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"I could watch old music videos all day — back when we had these big, high-fashion moments in music." Every Stitch is a new interview series asking fashion’s new creative class how they manage their closets, lives, and careers. Marissa Pelly is a stylist and consultant based in New York. She's dressed some of your favorite artists, from Mahmood to Camrus. Here’s how Marissa picks up every stitch. The self-appointed work uniform: I always want to be comfortable and confident when I work. That’s usually a baggy pant, a crop top, a blazer, and sneakers. If I’m going to get a client dressed or I'm attending an event with them, I’ll throw on some heeled boots. The journey to becoming a stylist: I came up in the industry very traditionally. I graduated from FIT in 2016 — I was interning at Complex at the time and went on to intern and assist an array of celebrity stylists. I spent some time in L.A. working with Big Sean’s team, which was super formative for me. I moved back to New York in 2017 and began freelance assisting and market editing for a ton of celebrity wardrobe teams while I focused on my craft, building my book, and networking to cultivate my own clients. The stylist-client connection: For me, it all happened pretty organically. I met so many people assisting — managers, producers, label execs, etc. You never know who is watching or who you will make an impression on, which is why it’s so important to treat everyone with the same respect & kindness and give everything 110%. Once you get your first 1-2 clients, it’s like a domino effect from there. The creative flow process: Definitely [through] watching music videos! I could watch old music videos all day — back when we had these big, high-fashion moments in music. That’s always so inspiring to me. Also: getting out in the stores, seeing new collections, really just doing a ton of research. It’s so important to always be a student. The approach to risk-taking: I tap back into my younger self often — I do everything for her. I used to have really bad work-related anxiety once I got my foot in the door. It was like, I finally have this thing I wanted so bad, I can’t mess it up. But when you are young, you also have this fearlessness — laced with a bit of delusion. I think about the 18-year-old girl in her dorm room wondering if styling was even a possible career but going after it anyway, or the 22-year-old who packed a suitcase and went to L.A. with no money. She made it happen, so when I need to take a risk, I remind myself I’m still that girl. The perfectionism of it all: It’s really hard [to let go of]! But you have to make it a habit. It’s crazy to me that, most of the time, all of this hard work gets reduced to an image on the internet. Once you accept you can only control so much, things get easier. I give everything my all and then some... anything beyond that is none of my business. The moment she knew she made it: When I could finally start being selective about the jobs I take on. There’s so much power in saying no. The moment I could say no and not feel insecure about it, I knew I reached a comfortable level of success. The advice she'd give burgeoning creatives: So much, but right now, my favorite is to find your community as soon as you can. I’m so happy to have found mine, but I wish I did earlier. Fashion can be overwhelming, but good friends and peers who know what it’s like make everything so much easier. I wouldn’t trade that support for anything! 🌀

"There is often a lot of idle time on set and I do like a good book to keep me company. " Every Stitch is a new interview series asking fashion’s new creative class how they manage their closets, lives, and careers. Allegra Samsen is a model and artist based in New York. Not only does she have the most killer Jerry Hall cosplay hair I've ever seen, but she's also a genius ceramicist and even more genius style icon. Here’s how Allegra picks up every stitch. The self-appointed work uniform: I don't [have one]. Besides a comfortable walking shoe for my commute, I let the New York City weather and my mood dictate my dress. For example, in March, I tried to swear off carrying a purse (I wanted to feel more weightless). So I toted my brown Bottega Intrecciato wallet around as a bag and it felt great for a while. But now I'm back to carrying a small bag to work! I was into wearing suits for the winter, too. My awesome mother worked in corporate late-80s New York and her heroes were Perry Ellis, Donna Karan, and Armani. She passed down two epic suit sets that I got a lot of wear out of. One is navy and long, in classic Armani fashion. The other is a wool Ferragamo skirt set. Those suits felt like uniforms. But now, of course, it's spring, and I am not in a heavy suit, instead opting for cotton and materials that feel lighter on my body. The journey to becoming a model: I have never been asked this before. I'm going to give you my corny, honest answer. Which is that I remember watching the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show in 2012 and wanting to be Candice Swanepoel. I went into my room to try on the only bra I owned (from Justice) and walked around in my Halloween pair of fairy wings. My older brother came into my room and I was humiliated. But yeah, that's how it started. My mom was an assistant photo editor at Vogue right before Anna Wintour was hired. She temped for André Leon Talley who used to call her "Susanna! Susanna!" My mom left the magazine world right before having kids in 1996. So I grew up with Vogue mags all around the house and lots of visual inspiration from my mother. I felt too confused to pursue modeling when I was a teenager. I grew up in this pretty cutthroat, academic, suburban white-bread town, so I followed that track instead. I felt so happy in the darkroom and doing photography. I went to school for that and got my BFA from USC. Then, in my senior year, I was scouted by my mother agent, Joseph Charles Viola, on Instagram. I did some digitals, graduated USC that May, and moved back to New York in October. After a year of tests and feeling around, Joseph decided it was time to place me in a bigger pool. That's when I visited with some other agencies and ultimately signed with Next Management, where I am today. The on-set must-haves: I'm really not on set often enough these days to have some go-to staples. But, in the past, I have appreciated a good coconut water to keep my energy up and a matcha latte. There is often a lot of idle time on set and I do like a good book to keep me company. Paging through magazines is also great. I was happy to do work with J. Crew last year and loved looking at their old catalogs for references and nostalgia. In my office at my day job, we have all different kinds of subscriptions like NY Mag, The New Yorker, WSJ Fashion, NYT Style. Which I always keep in mind in case I need to borrow a copy for something to look through. This is something I'll remember next time I'm on set. Siri, set reminder: Steal magazines from office. The favorite project: I had such a blast working with Milk Makeup last May because their set is so vibrant. I think anyone who has worked with Milk can attest to that. The energy in the office is really fun. As someone who loves hair and hair styling, I was so excited to spend time with Erol Karadag who worked on three epic hair looks for the shoot. Whenever I am in the hair chair, I really love to yap and ask a million questions. Watching Erol work with gel and small curling irons really inspired me to be more sculptural with my hair and find references within Verushka's epic bouffants and the work of the late icon Ara Gallant. Yeah, Milk was a really fun time. I loved trying on all the lip glosses, too. The campaign was like a pre-summer cocktail of fun. Since the shoot was in May, it sort of set the tone for my summer last year. I remember walking home from that set with my hair still styled (I usually love to keep rocking the style until it falls) and just feeling so great. The sun was perfect that night and I felt so happy. The self-care routine: I work a normal 9-5 day job. When I get home around 5:30 PM, I like to make myself a cup of tea, kick my feet up, put Aquaphor on my lips, eyelashes, and brows, and light some candles. Then, I will either doomscroll for half an hour or read a bit. Me and my neighbor just bought basketballs to bounce around the neighborhood. Sometimes we bounce together to unwind. I also love to watch movies. I was in a big piano phase during the winter and loved watching piano-themed movies like The Pianist, The Piano, and The Piano Teacher. Right now I am not watching as many movies as I'd like because the weather is nice and I feel drawn to play with my friends outside. But this week I did pick up a good book since the weather is gray. I'm rereading Veronica by my favorite crazy chica Mary Gaitskill. Mary's writing is epic. She's really good at cracking open an emotion like an egg. The perfectionism of it all: Cool question. I'm more of a control freak than a perfectionist. Nothing in my apartment is "perfect" but I am very clean. I like to sweep my wood floors every morning since they attract a lot of dust. I'm weird about dust... just ask my old college roommate and best friend Lizzy. I used to wake up at 7 AM and lint-roll my dorm bed. Okay so maybe I am a perfectionist. These days, when I feel overwhelmed by my desire to control, I just force myself to sit on the fake bleachers and drink some Gatorade. Like a kid in a soccer league would. New York is fast, things happen really quickly. It can be absolutely overwhelming. But nothing can get done if I don't feel good enough to do it or happy within my own mind. So I let go by forcing myself to sit on the bleachers. And sip some Gatorade. The belief in fate or karma : [I believe in it] 100%. A couple months ago, my step-grandma left me with some wise words. I was complaining to her about something and she said: "Allegra, at this moment, there is nothing that you lack." It was really beautiful to hear and has stuck with me since. The security of her message reminds me of fate's inevitable kiss. So, yeah, I believe in things just panning out. Because as my Sossy (the name I call my step-grandma) said, there is nothing that I lack. It's a message that really fulfills me. Karma is not my boyfriend. It's my coworkers! I am always looking to earn karma points with my coworkers. Sometimes I need to really adjust my day job schedule to make it to a modeling casting or a shoot. My coworkers are saints and [are] really understanding. Just this week I was able to swap two shifts with them so they could make their own schedules work. Coworker good karma is very important to me. The advice she'd give burgeoning creatives: It's nice to be called a creative, thanks Savannah. Well, okay, I am thinking of this story that a girl in my darkroom class told me in college. This girl was interning for the artist Mark Bradford at the time, who said to her: "You have been good your entire life, right? Make mistakes." When she told me this, Mark's words felt like cold water. I guess it was then that I realized I never really allow myself mistakes. So allow yourself to make mistakes. Enjoy them. Learn from them if you want but do not pressure yourself to do so. I wish I had made more mistakes in high school and college. But I was doing what I knew how to, which was to fit in and try to get good grades. I wish I had fucked up more and laughed because of it. The good news is that I get to do that now... 🌀

They won in Monaco, they won in Le Mans — now, Ferrari has won in Milan. In fashion we are swift to judge the merit of a creative director upon their debut, rarely leaving room for the artist to settle into their new position. In this, cruelty is inflicted, capable of prematurely severing a designer’s potential. For those in the highly sought-after, lofty positions at high fashion houses (the Chanel’s and Givenchy’s of the world), scrutiny is all part of the package — something you must simply accept. The benefit of leading a vibrant, young house is the level of grace afforded you. For Rocco Iannone, this grace has paid dividends for his work at the helm of Ferrari (that’s the fashion label adjacent to the luxury car manufacturer.) Previous compositions by Iannone erred on the side of kitsch, relying strongly on a universally recognisable IP. The house represented little more than a capitalistic yearning to generate a fresh profit avenue — a commendable business notion to be sure. Interesting to witness, and perhaps desired by a handful, these primary creations, while utilitarian with an air of quintessential Italian maximalism, were clunky and unrefined, lacking the precision engineering reflecting a fine fashion house or an illustrious automotive dynasty. They were as delicate as a V8 — in other words, not at all. Iannone’s Spring/Summer 2024 presentation set a fair qualifying lap time, drawing away from the vermillion and amber race suits that preceded, favouring a sleek opulence reminiscent of a luxury supercar. Speeding through elegant showings of monochromatic ensembles, moderately revealing sheer numbers, and daring double denim, Iannone did not allow the bold, cherry-red identity of Ferrari to be forgotten. As noted at the time, Iannone finally discovered his race-winning artistic formula — understanding the heritage of what he is nurturing while fleeing the familial nest. Patience is a humble virtue and stylistic maturity may excel with time — if time is awarded. In the words of three-time Formula One world champion Sir Jackie Stewart, “The smoothest and quietest way, the slowest way, around Monte Carlo is the fastest way.” Has Iannone taken a leaf out of the motor sporting legends book? Certainly, he grasps the necessity of steady driving. Explaining his latest work and engaging with a complex industrial system, Iannone says: “You cannot expect to integrate it into a reality like Ferrari’s overnight: it requires time, expertise, seriousness, respect and lessons learned.” In his Resort 2025 collection, Iannone has, after eight attempts, taken pole position. Withdrawing further from the obvious blueprint to which he has so often depended, finally a Ferrari has emerged no longer in the shadows of a great empire. Here is a Ferrari that has extracted valour from deep leather, dependability from head-turning royal blue hues, and intuitive engineering from architecturally subtle structure. Here is a Ferrari that represents its clientele best — cultivated, distinguished, and with a need for speed. Here is the future of fashion for Ferrari. 🌀 Molly Elizabeth is a freelance fashion writer, commentator, and media producer.

(Or, at least, is collaborating with Undefeated.) Streetwear powerhouses Anti Social Social Club (ASSC) and UNDEFEATED are teaming up on another new collection — including tees, hoodies, hats, and more. Get excited. The collection comes after their 2016 collab, titled Paranoid, and sees both brands updating their iconic codes for the 2020s landscape. A rep for ASSC stated: "We are excited to partner again with our friends at Undefeated, this time paying homage to our very first collaboration in 2016." Still Paranoid sees the classic ASSC hoodie (now with "STILL PARANOID" glossed across the front) dripped in black, orange, and sand-on-sand — a buttery, subtle offering against the intensity of the drop. Additionally, the collection follows ASSC's other collaborations this past season, from Goyard to NASA to Rolex and more. Still Paranoid drops today at 8 AM PT, with prices ranging from $49 USD to $99 USD. 🌀

Decades-long discrimination and prejudice still linger in the beauty aisle, starting with foundation. If you haven’t heard by now: Youthforia, an indie clean beauty brand, is in hot water after recently extending the shade range of their Date Night Skin Tint Serum Foundation line. The darkest shade, Deep 600, is being compared to “tar in a bottle.” “This foundation only has one pure black pigment,” explained Javon Ford, a cosmetic chemist, in a TikTok video. This explains the lack of depth and undertone in the deep shade; swatching the foundation appears as gray-black face paint.  Obviously, no person on Earth possesses that deep — or bloodless! — of a skin tone, nor can the shade be used as a mixing medium, since black is a terrible shade to mix with, according to color theory. So how would common sense lead Youthforia to blunder this badly? There’s not a straight answer, but rather a history and conglomeration of biases, discrimination, and prejudice against darker skin, particularly black skin. It’s evident that some industry power players don’t understand the complexities of making darker complexion products — or, frankly, don’t care to. Beauty companies in the 21st century still struggle to make inclusive shade ranges, even after Fenty Beauty’s renowned launch of 50 foundations and concealers in 2017 (dubbed the “Fenty effect”) led brands — from drugstore to luxury — to expand the shade range of their complexion products. Other brands embraced inclusivity upon first launch, too; at the time, it felt like a sea change in the way products were not only formulated but marketed. But the industry’s deafening indifference since 2017 — as evidenced by the Youthforia Foundation scandal — has stalled progress, especially off-shelf and out of the lab. Most marketing and beauty media assume that the majority of their audience is white, even though black consumers account for more than $6 billion in sales within the industry and contribute to nearly 11% of yearly revenue. And make no mistake — this indifference is intentional in front of the camera, too. White models historically dominate runways and ad campaigns. black models deal with unprepared makeup artists blending too light of a foundation on their face; hairstylists who haven’t a clue how to work with Afro-textured hair; and, even worse, occasionally have to do hair & makeup themselves. These situations can be time-consuming, laborious, and downright humiliating. When stories like these happen, it only perpetuates the notion that we, as black women, don’t belong in these spaces. The fashion and beauty industry has always favored Eurocentric beauty standards, which are still reflected in all forms of media that we consume. Fair skin and button noses are prized as the acme of femininity. Coily hair is unruly, and wide noses and dark skin are masculine. In some ways, black women are treated in a sense as unwomen, especially considering that, throughout history, black women were designated to fill in some type of service role — from slaves to maids to nannies. This is why representation doesn’t just matter — it’s essential. Rather than a token black model being showcased in a singular beauty ad or a designer collection, black women should be seen, celebrated, and given an equal playing field. So how do beauty brands learn from these mistakes? For one, diversity and inclusion cannot be another box ticked off, especially as it disappears from public life — it must be studied and fully understood in order to satisfy people of all skin tones, from the palest of pale to the richest deep. Dark skin, like all skin, is composed of various undertones and complex pigments. If Fenty’s success has taught us anything, it’s that making an accessible shade range isn’t difficult — doing the work is. “I think the beauty industry has this misconception that people with darker complexions just always lean more in red undertones,” said Golloria George, the creator behind the viral Youthforia video, in an interview for Business of Fashion. If it’s not in a brand’s budget to develop more shades to suit most — if not all — shades of skin, then they must wait to formulate skin products until it is. Otherwise, the product self-segregates consumers from buying, which means lost sales and lack of trust. Brands should also be more transparent if a complexion product’s shade range is not inclusive enough, rather than swatching (and even Photoshopping) products that don’t match a darker-skinned model’s skin tone, which can mislead consumers. Truly embracing inclusivity means better representation (and more options for black consumers to choose from). In 2024, beauty brands must meet the culture and recognize that true inclusivity isn't just a marketing strategy — it's a moral imperative. 🌀 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.

Zaria, the 24-year-old mononymous designer behind the space-age New York brand, talks engineering, cyberpunk, and rejecting traditional design paths. MODELS glide down a catwalk as if propelled forward by a conveyor belt, with a deliciously green-screened spaceship floating behind them. The clothing is sexy but singular: low-slung bleached pants; crucifixes made out of polylactic acid; a silvery crop top, ombréd with red clay and glossed to the abdomen; a buttery, long-sleeved black dress, worn like a second layer of skin. They're the offerings of PARADISIAC, a fledgling New York label run by the mononymous designer (and engineering student) Zaria. The clothes are also a portal into an independent fashion scene becoming less reliant on nostalgia and more on innovation ("I think I just enjoy romanticizing the future, maybe because these days it looks chaotic and daunting instead of utopian," the 24-year-old designer told Erity Magazine). We sat down with Zaria to talk about the brand's SS24 drop, EARTH 2 PARADISIAC. Read on below: Savannah Eden Bradley: Give me the run-down on PARADISIAC. Zaria: PARADISIAC was created out of the times I spent alone in high school daydreaming. I used to imagine different worlds inspired by the music and movies I enjoyed. I think it was just an escape from things I felt in reality, which at that time lacked confidence. I always wanted a brand [of my own] and knew that the perfect message behind that would be an escape from reality to a world of paradise. As a designer, I've been creating since I was 5, but when the pandemic came, I knew it was exactly what I needed to give it a try. I started by reworking racing tees, which taught me a lot about creativity with silhouettes. In 2021, I decided to make my transition to made-to-order clothing, and, essentially, I’ve just been bringing to life the fantasies in my head. I want my customers to feel what I feel and to become the character I have [sic], because through that I feel empowered. It’s a good feeling. SEB: Let’s talk about your most recent SS24 drop — “EARTH 2 PARADISIAC.” It’s sexy and cybernetic, but also has a bit of a nostalgic texture, very late ‘90s. What inspired the collection? Z: I think, lately, I've felt that my brand’s identity was not as obvious as I’d have liked, and the collections weren’t cohesive (which is fine sometimes!). Right now, though, I wanted a clear message for myself, a refresh. “Spaced out cyber girls who love fashion” — that's what my brand is in the most literal sense. So, I thought: why not make a collection that takes it as literal as we can — showing pieces [on models] walking down a space station runway. I imagined the models walking to meet up at a party somewhere on another planet. I think the nostalgia comes from my personal style. I’m a fan of the low-waisted fit-and-flare silhouettes... they’re hard to escape. But I also wanted to make an effort to play with new shapes and frames. SEB:  With that in mind — how is your own style reflected in the work that you’re doing? Z: I love embodying a character when I get dressed for the day. So, when creating pieces, it's usually in an effort to create a look [and bring] to life a story I thought of. Silhouettes and color palettes are usually based on things I’d pick up when dressing, but it’s [also] something I’m aiming to escape. My love for technology, cyberpunk, [and] futuristic aesthetics play a huge part in my designs as well. Again, I’m seeking to embody a character of who I would be in said environment. SEB:  Right now, everything is handmade to order. Was sustainability a priority when launching PARADISIAC? What are your design values? Z: Sustainability was the foundation of my brand, as I started by reworking pre-loved clothes. It’s definitely a mission of mine to keep this up as much as I can while also expanding. Right now, the value I want to work on most is inclusivity. I want anyone to be able to see themselves in my pieces. I want to see my work on more bodies, all vastly different. I want to see my pieces styled in different ways than I would have thought of. Getting my brand out there is so important to me — not for the money I can make out of it, but because seeing others appreciate my art and learning new perspectives is what makes doing this so fun for me. "'Spaced out cyber girls who love fashion' — that's what my brand is in the most literal sense." SEB:  I was struck by your jewelry offerings, which are so precisely rendered and cut. You don’t see many burgeoning womenswear brands devoting time to accessories. I’d love to know more about your specific approach to jewelry design. Everything is 3D-printed, correct? Z: Yes, everything is 3D printed at the moment, and I’d love to venture into metal casting and other materials and mediums soon. I think most brands don’t branch into accessories as quickly — it’s more of an afterthought. It’s great to focus on one specialty, but I’m a very spontaneous person and I like intersectionality. I wanted to get my hands on 3D-printed accessories as soon as I got my printer. When styling looks out of my pieces, I was sick of trying to find accessories that went well [together], and I thought, “Why not make my own?” When I send a model down the runway, I want her to be in PARADISIAC top to bottom. All of the designs so far come from sketches I have thought up. I think these have done a good job of bringing together a brand identity. As an engineer, I seek to bring it up a level — many levels. I want fullly-wearable pieces that are printed and just as intricate as the ones that I have out now. SEB:  Which brings me to my next question: how does your experience as an engineering student inform your aesthetic decisions? Do you ever see yourself working at a house or getting your Fashion master's? Z: As an engineer, I’m an innovator. I’m constantly looking for ways that something can improve, which is great for the sake of a futuristic brand, but also detrimental in the fact that my successes are not something I get to celebrate for too long. I’m working on slowing myself down sometimes to reflect [...] As an engineer, I also love raw technology. I like seeing the mechanisms behind the machine, so I’m drawn to a lot of see-through, plastic or glass-like textures, shiny things, and materials and structures of that nature. I definitely don’t yet possess the technical skills to uphold traditional methods of sewing and construction which a lot of houses maintain. I would love to get training in it, though, for the sake of enhancing the quality of my own pieces. However, I’m not even sure if I’d be able to ever generate ideas for someone else, unless it’s centered around collaboration. I like to be free in what I do and to avoid any areas of restraint. I love school, though, so given the opportunity, I would enjoy going back. But we also live in an age where everything you could possibly want to learn is online. I enjoy [my work the] most when seeking to elevate my skill set — because I can learn at my own pace and there is more space for interpretation and personal touch. 🌀 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.

There's space for everyone — even in the streetwear collab world. Tomorrow at 8 AM PT, Anti Social Social Club launches its latest line in collaboration with NASA. The collection features hoodies ($89), tees ($49), a hat ($89), shorts ($79), and an Alpha Industries MA-1 jacket ($225) — a true OG American military-to-mainstream garment. The astronautical assemblage also offers a rolling tray ($29), a notebook ($18), and a pin set ($25). In addition, ASSC x NASA brings forth the streetwear brand’s first animated short, which is being revealed in segmented releases sandwiching the drop. Utilizing archival images, glow-in-the-dark appliqué, and space shuttle iconography, ASSC’s collab suits the nostalgic but stands for the trailblazers. Commenting on their design process, a brand representative stated: “Inspiration for the collection came from NASA’s exemplary photo archive, as well as their iconic logo symbolizing innovation and new frontiers.” The launch comes on the heels of the brand’s SS24 collection, an astounding capsule of branded big-ticket luxury items that included a Goyard Saint Louis PM, a pair of AirPods Max headphones, and a $29,000 Pro Hunter Rolex Submariner. A shift back to traditional streetwear archetypes, this NASA collab might just ironically be a grounding moment for ASSC. 🌀 Sophia Scorziello is a freelance writer from Connecticut (and HALOSCOPE Fashion Editor) who misses living in Los Angeles. Follow her on Twitter for unsolicited takes and Spotify links.

But why now? If you’ve been living under a rock, maybe you haven’t heard: Sex and The City arrived on Netflix on April 1st. It was enough to revive the legacy of the series — and, in particular, Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte’s unique styling palettes. While their looks have never gone out of style, per se (@everyoutfitinsatc, for instance, has long been loyal to the TV show and its sartorial legacy), new viewers, especially young people, have only just discovered the depths of the show’s closet. Current fashion trends are replete with the series’ iconic references — whether it's Miranda Hobbes (Cynthia Nixon) as the intellectual "office siren," Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall) as the luxurious "mob wife," or Charlotte York (Kristin Davis) as the old money WASP. But Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) defies all that — she’s eternal. Known for a host of insane behavior (such as having an affair with her then-married ex, “paper covers rock,” and a whole list of other narcissistic spectacles too long to list here), the sexpert is also one of the most fashionable characters of all time. Eccentric, sultry, whimsical, romantic, and dazzlingly versatile, Bradshaw’s style is so multifaceted that many trends have found their way to honor it, rather than the other way around. Think of ballerinacore, for instance — the first view one had of the fictional columnist was in a five-dollar tutu skirt, a pale tank top, and thin, strappy sandals, all plucked from a barre class or a showroom bin (take your pick). But from cowgirl style to the resurgence of Bradshaw’s beloved Fendi baguettes to Roberto Cavalli archivals (Bella Hadid takes the lead on that), everybody still wants to dress like Carrie Bradshaw. Zendaya, while promoting Challengers in London, notably graced a photocall with a two-piece look from Vivienne Westwood’s SS94 collection. The outfit, a striped waistcoat and matching miniskirt with a feathered bustle in the back, quickly set off fashionistas' blithe instincts. It was in S04E09 when Carrie Bradshaw wore a green satin Westwood skirt. Even stylist Law Roach shared a picture of the costume, suggesting that his inspiration was more than mere cheerful coincidence. With so many moodboards plastered with SJP’s face — and celebrities wearing similar items to what the fictional columnist once wore — we can't help but wonder if new looks are all just a tribute to Carrie Bradshaw. But why now rescue her style? When the final episode of Sex and the City aired in 2004, it seemed that the show's iconic fashion was retiring, too, with the beginnings of a popular fashion consciousness that erred more minimalist and restrained. However, hope returned with the 2008 and 2010 in-universe films, in which Patricia Field retained her role as costume designer. Known for her iconic blend of midcult pieces with high-fashion items, Field built a television wardrobe that has since become an indelible part of fashion and pop culture history. Items such as the aforementioned Fendi baguette, the puffer-contra-overalls combo, and Manolo heels-as-engagement-rings have remained ingrained in our minds some 20 years later. However, the 2021 Max sequel series, And Just Like That, marked Field’s definitive departure from the franchise. The costumes of And Just Like That’s two seasons, which follow only Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte — and new characters in New York as 50-something glitterati — have been the subject of criticism from both fans and casual viewers alike. The creative team of Molly Rogers and Danny Santiago have had undeniable hits (we loved Carrie’s rubber gloves look, sorry) but blatant misses (...a cropped cardigan?) that don’t align with the original series’ styling ethos. If it’s received such mixed reactions, why is Carrie Bradshaw's style experiencing a resurgence? It’s not wholly due to And Just Like That — at least, not for now. When Netflix announced the addition of Sex and the City to its vast catalog in January, everything was about to change. Hosting the show solely on HBO Max (now just Max) catered to a more cerebral, adult clientele, the ones who could afford — in both subscription fees and attention spans — to watch “highbrow” entertainment. Netflix, in all its popularity, opens its doors to the masses. As people (especially young people, some 20 years too late) find out about Aiden and Lexi Featherston and Big moving to Paris, more and more people want to imitate Bradshaw’s looks, Manolos and all. But the lives the core four girls lived — independently wealthy, career-focused, unencumbered by financial or cultural restraint — are totally implausible now. Consider Bradshaw, the freelance writer with an uncontrollable penchant for luxury items, monthly rent for her Manhattan walk-up, and open tabs for endless Cosmos. Call it method dressing, a form of manifestation, or whatever else you want: dressing like Carrie Bradshaw lets us get a little closer to that faraway reality. In this way, teens and adults alike are reviving the show's fashion — mainly Carrie Bradshaw's main character energy — and turning it mainstream again, all just to play pretend in a world that doesn’t exist anymore. But now that the third season of And Just Like That is in the works, there’s room for a sea change. Actress Sarah Jessica Parker has been spotted on the streets of New York as the iconic character, wearing a Simone Rocha multi-pocket jacket and a sheer, gauzy corseted dress with roses at the bodice and hips from the SS24 collection. Enough to enchant fashionistas and fans of the show, another round of Carrie costumes are coming — and might be finally speaking more to what the rest of us already love, rather than telling us what we should. 🌀 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.

How the Los Angeles-based stylist cornered the vintage rental market. Have you ever seen a photo of Elizabeth Olsen and thought: “Wow... she looks stunning”? How about Sophie Turner or Gugu Mbatha Raw? Well, chances are, they were styled by none other than L.A.’s own Jordan Grossman. The 32-year-old stylist and vintage collector made her name working alongside renowned stylist Elizabeth Stewart (who you may know from her collaborations with celebrities like Julia Roberts, Angelina Jolie, Viola Davis, and just about any other megawatt A-lister you can think of). These days, Grossman’s running her own show. In 2022, she founded Clothed LA, the meticulously curated designer and vintage clothing rental house loved by stylists like Mimi Cuttrell, Tabitha Sanchez, and even the SNL costuming department. I had the chance to catch up with Jordan Grossman following her recent collaboration with shopGoodwill.com. Read our conversation below: Kaitlin Owens: When you first started collecting clothing, what drew your eye? How is it different from what draws your eye now? Jordan Grossman: Corsets! I started collecting Vivienne Westwood corsets in high school from ShopGoodwill.com. At the time, they were not overpriced. I think I paid $80 for one. I also went to an Orthodox school most of my life, meaning it was uniforms only. Anytime I saw something amazing, even if I could not fit in it, I would purchase it. With my allowance, of course. KO: What inspired you to start ClothedLA? JG: I was exhausted with paying prices upwards of $1000’s for rentals. I wanted to start a place where stylists could still enjoy vintage without spending all the money they had. I also needed to cure my shopping addiction. That is why partnering with ShopGoodwill.com is the best for collectors. The prices are fair. KO: I’m interested in hearing more about the practical, business side of setting up ClothedLA. How did you get the clothes? What does it typically look like when a Stylist rents from you? How is it behind the scenes? JG: At first, the majority of the clothes were mine for about 1.5 years. I started buying from cool places and asked this store, Jennie Walker Archive, if she would want to rent her clothing. Somehow, she said yes. I have no idea how I convinced her. Since then, she has moved her ENTIRE store and herself into Clothed. From there, I started meeting more consignors, as we call them — the people whose clothes we rent and pay monthly. Stylist Tabitha Sanchez has the vintage world on lock, so she introduced me to TONS of vintage collectors looking to rent their pieces. Stylists will come into the showroom and pull a rack of clothes or a few items depending on the piece. Some stylists just need a pair of shoes or a specific item. It varies per stylist. We get the weirdest requests sometimes. Everyone wants a faux fur coat. A Westwood Corset. Some form of Miu Miu. KO: How did your partnership with ShopGoodwill.com come to be? JG: I stalked them. I literally sent 1,000 DMs to every Shop Goodwill Instagram account. I finally was able to get in touch with their team and I am so happy to be bringing my finds to stylists and talent. KO: Do you have a dream client/event? JG: Someone who listens and is open to ideas. A client that knows they are hiring you for a reason — AKA, to be a stylist. If it was the 1970’s: Barbra Streisand. My style icon. KO: Is there a particular piece you've sourced that has a funny/interesting story attached to it? JG: This was not funny at the time, but now it is. I went to this house in LA that had tons of Chanel. The wife had passed away, and the stuff had been sitting there for 10-15 years as is. Long story short, after loading my car with tons of vintage Chanel and Mugler, a few weeks later, my husband said my car smelled rotten. I had gone out of town for 5 days.  I have a TERRIBLE sense of smell, so it is hard for me to notice anything. Turns out a mouse had been living in those clothes, and he must have died from all the Chanel piled on top. I guess if you are going to die, Chanel might as well kill you? 🌀 For a closer look at Jordan’s work, visit www.jordangrossmanstyling.com or the Clothed LA Instagram account (@clothed_la). Kaitlin Owens is a vintage fashion writer, movie buff, lover of good eats, and a women’s size 7.5 (if any shoe brands are reading). She is the Editor-in-Chief of Dilettante Magazine. You can find her on socials @magdilettante.

U.K. football, that is. When the Lionesses, captained to marvellous success by Arsenal’s Leah Williamson, won the Euros in 2022, the future of women’s football changed in one glorious Chloe Kelly strike. After 50 years spent unjustly waiting in the wings and time spent battling for a fragment of funding, a crowd of 87,000 watched in awe as England, finally, brought it home. For many, this was the first time they witnessed women playing football. For many, this was the first time they realised they, too, could realistically grow up to be the next Jill Scott or Mary Earps. That spark is being championed by e.l.f. Cosmetics as they embark on a mission to support women’s sport globally. Katherine Legge of IndyCar, the Professional Women’s Hockey League in the U.S., and tennis icon Billie Jean King have all received support from the beauty brand. Now, e.l.f. looks to support the next generation of England’s football stars as they announce a fresh partnership with Accrington Stanley Women Football Club, a community-based club based in Lancashire in the North of England. Seeking to empower and uplift the women and girls at ASWFC, e.l.f. will support the team kit and provide a new mascot — Sticky, who takes the form of the brand’s beloved Power Grip Primer. Former Lioness and Everton footballer Izzy Christiansen will lead training sessions for the club, sharing her years of experience and expert knowledge. As the young club journeyed to the United States for the Dallas Texans International Girls Cup, e.l.f. championed the team’s 15 to 18-year-olds as they showcased their ever-growing ability and nurtured their game. In a monumental move looking to secure future prospects, players had the chance to be scouted for U.S. university scholarships — many of today’s brightest stars, including Alessia Russo, Lucy Bronze, and Rachel Daly, cultivated their early careers in the States. Christine Cassidy, Vice President and General Manager of e.l.f. Beauty, said of the partnership: “At e.l.f., our mission is to disrupt norms, shape culture and connect communities, and there is no sport that connects communities in the U.K. more than football.” Following the remarkable 2022-23 season, almost 1,500 new football teams were registered in the UK, according to the FA. Baroness Sue Campbell, director of Women’s Football at the FA, said earlier this year: “The priority is to make the game accessible to all women and girls, so that no matter their background or circumstance, all can access the benefits of football and the opportunities it can bring.” Accessibility comes when global brands like e.l.f. bring not only funding but hope. “To have the support of a brand that we share so many core values with means a lot to our integrity and future aspirations,” Sami Smithson, ASWFC Chairperson, said. “The support of e.l.f. has been able to put our girls & women, of this small club with big ambition, on the world map as well as continue to inspire and include many girls and women from Accrington and surrounding areas. e.l.f.’s belief in us is something our community is using as a confidence boost on and off the pitch.” 🌀 Molly Elizabeth is a freelance fashion writer and commentator based in London.

Or, a better question: why should we care at all? If you are anywhere in the digital fashion mediascape, you have no doubt been bugged by one overwhelming question: “Girlies, what shoes are we wearing this summer?” I know my answer: the same white Nike Air Force 1s I’ve been wearing from summers past that can barely be considered white anymore. When did we need to check in with the larger, parasocial fashion community to confirm what shoes we will all wear collectively this summer? I appreciate discovering new brands and styles as much as the next fashion acolyte — but these questions constantly circulating the Internet are just another black void of capitalism and contribute heavily to our loss of individuality. The digital fashion landscape is a double-edged sword, much as the wide extent of social media. It’s no secret that social media can be a trap for overconsumption and conspicuous capitalism (e.g. TikTok Shop and Instagram Shop), so the sharing of items that proffer no value beyond their trending aesthetic qualities is just part of the deal when you choose to engage with digital fashion spaces.  If you’re seeing an item promoted on TikTok Shop or Instagram Shop by a creator, there may be a chance they are getting a percentage of the commission. Creators may be more enticed to sell an item to their audience if a reward is involved. On the flip side, consumers are rewarded with a hot, trendy item that will deem them fashionable Buying more also rewards consumers in having more things on hand, a la Carrie Bradshaw’s closet— which I can admit I would also love to have — through collecting more and more trending pieces to ensure a top-notch wardrobe for the next season. As someone who is definitely not a minimalist but still has an extensional crisis thinking about the capitalist mindset, the “What are we wearing this season?” question — one invented by fashion magazines of the 1950s and has not died off yet — is a conflicting and somewhat disheartening one. That question is Gen Z’s version of the iconic Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep) speech about cerulean blue trickling down from the runway to consumers like Andy (Anne Hathaway). The fashion theory about how trends float through society, also called the trickle-down theory, can be traced back hundreds of years — social media now just adds another layer to this theory. Before immediate access to social media, consumers got their trend inspo from the runway and the upper-class, once it arrived at accessible department and bargain-bin stores. Consumers with the connections to get to trends early had unique pieces that begged, but frequently stymied, recreation.  Now, with the advent of social media and livestream capabilities, it’s easier to skip entire steps of trickle-down theory and immediately share with everyone what the “it shoe” of the summer will be. No need to wait for the bourgeois to tell you — you can make your own decisions. 20 years ago, garments used to be much more intentionally designed — and purchased with repeat wear in mind. A bag was meant to be worn until an eventual rip happened; shoes weren’t meant to be replaced until the soles fell off. As the consumer landscape of the United States shifts towards oblivion, clothing is made cheaper, but there’s also a limited amount of people with enough disposable income to buy the latest seasonal shoe. By intentionally focusing on the longevity of items in our wardrobes, we can already combat half the issue of the “What are we wearing this summer?” question and focus on building more sustainable, responsible closets — instead of falling down the black hole of capitalism. On another note: why are we constantly checking in with our online communities about what’s “cool” and what’s not? Sometimes logic overtakes coolness. If you live by the beach, choose some sandals you already have (which are most likely something you like!) as your summer “it” shoe. If you live in the city, find a pair of sneakers (might I suggest any colorful sneakers from the brand Gola?) that you can actually walk in. You don’t have to let your feet sweat in a pair of GANNI ballet flats if you don’t want to. As someone who lives in a snowy, cold climate, you better believe I pull out my thick gray winter boots on the daily, even though they do nothing positive to any of my outfits. They keep my feet warm and dry — and that’s what I call a style win. However, there’s a comfort in considering whether an item is “cool” or not. How you want to present yourself to society is up to you, and that power is scary — especially based on where you live and who you interact with on a day-to-day basis. In my experience, starting to explore style in rural Wisconsin was not an easy task. It felt safer to fit within the socially-acceptable realm of what others were wearing, like mom jeans with a thrifted crewneck, because it was one less thing to worry about during the day. For me, there was this barrier of style expression that was acceptable somewhere “cool” like the east or west coast, but not so cool in small-town rural communities. Part of that barrier was also that there aren’t as many opportunities to showcase style or connect with those who have a unique sense of style like there are in major cities. Fashion shows, art gallery openings, or events that seem intune with big city living aren’t as readily accessible in the Midwest. But discovering my personal style and learning to slowly inch outside sartorial boundaries, is rewarding, uplifting, and worth the feeling of being uncomfortable for a day. Earlier this year, popular fashion TikToker, analyst, and fashion writer Mandy Lee introduced the 75 Hard style challenge in an effort to combat overconsumption and instead focus on using what’s already in your closet. By forcing you to mix and match last season’s items, you can discover new ways to wear the items you already own — and maybe even take that dress you loathe in the back of your closet and give it a second life. This challenge specifically targets social media as a place to share results — encouraging participants to share each outfit each day not only adds a layer of accountability but inspires others to participate, too. Styling is quite possibly the most important tool in fashion, and it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that only those NYC FIT girlies with the Simone Rocha ballet sneakers know how to style because they paid the money to learn it. The great thing about styling and social media is that it costs nothing. All you have to do is discover some new creators whose style you admire and try to recreate it with the items you own — thereby creating something completely different that is also completely individual to you. For some inspiration, here are some of my own personal favorite fashion creators who focus on styling what you already have accessible in your wardrobe: Chloë Felopus, Natasha Lopez,  Esther Medina , Percia Verlin, Heather Hurst, and Kate B. Next time you find yourself going down the latest fashion must-have listicle void, do yourself a favor and remember what Diane von Fürstenberg once said: “Style is something each of us already has — all we need to do is find it.” 🌀 Macy Berendsen is a writer based in Chicago. She can be found online at @macyberendsen.

Wealth is inextricably linked to luxury objects, which are easier to dupe than ever before. But what does that mean for how women convey status? The camera pans across a row of cherry blossom trees to a woman framed by draping branches. Over one arm, she holds a Chanel bag — its black, archetypical ridges zig-zagging out of frame. Her other arm is bare, pale, and extended outwards as she executes a slight twirl. Most comments call her beautiful; some call her rich. Others simply call her white. The video is one of thousands, reflecting a media landscape in Asia already saturated with its understanding of status. The bag is obvious. Designer brands have long prevailed as old guards of class, with Chanel being one of many champions. Still, recent years have hollowed their power. Public awareness of quiet luxury has grown. Knock-offs have increased in both quality and production. Ironically, modern forces of capitalism emerge best situated to redefine their limits. While labels remain popular, their function as a symbol has trodden away from a true embodiment of wealth and into the realm of visual placeholding. Brands still carry recognition — but in an era where a Chanel bag might as well be fake, what exactly is being recognized? Society has always, to a certain extent, relied on visual hierarchy for social stratification. As indicators of wealth grow increasingly opaque, a vacuum develops — and in Asia, skin tone is poised to fill it. Colorism is old. It has a long history in Asia, with roots in both colonial influences and independently cultivated classist beliefs. In countries like India, China, Japan, and the Philippines, paler skin has long been documented as a way to signal wealth and class. Colonialist preferences for whiteness (and proximity to it) only amplified its importance. Surprising today, however, is colorism’s continued command. As of 2021, skin-lightening products represented over $9.88 billion USD in the global beauty market. Names like Olay, L’Oreal, and Nivea each cater to a cross-regional demand, with the Asia-Pacific market leading in profits. Even as body positivity movements gain traction (“Escape the Corset” in South Korea, for example), virtually all projections indicate increased value within this decade. Popular trends like Chunyu makeup use foundation two shades lighter. Products like “Koji-san soap” and “Snow White Cream” generate ecosystems of tutorial videos and third-party retailers. While colorism intersects with racism, it predominantly exists not as a desire to be a white person, but rather a “high-class Asian”. Whiteness is seen as a way to operate within one’s own race with more power. These days, most producers, consumers, and designers know colorism is bad. A surge to rename whitening products even reflected this fleeting knowledge. But this changed little about consumers’ demand. In 2022, Bridgerton’s Charithra Chandra shared her struggle to shake compulsions towards whiteness: “When the sun is shining and I tan, my instinct is like, ‘Oh f*ck, I tanned.’ I’m trying to unlearn it.” History has folded colorism into the agglomeration of women’s judgment, and modernity has laid the foundation to elevate it as an independent criterion. In China, colorism’s standing is perhaps most aptly captured with the phrase “白富美” which translates to “white, rich, beautiful” — used to describe the three ideal qualities of a woman. In the past, beauty and wealth have worked in tandem. For those who can afford it, opportunities to pursue beauty are infinitely accessible — just as beauty provides an unbounded canvas to project wealth. In this way, beauty is both a conduit for wealth and a goal in and of itself. Colorism demands a woman’s body represent both beauty and wealth, and it’s this intersection that makes it dangerous. The result is a symbol of wealth that isn’t just bought and worn to indicate social standing (like a Birkin, or even a fake Birkin), or a beauty standard aspired to independent of the class it invokes (like weight). Colorism places the burden of demonstrating status directly on women’s bodies. Beauty has always been performative. Yet within this performance, women have created opportunities for individuality, creativity, and camaraderie. Colorism is representative of regressive ideas around what purpose beauty serves — or can serve. There is only one isolating, linear goal: be whiter. Be as white as possible. Understanding why people continue to buy skin-lightening products is deceptively easy. Advertisements reinforce colorist perspectives. Consumers believe paler skin will translate to better job opportunities, romantic prospects, and daily treatment. Protecting and striving for whiteness is often inherited through maternal lines. In a 2019 article for Vogue, Audrey Noble writes: “Your skin shouldn’t be a barrier, but you know how things are. Family will always want to do everything to even out the playing field for you.” The quote is of her mother, in response to Noble receiving whitening soap from an aunt. As with other beauty standards, media has explored the experiences and contributions of participating women. Why would anyone assume the risk of lightening products’ side effects? What are they doing now to get paler?  But interrogating motivations has limits — most vitally because research has proven these women right. Paler skin can affect job opportunities, romantic prospects, and daily treatment. For women — especially socioeconomically disadvantaged ones — forced to operate within this paradigm, capitalizing on any opportunity to improve social standing makes sense. As an “ism” with global reach, colorism affects men and women. Yet it remains women who absorb most of its shockwaves, largely because women are expected to balance the compliance and subversion of beauty standards. Comply, but not to the extent of complacency; blind attempts to become paler are part of the problem. Of course, it’s easiest to comply effortlessly. Be born fair! The accidental personification of status is the original intention, after all. But the duality of compliance and subversion is a myth. Accepting or rejecting colorism as an individual in Asia is largely futile, because it exists not just as a beauty standard to refute on a personal level, but rather as an extension of the dominant lens that sees whiteness as inherently linked to a woman’s status — her literal, predetermined worth — of which beauty and wealth are just one part. The question of why women pursue whiteness, then, becomes less important than the society that nurtures its realization. A closer marriage between beauty and status should concern everyone. Asia may reflect a more homogenous view of femininity, but its interpretations of womanhood still reverberate outward. If the legitimacy of brands continues to decline, more places will be left vulnerable to a new proxy for status. It matters that women are judged for darker skin tones in Asia. And it matters for the rest of the world, too, which sees colorism manifest in different forms — rooted in parallel casualties of classism, nationalism, and racism. Beauty standards shift to accommodate cultural and economic changes, but the reality is, women remain beholden to them. Colorism represents an opportunity: to judge women more efficiently than ever — beauty, wealth, and standing encapsulated in one — or to accept the uncertainty of modern status and begin disentangling it from beauty. Underneath it all, there is a woman. 🌀 Chinon Norteman is a writer, researcher, and strawberry shortcake enthusiast based in Hong Kong. Her interests include security, femininity, feminism, and their intersection. More thoughts are available on X.