sleeveless turtleneck  sweater from Anthropologie ($38). ....and these  overalls  from Levi’s ($128). As for the gorgeous Gaultier dress, it’s mostly sold out online—but you can bid for it on secondhand sites, or find   similar   dresses  that make up for it. Charlotte York As a Park Avenue princess and an art dealer, Charlotte’s style drew from the   prep  of her upbringing, often   wearing   ultrafeminine   clothes  that   epitomized  her dream of a man sweeping her off her feet. And yet, even with her fixation on marriage, Charlotte knew when to dress to empower herself  — the   scene  in which she   dons  dark-tinted sunglasses and a pink midi dress channeling Elizabeth Taylor in the wake of her miscarriage, transforming her grief, is forever imprinted on the minds of SATC   viewers. To embody Charlotte’s classy glam, opt for: ... a lingerie-like floral  dress  from Réalisation Par  ($270). ... a  classic Ralph Lauren sweater   ($148). ...these  dark pink tweed pumps  from Kelly & Katie ($40). ....an Alaïa  flared princess coat ($4,960). . ...and these pearl studded  Jimmy Choo  cat-eye sunglasses ($75). 🌀 Iman Sultan  is a writer, aesthete, and creative consultant. After residing in Karachi and Philadelphia, she now lives in New York City. Sultan writes on the intersection of politics, culture, and society, and the role fashion, beauty, and cities play in our everyday lives. Her work  has appeared in National Geographic, Al Jazeera, W, i-D, LA Review of Books, Vogue Arabia and many other publications. Find her on @karachiiite , and read her newsletter, Shaharazad in the 21st Century .

From bunnies to Bottega. Decades ago, trends had longer legs. The affordability of fast fashion, the decline of hand-made and homemade clothing, and the beast that is social media all contribute to this current style climate of “Thank you, next, thank you, next.” We are in a bottom-up rather than a top-down environment, where the big fashion houses and the magazine editors seem to have less and less influence on what’s trending — contrary to Miranda Priestly's (Meryl Streep) “cerulean blue” speech in The Devil Wears Prada . At this point, a lot of us are exhausted with the demands of rapid trend and micro-trend cycles. It’s hard to get excited about a certain look, fit, or accessory, knowing that it will only feel sparkly and fresh for about a season. I think you eventually end up in a place where the costs of keeping up outweigh how good it feels to not GAF. And as you get older, as I have, and we all eventually will, you start to just worry about what you  like and don’t like. How peaceful. But kinda boring, lowkey! Fashion is so fun! That might be why it’s so exciting to see a trend that has nothing to do with over-consumption. And what fits that bill lately are the bag charms I’ve started to see crop up in my city and all over social media, in a very quiet way. The bag charm trend is so whimsical to me because it has HEART! I love that this trend is mostly focused on authentic expression. After seeing pictures of girls adorning their purses with charms, I set out to interview a few people about where their charms are from and what they mean to them. Most charms are gifts from loved ones or mementos from favorite places. The point of bag charms, as evidenced by my research, isn’t to achieve a specific look borrowed from Pinterest or TikTok, but to personalize the bag to you , a la Jane Birkin. It’s a great way to take something as mass-produced and common as a bag and make it feel uniquely yours. Phenomenons like the bag charm trend have more longevity, in my opinion, because they are about personalization. You’re not trying to adhere to a predetermined aesthetic, but more so infuse your life with a little whimsy. And I find it adorable that we’re all now carrying around good luck charms, talismans, and things that remind us that we’re loved. Maddie, Chicago I bought the bunny on Amazon when I was going through a rough time (lol). It reminded me of my friend Sumner who had a Hello Kitty charm stuffed animal on one of her bags <3 I like how it’s started looking more worn as I’ve worn the bag more; it reminds me of The Velveteen Rabbit. The turquoise cinnabar charm I got from a store in NY Chinatown called Wing on Wo that’s one of the most beautiful shops I’ve ever been in :) Also an impulse purchase when I was visiting NY ... I love to impulse purchase my charms. I would rather build a collection over time than buy them all at once. I’ve been on the hunt for some good beads for a while but they haven’t come to me yet. Even though I only have 2 charms on my bag, I feel like they’re a reflection of where I’ve been and how I’ve felt. And I think they just add something fun to an otherwise very architectural and structural leather bag. Maggie, Los Angeles Both of these are gifts! The sardine is from my friend from when she was in Portugal and the little bunny in a dress is from my ex-girlfriend (she got it in L.A.’s Chinatown).  Honestly, I’m not someone who’s the type to get fun little things just because, so these remind me of people who have more whimsy than I do, haha! Avina, Los Angeles The butterfly charm is a Bottega Keychain my boyfriend Ben got me for my bday. It was a ridiculous gift I wanted and he didn’t see the issue! The beaded necklace and red jade charm on [the] opposite side are both from Chinatown, to protect me. The woman who does my nails said I’m so lucky when she saw them. Finally, the red tassel with the yellow string with a little bell is from my friend Melanie. She made it herself, it’s so precious. Layla, New York The orange charm is from a Blind Box series I loved as a teenager called "Yummy Breakfast." It must be almost 20 years old at this point. I got my Miffy from the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. She's wearing a dress version of one of his sunflower paintings, which is absolutely darling to me. Danielle, New York The pin with charms is sort of an evil eye broach that my mom had. Ukrainians believe adding a safety pin to the inside of your clothes is good luck, so I think the shape of the broach might be an homage to that, but then it also has a hamsa on it, and it had a small evil eye charm but it fell off (not sure what the spiritual significance of it falling off is). I don’t really wear broaches or pins so I thought adding it to the bag would not just be a nice way to keep it on me, but it would also add some lighthearted playfulness to the legacy and seriousness of a vintage Coach lol The little red guy is from a toy maker whose whimsical work really speaks to me ( @ lifemachine .co on Instagram). I’ve been a fan of them for a while and when they were selling stuff at a market, my friends and I all got matching ones a la friendship bracelets. I think his mischievous expression is so cute, and again I really think the juxtaposition of a playful charm with a serious bag provides some joy and whimsy to my stuff, maybe helps me find common ground with the authoritativeness of my bag lol It’s always nice to look down and see a trinket traveling with you! 🌀 Cecilia O’Mara is a writer and painter living in Los Angeles. This year she really wants to go to Texas. You can find her on Twitter @2coppertone .

Four girls, one Prius, and 3,365 miles between New York City and Los Angeles. Four girls, one Prius, and 3,365 miles between New York City and Los Angeles. But what daunted me most throughout the road trip was not the possibility of a tire popping in the middle of nowhere, or whether oat milk would be accessible across the country, or if our flimsy car would get blown away in a storm. No, I had stress dreams about what clothes I would pack. My twin sister, Maisy, and I grew up in Southern California between Santa Barbara and Ojai. When it came time to attend college, she chose to go to Connecticut and I headed to New York City. She studies photography, I study fashion writing, and although we’ve grown to be different people, there is truly no one who can ground me like her. Our sisters are treasures and there is no one else I would be able to stand driving across the country with in a tiny white Prius other than her and my two roommates, Maria and Beanie. Sometimes a tiny New York City apartment can also feel like a cramped car hurtling through space at 90 miles per hour.  Maria grew up between Moscow and London, and Beanie between Cape Town and London. Somehow the three of us found each other in New York and have been strangely inseparable since. I asked them to join us on the road trip because America is so much bigger than New York. I wanted to explore tiny land-locked towns, cities with lakes that look like oceans, and dusty roadside tourist traps. I also hadn’t been home in over a year. I craved California. Gaultier on the Go I won’t bore you with my final packing list but I will say that by the time the trunk was shut and seatbelts were buckled, our rearview mirror was unusable and we had to strap a massive bag to the top of the Prius that, by the end of the trip, was not only encrusted with dead bugs, but also left a permanent dent in the hood of the car because it was so heavy. In our defense, Maisy and I had to pack for an entire summer of living away from home. Although, I will admit it was excessive. I probably could have left my Prada butterfly kitten heels at home. My road trip companion was a blue and red denim Jean Paul Gaultier bag that hung from the crook of my arm everywhere we went, whether I wandered through the Art Institute of Chicago in Illinois or hiked above the Grand Canyon in Arizona. It fit all of the road trip essentials: lip gloss, water bottle, melted peanut butter cups, Wives Like Us  by Plum Sykes, and my growing collection of postcards from each state. I wrote one every day and sent it to the boy I loved in New York, affixing stamps with various state flowers and slipping them into post office boxes in places like Elmore, Ohio, where the entire town consisted of a bank, post office, and a few restaurants and cafes where we ordered iced coffees and contemplated buying a piece of inexpensive land to share. At Mount Rushmore in South Dakota we walked past signs telling visitors that smoking isn’t allowed and guns must be left in the car. Every state’s flag billowed above, creating a runway down to four faces carved into the mountain known by indigenous Lakota people as the Six Grandfathers before it was chiseled in 1941 into the monument we know now. This mountain was and still is a sort of spiritual battle ground surrounded by an amphitheater, 50 flags, and a hot dog stand. I stood there shading my eyes and contemplating America’s history while Gaultier was slung over my shoulder.  Mary Janes in the Mountains Maisy isn’t as fashionably inclined as I am. But she is also the right-brained one between the two of us and planned the entire road trip after I said we could just “go with the flow.” Bless her heart. Maisy raises her eyebrows when I tell her how much I spend on The RealReal, rolls her eyes when I ask her if she wants to know the brand of my new shoes, and, despite being a photography nerd, barely knows any fashion photographers. However, she has style. She’s a simplistic gal with Jane Birkin-esque long dirty blonde hair and perfect bangs that she’s trimmed herself since high school. She’s got her classics on rotation: tailored Ganni jeans, fitted Brandy Melville t-shirts, and black leather Mary Jane ballet flats that she acquired while studying abroad in Rome. One of her multiple film cameras are always the chicest accessory on top of her immaculately stacked silver jewelry. And we always wear matching hoop earrings. Always. I assumed that Maisy’s simple style would fit right in at our first stop on the road trip in Sewickley, Pennsylvania. One of the lessons this trip taught us was to never say no to a free place to stay, so we stopped in a Pennsylvania town we had never heard of to stay with one of Maisy’s college friends. She put us up in her attic, which wasn’t an attic at all, but a life-sized dollhouse with pastel purple and blue walls and bunny rabbit pillows on the beds. Teenage rebellion had taken over half of the room with A$AP Rocky and Amy Winehouse posters plastered over painted daisies and white picket fences. Our host was kind enough to invite us to the Sewickley Country Club’s summer barbecue, so we changed into our bikinis — mine was an exceptionally skimpy one. Though simple, Maisy’s style was nothing like the conservative bubble of East Coast suburbia. Her ballet flats and jeans stood out against boat shoes and Vineyard Vines khakis. As everyone washed off winter in the pool, we queued for hot dogs and hamburgers and then ate tiny desserts also shaped like hot dogs and hamburgers. I encouraged Maria and Beanie to take it all in. This was the quintessential landscape of an American country club. Murky waters, sunburnt noses, and a not-so-shocking lack of diversity. Maisy wore her Mary Jane ballet flats every day of the trip. We got caught in the middle of a rainstorm outside of Chicago and waited it out in a gas station.  While we were all distracted by a group of Amish smoking cigarettes, eating pizza, and driving in a van, Maisy accidentally stepped in a puddle. Her feet remained dry, proving the resilience of her leather vestibules, while the London girls gawked at the Amish people they previously thought only existed in TLC TV shows. Maisy wore her Mary Janes in national parks through South Dakota and Utah and in the mountains of Colorado when we hiked up Boulder Creek. At the end of the day, she just wiped the dirt off.  Wedges in Wyoming Maria won’t be caught dead in a flat shoe. When faced with a road trip of unpredictable terrain and guaranteed pit stops in national parks, she packed her leather wedge booties, the same pair she wears every day in New York. Most often they’re paired with low-waisted baggy corduroys or a pair of men’s plaid shorts that end just below her knee. Maria loves silver belts and bangles, and layers fur vests over tops that she sews for herself out of old bedsheets. She is a fine art student who spends her free time hunched over a sculpture, spray painting on our fire escape, or scribbling on synthetic skin with her tattoo gun. Maria is also a dedicated rock collector and left ample space in her luggage in preparation for the rocks she wanted to bring back from the trip. In order to allow this space, she packed a very limited amount of clothing, but the wedges were a necessity.  The Great Plains of South Dakota quickly turned into white rock that jutted from the earth like pale sand castles. Badlands National Park resembled the moon but instead of hopping weightlessly from rock to rock in astronaut attire, we had our Mary Janes and boots. Maria climbed around and collected moon rocks — angular chunks that she would later sketch from every angle. We scrambled up slippery slopes in our subversive footwear, scuffing and tearing at their materials. A few hours later we pulled over to the side of the freeway for two emergencies: Beanie needed to pee and Maria needed to spray paint her tag on a cargo train stopped on the tracks. So she scaled the side of the massive metal mobile and left her mark in black paint. We all squatted in the Great Plains but made sure not to pee onto our shoes — they couldn’t take much more. Dresses in the Desert Perhaps it was my desire to feel superior in a way that nobody else understood, but I wore a minidress to Arches National Park in Moab, Utah. I grew up in nature and spent many high school years backpacking and hiking, but I felt out of practice after living in the city. Maybe I wanted people to look at me and judge my clothes instead of the fact that I was out of breath on the shortest hike in the park. The dress was off-the-shoulder and had two strings that I cinched in little bows above and below my bust. The blue, white, and gray gingham pattern perfectly clashed with my camouflage baseball hat. It was neutral enough. I wasn’t trying to distract from the scenery, only my own athletic inadequacy. When we approached the massive stone arch that stretched several hundred feet above us, I realized I would need to climb, and these tourists were about to receive a show. I made it to the crux of the arch where we could look out at the sprawling rocks and try not to get blown away in the desert wind. I kept my thighs glued together and balanced tediously on the edge of the very steep cliff. Usually my balance is flawless. As I climbed down, I got some laughs from the other tourists, but they wore tie dyed t-shirts and incredibly ugly sneakers and sandals that couldn’t be justified no matter how sensible they were. I was the only one in a minidress and that is one thing I could feel proud of. I found the balance between existing not only as a freak of nature but also as a part of it. Cargos in the Club Beanie is the final installment of this article/packing list because she had the item that got passed around the most: a pair of cargo mini shorts. Maria borrowed them in Wisconsin, I snagged them in Arizona, and Maisy was the encore in Nevada. Beanie wore them while curling up in the back seat of the Prius while knitting her rainbow scarf, calling her ten-year-old sister on the phone multiple times a day, and twirling her naturally platinum hair around her finger. Beanie is a bit posh, but we don’t hold it against her. She provides the Gimaguas and Paloma Wool for the group and makes sure everyone gets sufficient cigarette breaks even when we’re on a tight schedule. I don’t know what brand Beanie’s cargo shorts were but they had buckles on each side and one of them broke so it had to be tied with a hairband. Regardless of their minor dysfunction, they were cute and short and a bit baggy. They paired perfectly with our various boots, wedges, and Mary Janes — so much so that Maisy wore them to the club when we got to Las Vegas. We stayed at the Motel 6 on the strip where crazy characters tried to sell us tickets to the Sphere and men stared at us in our bikinis but it was so hot that we truly had no other choice but to lay starfish in the pool. The concrete burned my feet even through my shoes and we all showered and got dressed for everyone’s first and most likely last night out in Vegas. Maria wore her wedges which were now caked in dust and desperately needed to be resoled. I felt a newfound sass in my miniskirt and boots as we walked to the liquor store to get drinks to sip in the shade as we waited for the sun to go down. Despite my dress in the desert and Jean Paul Gaultier bag, I hadn’t felt like myself for most of the road trip because of my limited wardrobe. We sipped horrible mixed drinks that we made ourselves and revealed our deepest darkest secrets under the influence of bottom-shelf vodka. We might’ve gotten a bit emotional, just four girls around an outdoor table on the last night of our American odyssey. Soon, we will be exiting this beautiful bardo of a road trip. No more long drives or crummy cafes. Soon I would be somewhere familiar, somewhere where people knew me, and somewhere where a minidress couldn’t shield the inadequacy I always seemed to feel. But we hadn’t even gotten to the club yet. Maisy made me walk ahead of her because she wore her Mary Janes and I wore knee-high platform boots. I stomped my way to the bouncer and got my bag searched. They confiscated my gum, my Sharpie, my allergy pills, my eye drops, seemingly everything except my lip gloss. They tried to take Maria’s film camera but she stashed it behind a casino slot machine in hopes that it would still be there when we got out. The DJ played Drake and Bruno Mars, it sucked. Beanie and I kissed boys from a town in California I’d never heard of. One complimented my top; it was Beanie’s, and, on the last night of our trip, it smelled like a mixture of sweat, gas station snacks, and messy motel rooms. I hated clubs, but this boy was cute and he spun me around and kept me sufficiently hydrated. We danced as well as we could on a floor that was sticky with spilled drinks.  We made one last stop on our way out of Vegas to commit our final fashion faux pas: purchasing matching hot pink booty shorts. They were as obnoxious as they sound, with metallic rainbow angel wings on the ass with “Las” and “Vegas” plastered in cursive across each cheek. God forbid I ever wore these outside of my bedroom, but the four of us committed to them for the last four hours of our drive. Our picture in front of the “Welcome to California” sign had to be cropped from the waist up before getting sent to our parents. Only a few hours later as I arrived home, the air smelled like jasmine, orange trees, and the smoke of a certain recreational herb. Deep breaths. I no longer needed my closet as a comfort. I could embrace my mom and my little sister and my dog even in my sweaty and cranky post-road trip state. I could let my guard down. But the Gaultier remained over my shoulder the entire time. 🌀 Jane Lewis  is a writer, editor, and fashion journalism student at The New School in New York City. She spent her adolescence playing and working on farms in California, but now wears her Marc Jacobs FW 2005 plaid trench coat every day and always matches her shoes to her bag. Find her on Instagram ( @janethefarmer ) and Twitter ( @janelikethesong ).

The aesthetic has dominated our lives — and feeds — for the past four years. But what lies beyond it? Can you still be a “Clean Girl” if you have sleeve tattoos? What if you have a septum and eyebrow piercings? The Clean Girl aesthetic has dominated Pinterest boards and Instagram pages for years, first popularized during the early days of the pandemic. Characterized by gelled eyebrows, blushed lips, and dewy, clear skin, Clean Girl makeup is our generation’s signature look — and a complete 180 from the full glam of the 2010s. It’s minimal, seemingly low-effort, and the face of maintaining a “quiet luxury” lifestyle. The display shelves of Sephora and Ulta reflect this trend, as products are proudly branded with the “clean” label and lined with dozens of various clear brow gels and neutral eyeshadow palettes. With the beauty industry only growing bigger and bigger, it may seem like our makeup options are increasing, but in fact, it’s the opposite. The makeup trends of this decade are sorely lacking in color and full expression of creativity. Clean Girl makeup consists of a nude blush and lips (or pink if you’re feeling adventurous), neutral eyes, and light mascara. Naturally, not everyone enjoys bright and bold colors, nor has the time to sit down for a full-glam face, but something about mainstream makeup trends and products feels uninspired. Lauren Bliss, a former MAC counter artist and beauty industry insider turned beauty influencer, believes that social media has inhibited our imaginations when it comes to makeup. “I think people are afraid to be creative with makeup because they’re not willing to let it look like makeup or to look ‘imperfect’," said Bliss. “They want it to look like how professional makeup artists do it, or like influencers who use thousands of dollars' worth of lighting equipment and beauty filters.” Indeed, seeing beauty trends through a fixed, filtered lens has distorted our collective imaginations of the endless possibilities of makeup. And while the makeup that Bliss did on clients from 2011 to 2013 at MAC was bolder and fuller-coverage, perceived “imperfections” weren’t completely erased through a filter. Back then, makeup was allowed to look like makeup, skin texture and all. Isamaya Ffrench, an internationally renowned makeup artist behind the faces of many runway shows, from Junya Wantanabe to Collina Strada, said in an interview with Harper’s Bazaar that pervasive “Instagram Face '' makeup looks are misleading and misrepresentative. “We don’t all look a certain way, so how can this be real and sustainable? For me, there is nothing more beautiful than self-expression,” she said. Bliss also yearns to go back to a time when makeup allowed more space for artistry, remembering long before social media that it was magazines and beauty counter artists that were the go-to source for inspiration and tips. And while social media has democratized access to this information, it has also twisted the whole purpose of makeup: to express yourself. Whether that be a natural no-makeup makeup look, a dramatic winged cat eye, or a play with unconventional colors, makeup has no right or wrong. “Prior to social media, brands would launch a product and invest in a huge shoot for a magazine ad, almost guaranteeing viewership from readers. Now, if a brand launches a product, both your ads and organic content are going to get more traction if they fall under some sort of trend like ‘glass skin’ or ‘sunset blush.’ So, in a way, brands are sort of in a chokehold by the algorithms and what aesthetic or trend is taking over TikTok at the moment,” said Bliss. That is why Clean Girl makeup is aspirational and deceptively inclusive. There are countless tutorials, videos, and affiliate lists that tout only a handful of products to achieve the look. What Clean Girl makeup and the aesthetic itself lack is originality, with extremely rigid criteria for being a “Clean Girl." Its simplicity is aided by the fact that the icons of Clean Girl makeup already have perfect skin and the desired Eurocentric beauty standards that are a built-in requirement to be a “Clean Girl." Of course, people without these features can still participate in the trend, but it’s no mistake that celebrities and influencers like Hailey Bieber and Leah Halton are the poster girls of the Clean Girl aesthetic. Clean makeup implies there is dirty makeup — whether that means products that use unfavorable preservatives in products or break the Clean Girl-approved color palette. Makeup lovers and consumers shouldn’t have to feel like they’re limited to one type of aesthetic or product. Makeup is a sandbox of play — you can use eyeshadow to create liner, mascara to fill in your eyebrows, or lipstick on any part of your face. The possibilities are endless. Thankfully, there are brands out there where creativity is at the core of their image. Half Magic, a makeup brand created by Euphoria’s makeup artist Donni Davey, features intense shades of pinks, blacks, blues, and glitters in their lip glosses, lipsticks, and cushiony soft blushes. Terra Moons Cosmetics is the master of cruelty-free eyeshadow pigments that come in every multichrome, duochrome, and matte shade that you can think of. Even international brands like the German Lethal Cosmetics roll out fabulously curated franchised collabs that are more than just another champagne highlight and a brown neutral palette. As such, not everyone wants to be playful with their makeup. Some may need it out of pure functionality, which is more than fine. Makeup is meant to serve different purposes. As for Bliss, she just wants a world with no rules or expectations. “My goal with my content is to share my personal journey of being creative with makeup again so that my followers, who might have similar thoughts on the industry, are inspired to be creative with it again as well. There is no right or wrong way to do makeup,” Bliss said. 🌀 Niya Doyle is a forever East Coast-based writer, beauty buff, and cat lover. She is a freelance journalist for HALOSCOPE covering beauty. You can follow her makeup and skincare journey on TikTok.

And that’s a mixed blessing. I remember the texture most of all. No matter what you did, how you moved, how thin you tried to apply it, the sunscreen of my childhood beach trips was inescapably, defiantly oily. I liked the pink bottle with the little girl and the dog, although the other one had a name that made me smile — Banana Boat. But whatever brand you were using, sunscreen was, at the end of the day, a necessary evil; from a family with a history of severe burns and even skin cancer, you didn't have to tell me twice that sun protection was important from a health perspective, and that a "healthy tan" was often anything but, and so we slathered on the sunscreen. But sunscreen as something desirable? Glamorous, even? Never, I thought. Oh, how wrong I have been. Sunscreen is, apparently, the beauty world's hottest item this summer. With the rise of high-end skincare, and subs like r/skincareaddiction preaching the gospel of SPF, it shouldn't come as a surprise that sun protection has become hip, trendy, and even aspirational. SPF-tinted lip balms are nothing new, but the girlies of r/skincareaddiction will have posts outlining their "holy grail sunscreen," or even a post, with over 300 comments on it, dedicated to "Rating. Every. Sunscreen." There are brands across the world that are getting in on the sunscreen game — from South Korea, where the concepts of "SPF+" and "PA++++" originated, to Australia, where high skin cancer rates mean sunscreen is medically and cosmetically important. It should perhaps not come as a surprise that Kiehl's has been one of the standard-bearers for the luxury sunscreen market. Their apothecary-themed line of practical skincare and beauty products has always presented themselves as vaguely medical; sunscreen is a logical next step. Australian brand Ultra Violette has adopted the opposite strategy, with minimalist, candy-colored packaging and pop-up launches. As a lifelong sunscreen user, on the one hand, I'm delighted. Not only are the new options significantly nicer than the thick, oil-slick sunscreens of yore (the rose-scented SPF 50 from Ultra Violette is luscious), but the idea of using sunscreen as a cool, glamorous thing is only a positive. Previous generations had to contend with the opposite — sunscreen was vaguely geeky, while tanning, sometimes with the use of tanning oils or artificial tanning beds, was the definition of cool. Of course, we all know that tanning beds can cause gruesome health mishaps worthy of a tabloid cover. And tanning oils have mercifully gone the way of mile-high hairspray and other ill-conceived beauty strategies. Although the world of high-end sunscreen can be a little tricky to navigate, with its different sunscreens for face and body, and the sunscreens that match your skin type, where once there was just, well, a tube of goop, it's also a surprisingly wholesome and inclusive corner of the beauty world. After all, sunscreen is for everyone. There's no color to it, aside from the occasional white cast, which newer sunscreens are increasingly less likely to have as a side effect. You don't need a certain "look," or even a certain skin type beyond the physical presence of skin, to "pull it off." And best of all, it's healthy. Not only is it "not actively dangerous" (making it a major improvement over tanning beds right there!), but it's also good for you. It keeps your skin safe from painful burns and even potential future skin cancer. Sunscreen is beautiful! But as wonderful as all of this marvelous sunscreen and the people who glamorize it may be, there's something here to give pause. Go on any skincare forum, and you'll see people, often very young women, worried that they should wear sunscreen indoors; while asleep; in Scandinavia in January; or some similarly implausible scenario. You'll see others encouraging them — not to avoid sunburn, but as a "preventative" measure against wrinkles and other signs of aging — and outlining an application and reapplication routine that one Reddit user described as "mentally exhausting," and another claimed was "ruining [her] life." The "mental exhaustion" is as new as the concept of "luxury sunscreen." While much of the exhaustion may be simple decision fatigue, there are other elements as well – in particular, financial concerns, and the pressure factor. Luxury sunscreens can cost up to four times as much as their drugstore counterparts – and are they worth the difference? Further, is "the difference" just in sun protection, or also in how we're perceived? Just as a pair of jeans from Costco might serve the same function as those from Ralph Lauren, but how you feel about yourself and how others think of you can change depending on which you're wearing, the same may be holding true for sunscreens. And that's another stress, and another expensive budget consideration, in an already fraught landscape. If a 22-year-old wants to worry about future wrinkles, we really can't stop her. And there are certainly more harmful steps a person can take (hello, retinols) than being overly enthusiastic with sunscreen. There are also far worse ways to spend money than on a healthy luxury skincare product. And yet… there's something about it all that's a little sad. Wanting to keep your skin healthy and attractive is one thing; treating any sign of aging like a symptom of the Bubonic Plague, or worrying that the "wrong" sunscreen will harm you physically or socially, is very much another. Our skin is our largest organ; it deserves to be kept healthy, but also, to be shown grace. Moreover, an enthusiastic embrace of sunscreen shouldn't mean a shunning of warmth and light on your skin. Quite the opposite; it's there to protect you so you can enjoy the outdoors without concern. So go out and find your "Holy Grail of sunscreen," and apply it generously — and then step outside to enjoy the sun. It's waiting. 🌀 Dr. Ellery Gillian Weil is a writer, historian, cute-animal-video enthusiast, and antique jewelry aficionado. She hails from the suburbs of Washington, D.C., but currently resides in London, England, where, in 2023, she earned her PhD in History from University College London. You can find her on Instagram on @elleryw72.

From Raffia bags to ponchos, Latin American fashion is everywhere — but rarely considered. Some surnames have been omitted for anonymity. In the fashion world, there's much discussion about representation, inclusion, and diversity. But little is done. As discouraging news hits the headlines — for example, BoF recently shared that Loro Piana's $9,000 sweaters rely on unpaid farmers in Peru — important Latin American fashion stories are not even covered by other major fashion publications. For instance, after the Qatar World Cup, where Brazil and its soccer shirts became an overnight TikTok phenomenon, little writing was done on the trend — especially without even considering their national cultural significance. Now, Latinx fashionistas wonder if there is truly a place for Latin American fashion in the industry. With their cultures often overlooked and stereotyped, Latin American fashion enthusiasts can feel frustrated and unrecognized in the fashion world. For the Argentinian user Iara Garcia, from the sub-community known as High Fashion Twitter, “Latin American fashion has no recognition in the industry." Paris, Milan, London, and New York are often on the tips of everyone's tongues. Celebrities and journalists go to the top four fashion capitals to bask in the spotlight or cover their talents, respectively. And yet it's impressive how little is said about Latin American fashion weeks — such as São Paulo, Mexico, Chile, and Buenos Aires Fashion Week — or about designers from the region. "There's so much talent, but it's not explored," added Juan, a Colombian fashion enthusiast. But some argue that the region's fashion is appropriately represented. When Dior creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri presented the Cruise 2024 collection in Mexico, at the former Mexican Jesuit seminary Colegio de San Ildefonso, inspired by Frida Kahlo and her feminist essence and crafted in collaboration with several local artisans, it was seen by some as a noble gesture. But it was little to no time until controversy arose. The Internet murmur began, with some netizens pointing out the constant cultural references to Frida Kahlo instead of other Mexican artists who have also made history; the absence of Mexican models; and the appropriation of the song "Canción sin miedo," which has become a symbolic anthem of feminist resistance in the search for thousands of missing women in the country. "Femicide in Mexico is a deep wound that we live with every day in this country, Indigenous women are violated and discriminated against every day. How shocking and annoying to see that foreigners come to make a fashion show out of this tragic reality," declared Paulette González Muñoz on X regarding the use of the feminist hymn. Other audience members pointed out that the cross-cultural fashion shows were done in an uninspiring way, where everything was just for exhibition and profit. Although some consider that — despite the controversies of the show — the results were rather positive for giving more exposure to the country's craftsmanship and culture, the question of why a European designer should be the voice of Latin American fashion rather than a Latinx artist has been raised significantly. Yes, the cliché of giving a voice to the voiceless is a point regularly made and defended by many. But isn't it better to listen to those who have been systematically silenced? While some view the inclusion of different cultural, ethnic, sexual, and social groups in artistic projects as a means of promoting diversity and representation, others assert that this presence serves as a vehicle for imposing an ideological or political agenda that ignores value and coherence. In the current context, there's a fine line between sincere and calculated representation, particularly in an industry where countries like Mexico, Argentina, and Brazil have long gone unnoticed on the world map. Whether well-intentioned or not, the discussion of authenticity and purpose remains uncertain and controversial. But the fashion industry is full of controversies — especially involving Latin American designers. At the beginning of May 2023, when celebrities, insiders, professionals, and fashion enthusiasts only had eyes on the Karl Lagerfeld-themed Met Gala, the Argentine brand Nana Studioz was not credited for its designs that appeared in the February 2023 issue of Schön! Magazine. After the Latin American designer was dismissed and the credit was given to Swiss brand Ottolinger, Sofia Abadi, owner and creative director at Nana Studioz, shared the incident on her X (formerly Twitter) account. "At first I thought I was being ripped off, but then I realized it was exactly the knitwear I made. I know them all by heart," Abadi said. While the subject was hardly commented on by the mainstream media, much buzz was generated by the designer’s mutuals on X. After Abadi's friends, followers, and peers started advocating for her name in the pages of the magazine, the creator finally received due recognition. While globalization and technology are great allies in helping illustrate these issues, social media is also where these communities reveal and unmask their experiences. For Dominican blogger Gabby, Latin America's fashion heritage is more than just textile export. This perspective is not exclusive. Likewise, Iara pointed out that the world sees Latin Americans as producers of raw materials and not as trendsetters. Trendsetters we are — all that's been missing is the recognition. From Raffia bags to ponchos, Latin American fashion is everywhere. Whether at national or luxury brands, fashion trends inspired by Latin American cultures are seen everywhere; all you have to do to confirm it is quickly open a few runway apps or labels’ websites. When confronted with saddle bags from the likes of Ganni, Dior, or Valentino, the answer is "Carriel"— a term that stems from original Colombian coffee bags, which have since become a fashion phenomenon due to their practicality. If the bags aren’t familiar, consider cowboy boots from "La Vacanza"-era Versace and Dua Lipa’s Resort 2023 collaboration. The cowboy boot, a popular footwear silhouette that originated in the Argentinian Gaucho style and has since found international traction across the past 200 years — and among celebrities such as model Bella Hadid, actress Lily-Rose Depp, and singer Miley Cyrus — has a long history of serving practical purposes in everyday life. With purposeful garments deeply linked to functionality and nature, Latin American fashion is unique. Juliana Borobio, an Argentinian member of the digital community, states that the region's "complex mix of identities" also contributes to its individualism. Historically, Latin America’s abundant culture includes a combination of Indigenous, African, and European influences, shaping the aesthetic into something diversely rich and purely original. Not only claiming that the entire continent is a melting pot of diversity, Juliana also adds that "...there are fashions inspired by the mountains or the Amazonas but also the cities, the colonial roots, the Indigenous culture… there is so much talent here driven by everything we went through," a statement that enhances the multiculturalism of Latin America's culture, transported to a variety of fields, including fashion. Translating this tradition into clothing, specific attributes such as patterns, colors, cut-outs, and certain materials completely embody our antiquity — antiquity that fashion often communicates. Consider Raffia palms, a species of approximately 20 distinct plants native to Central and South America, which emerged as the latest It bag during the summer. From Loewe to Saint Laurent, the accessory swiftly became a runway and street-style trend. As a common material in Latin American countries, artisans from various Indigenous communities developed their interpretation of the bag, resulting in a diverse range of models across different countries. The combination of craftsmanship and nature has the potential to yield exceptional results, indeed. For Gabby, the manipulation of minerals is one of her latest obsessions. And Dominican designer Jenny Polanco emerges, too, as she makes jewelry with Dominican amber, sometimes even "shaped into different things like leaves and shells," as Jasmine, another enthusiast, shares. Fashionista Juan Sebastián additionally pointed out "...how past Indigenous groups manipulated gold to create such beautiful figures and jewelry," as a source of inspiration. But this creative stimulus isn't limited to jewelry. Last season in São Paulo, Maurício Duarte reaffirmed the need for Indigenous representation in the fashion landscape. Ever since his debut in 2022, he has left a lasting impression on the Brazilian fashion scene, be it through the casting of diverse models or the incorporation of Indigenous Kaixana elements in his designs. In his latest collection, presented in SPFW N57, he used raw fibers, native materials, and a lot of fluidity, drawing inspiration from the pirarucu, a species of fish found in the Amazon rivers, to create mermaid-like gowns made of fishing nets adorned with scales. Ponchos are another example, brought up by Juliana. Defining it as the most traditional Argentinian garment, she shared that it originated from Indigenous people in the Andes, after developing a significant meaning during independent and revolutionary periods. While briefly explaining its history, the content maker clarified that "the name poncho comes from the Mapuches and, along with the decorations in the weaving, has lots of cultural meaning." Nowadays, each Argentinian province has its own model, with specific decoration and materials. It's not just a garment, it's history, and it's the symbol of Juliana's — and Argentina's — national heroes. And, as she says, the poncho "should be celebrated on a wider scale." Speaking about cultural celebration, Jasmine mentions two Dominican Republic fashion legends, Oscar de la Renta and Farah Cabrera, who put a smile on her face. After leaving his home country to pursue his aspirations, Oscar de La Renta arrived in Madrid with a bang. In 1956, after designing a dress for the daughter of the Spanish ambassador that was then featured on the cover of Life magazine, he secured a position as Cristóbal Balenciaga's assistant. The designer later moved to Paris to work alongside Antonio Castillo at Lanvin, where he gained immense experience in haute couture. Seeking a more independent role, the designer drew several gowns for Elizabeth Arden, established more connections, and eventually launched his first women's ready-to-wear collection for his eponymous label, Oscar de la Renta, in 1965. Since then, the label's clever ability to combine vibrant colors with elegant silhouettes has made it one of the most mainstream and celebrated brands of all time — remember Miranda Priestly's Cerulean monologue and how she mentions "...that, in 2002, Oscar de la Renta did a collection of cerulean dresses"? Exactly. But this level of renown was not only for his innovative ideas but for his deep relationships with celebrities. "Oscar became more famous after dressing Jacqueline Kennedy," Jasmine adds. After designing a state visit gown for Kennedy, things really took off, eventually leading De La Renta to dress all of the First Ladies of the United States, as well as many celebrities, including Beyoncé, Emma Watson, and Sarah Jessica Parker. As for Farah Cabrera, who devoured fashion books from an early age and began designing clothes at 10, she revolutionized Dominican fashion as the pioneer of the boutique concept in the country. Later, Jasmine explains how "two people with different backgrounds and different clothes can make a huge impact," revealing a factor that contributed to her affinity for fashion and the role her cultural heritage played in it. But the Dominican blogger isn't the only one with fond memories of fashion and culture walking side by side. For Juliana, it is history that made her fall even more in love with fashion — like how Eva Perón, the first lady of Argentina from June 1946 until her passing in July 1952, made political use of fashion. When speaking about the Evita Museum in Buenos Aires, dedicated to Perón, she said that the exhibition, which includes some of the '40s dresses and suits worn by the politician, who was first a model and actress, was one of the ways to see her culture represented in fashion. The moving sensation of seeing yourself in fashion is also a frequent experience throughout Gabriela Hearst's career. For instance, in Spring/Summer 2024, which was her last collection for Chloé after three years at the label, Hearst closed the runway held in Port de la Bourdonnais with a grand finale. After models in motorcycle jackets, Gaucho boots, flowy floral and embroidery white dresses, draped suede pieces, and spiral ruffles walked for the last time, Mangueira, a legendary 20-piece Brazilian band, joined the designer and models on stage to create a joyful atmosphere. Whether in New York or Paris, giving space to artisans or musical crews, Hearst brought (and continues to bring with her eponymous label) Latin American visibility in this competitive industry. And her eponymous label has been a vehicle for this visibility since its foundation. In an interview with Harper's Bazaar, Hearst shared that she had honored her family's heritage by launching her label in the fall of 2015, after taking over the operations of her father's ranch in Uruguay. Following the establishment of her label in 2015, Gabriela Hearst was compared to the likes of Hermès for its meticulous craftsmanship and quality. In 2017, Hearst demonstrated her ability to innovate, releasing fabrics with unique effects. These included an anti-radiation fabric that protects from the radiation emitted by phones, presented in the Resort 2017 collection as padding for pockets, and microfine merino wool and aloe-treated cloth in Resort 2018. Since then, the label has become renowned for its careful attention to environmental and sustainability concerns. "I wanted to create a brand that reflects a slower pace and process: where things are made with care and detail, where tradition is more important than trend, where there is a purpose to every piece," the designer added. In the same interview, Narciso Rodriguez states that his Latin roots are the core of who he is as a person and designer. From his Resort 2012 collaboration with Cuban-American artist Carmen Herrera to his Fall/Winter 2013 collection influenced by Brazilian sculptress and painter Lygia Clark's exhibition at the São Paulo Biennial, these roots are clear. Infusing his elegant, sharp lines with a touch of Latin flair, the designer has transcended minimalism while drawing inspiration from his Cuban heritage, the natural allure of his country, and the brave and charming Latinas he grew up with. Such a rare creative philosophy has pushed his brand globally, dressing the likes of Carolyn Bessette Kennedy, Michelle Obama, Jessica Alba, and Kate Winslet. As Latin American production techniques, textiles, patterns, and elements have gained momentum in recent years for their activism, sustainability, and tradition, with names like Narciso Rodriguez, Carolina Herrera, Oscar de la Renta, and Gabriela Hearst rising to prominence in such an exclusive industry, the construction of a more diverse global fashion landscape has begun. But their rise has not been without obstacles — be it internal or external. As the Peruvian fashionista Valeria observed, fashion isn't valued in her country. She noted that this lack of interest extends to designers too, with the tourism industry and the government showing no interest in promoting national fashion, suggesting that the indifference of some countries towards their own fashion is a significant component in its non-evolution and low influence on global fashion ramifications. It's not just Valeria who has commented on this aspect. Alan Smith, a Panamanian fashion-lover, has spoken out about the lack of originality in his country's clothing. He claims that there aren't many cool and innovative designers, and while most fashion events are small, they try to "mix and match" with concepts from Paris, London, Milan, and New York, which makes them even more distant from local rarities. With Latin American countries looking to the current trends of European and American countries for inspiration, our fashion underestimates how beautiful and rich it already is. But Alan believes there are some Latin American countries showing commitment to developing the region's position in the fashion industry, such as Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, Chile, and Mexico. From maximalist patterns, artisanal work, and dresses with a dancing silhouette at Bogotá Fashion Week to classic fabrics made by native artisans, traditional gestures, and tributes to the beauty of nature at Mexico Fashion Week, some countries are indeed investing in raising the visibility of their own fashion, establishing partnerships and resorting to international platforms to cover events. Other internal considerations, however, do not facilitate this process. For Berenice Buendía, Mexican web editor for DNA Magazine, the devaluation of the fashion and art industries is a consequence of the countries' economic and social structures. The prevalence of low salaries, frequent social inequalities, and high taxes lead individuals to prioritize their daily needs over investing in fashion — and they can't be blamed. "Who has the money and energy to think about fashion when the minimum wage, at least in Mexico, is $11.88 dollars [sic] a day?" Buendía asks. When it comes to external issues, the list gets even longer. From stereotypes to cultural appropriation, even supposed celebrations of Latin American fashion find trouble. In 2021, when Elle magazine announced its September issue, which featured singer Selena Gomez and was the magazine's first Latinx issue, many Latin American fashionistas expressed opposing views. "From what I know, there is only one single story in the entire issue dedicated to Latinx talent. If this is the case then it's not an entire issue dedicated to the Latinx community so why call it that?" José Criales-Unzueta, a Bolivian writer for Vogue Runway, said on his Instagram in 2021. The journalist, who often covers talents like Willy Chavarria and Luar's Raul Lopez, adds, "this ... could have been a celebration of Latine stories, and most importantly an open dialogue about the nuances of the Latin identity that are so often misconstrued/overlooked." Besides the absence of Latinx professionals on the project, the following comments pointed out that the exclusive coverage of Latinx stories in mid-September and October may be seen as a marketing program. "You don't see Latine designers, critics or influencers getting opportunities when it's not Latino Heritage Month," Thatiana Diaz, editor-in-chief of Remezcla, a global media company that focuses on a Latinx audience, told Fashionista. The project also didn't resonate with Danielle Alvarez, founder and CEO of Latinx public relations agency The Bonita Project. "Nothing about the Elle cover spoke to our roots," Alvarez told the publication. In Elle’s issue, Gomez is not styled by any of the Latinx designers featured in the edition. She wore Chanel on the cover, as well as other labels like Moschino, Louis Vuitton, Prabal Gurung, and Brandon Maxwell. "Instead, the look had her resembling a platinum blonde Marilyn Monroe, dressed in European designers. It was a huge missed opportunity," Alvarez added. But opportunities also arrive. Recently, at Italian luxury label Moschino, Argentinian Adrian Appiolaza was appointed as creative director. Born in Buenos Aires, his youth was shaped by music; from music, he went to architecture. And, after graduating, Appiolaza left at the age of 21 for the UK. Through the clubs and the friends he made in London, his love for fashion began; and when he learned he could study it at Central Saint Martins, Appiolaza knew what to do. He invested in a course specializing in portfolio-building and got in. At the same time, Alexander McQueen was recruiting for a junior assistant designer, and Appiolaza got the position. While juggling studies with work for McQueen and as a barman, he was getting burned out and subsequently left McQueen to focus on his studies. When Sebastian Pons, McQueen's first assistant, introduced him to Miguel Adrover, following summers found Appiolaza working for Adrover in New York. In 2002, after completing his studies and winning the Best Womenswear Collection award for his Argentine-inspired graduation collection, he became Phoebe Philio's right-hand man at Chloé; worked with Miuccia Prada at Miu Miu; with Marc Jacobs during his Louis Vuitton era; and, more recently, Jonathan Anderson at Loewe. Now, he is in charge of continuing Moschino's legacy while pushing even more boundaries. "We must keep pushing limits," Maria, a Brazilian fashionista stated. But how to do it? With the evolution of technology and media, the truth is that there are multiple success pathways. As Juan declared, "...creating spaces where Latin American talent can show their craft to the world and it could reach new opportunities or a job at a fashion house or magazine" has proven to be an effective method. Before joining Vogue Runway, José Criales-Unzueta would take prints of collections and review them in his stories. Now, he's in the spotlight of the Vogue team, covering stories, reviewing collections, and still keeping his humorous tone on social media. Another recently-established creative project is bringing Latinx talent worldwide. Founded by the Cuban-Nicaraguense designer Silvia Argüello and Argentinian fashion entrepreneur Constanza Etro, the Latin American Fashion Awards is an unprecedented global platform created to celebrate the most distinguished Latin American talents and honor the region's rich heritage. The first ceremony was held on November 4, 2023, in the Dominican Republic. It was a milestone for Latinx talent worldwide, as it was the first time that the fashion industry came together to reward them. The second edition will take place once again in the Caribbean hot spot of the Dominican Republic in November 2025, and will again bring together "...celebrities, top fashion industry leaders, international jury members, influencers, international press, and creatives from around the world to support [the] Latin American talent that is revolutionizing the global fashion industry." With this newly conquered space, changes are beginning to emerge. But for Juliana, it's still important to keep having conversations and discussions about representation and Latinx visibility, all to analyze what we can do as fashion consumers. While some in the Latin American fashion audience point out that many boundaries still need to be pushed, Katherine, an American-Colombian fashion-lover, says that things don't have to be done artificially. "I wasn’t looking for Carolina Herrera or a name to represent Latin American fashion. But I recognized at that moment that representation was important," she claimed. When I saw a photo of Beyoncé wearing a sparkly PatBO body piece for the Vancouver leg of the Renaissance tour, I understood this. Latinx representation matters — to comprehend where we come from, who we are, and to know that, despite obstacles, we still have a seat at the fashion table. "[Representation is] important to me because I don't need an agenda to be pushed. I want representation to be there because the art of it is loud," Katherine adds. Want something loud? Look directly at our commemorative seasons. Juan mentions La Feria de Cali, citing "the several parades where the costumes are so colorful and beautiful," which turns the experience into something completely glowing. In Brazil, there is Carnaval, and the floats, feathery garments, shiny sets, and great energy all paired together turn all the Samba parades into truly a fashion show. It's about the intensity. It’s about the vividness. It's what makes the event unique — and so does our fashion. As Juan states, our "passion and wanting to be heard, collided with the rich history that all the region has..." sets the region's fashion apart from others. For many, representation is already blooming. Whether it's through the presence of journalists like Unzueta, photographers like Rafael Pavarotti, designers like Lopez, Appiolaza, and Chavarria, or editors like Diaz at Remezcla, Ana Cólon at Fashionista and Erik Maza at Town & Country. Now, the power to be seen has passed to the public. "I know our representation is evolving," affirmed Katherine while chatting with me about our inclusion. Among the conversations regarding the evolution of representation, Katherine mentions one occurrence that clicked in her mind. Surprisingly, it was at the Met Gala. "I felt that recently seeing the music artist Bad Bunny walking at the Met Gala wearing Jacquemus... the designer has been inspired." Indeed, it’s been a while since the French designer has presented Latin American references in his brand. Already captivated by Raffia in Spring/Summer 2023, the designer fell in love with Rio’s magical New Year's Eve celebration in 2022. Deciding to come back to Brazil to shoot one project in some of the most popular spots of the Carioca capital, Jacquemus’ team went from Copacabana to Pão de Açúcar illustrating typical places that seemed taken from those city's souvenir cards. In addition to Simon Porte Jacquemus, Brazilian-American Marcelo Gaia, founder and designer of Mirror Palais, is another figure drawing attention to the country. Due to his family's relocation from Rio de Janeiro to New York City at an early age, Gaia shares that he always longed for a deeper connection to his culture. While his mother spoke Portuguese at home, prepared churrasco, a traditional Brazilian barbecue, and played music from legendary artists such as Chico Buarque and Rita Lee, he didn't visit it due to financial constraints. “Thanks to her I've always been surrounded by the culture of my home country,” he writes on his Instagram. After the founding of Mirror Palais in 2019, the designer began to spend more time in his mother's country and reconnect with his family. "Despite the many problems currently, it really is one of the most beautiful and inspiring places with the most beautiful people in the world," Gaia adds. Establishing closer relations with the region seems to be a promising move. For Maria, that's the beauty of multiculturalism. "I believe that by taking the appropriate actions and ensuring visibility and awareness to discuss and identify issues, Latin America’s fashion will grow," she states. Fashion’s growth can help us reach other achievements, too, such as challenging stereotypes; creating new economic opportunities for native artisans; promoting sustainability in fashion and cultural exchange, and, overall, creating a more inclusive fashion environment that moves us to the so-wanted fairer industry many talk about and few look forward to. 🌀 Ana Reitz is a Brazilian fashion writer who breathes fashion. As a Latin American fashionista, she values a diverse and inclusive fashion landscape and aims to make a difference in the complex yet beautiful industry that surrounds her. She writes anything fashion-related for her own Substack For Fashion’s Sake.