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And at Brandon Maxwell and Tory Burch, the same approach. Hi there — it’s been a minute. ICYMI, we’ve been covering the FW24 shows at lightning speed, to the point where we’re having to loop back around and take care of some of the shows we might’ve missed. The silver lining to all this, though, is that the ways these designers, shows, and ideas are communicating with one another have become more apparent in the rearview. Anna Sui is a designer who often defies language, as the work is so profoundly visual that the rules of grammar can’t match pace. Of course, other designers are afflicted by that same condition — Demna, McQueen, Lacroix — but I’ve always been curious as to why Sui isn’t grouped with them. It may be because Sui cares less about theatrics and more about the actual clothes; it may also be because Sui is one of the few female designers still in control of her brand. The words “genius” or “iconoclast,” in equal measure, are bequeathed infrequently to women. But Sui is both of those things, and FW24 only continues to confirm that. Jam-packed with references to kitschy New York autumns of yore, Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple, and even the 60s/70s filter of Harold & Maude, this was the first collection this season that reminded me that, yes, thank you, it’s FALL/WINTER. Everything wears like a dream: young women in babushka hoods; dresses formed by diaphanous patchworks of floral chiffon; Victorian chokers; bright argyle scarves; and a print that can only be described as “space-age paisley.” And yet it is the genius of Anna Sui, isn’t it, that these outfits feel thoughtful and sincere, rather than campy. It could’ve been so easy for a designer to tender easy, tongue-in-cheek allusions to The Royal Tenenbaums or Nancy Drew or mod London. Still, she didn’t — because Sui takes clothing as seriously as Sacrament. Thank God for that. On another wavelength was Brandon Maxwell, who eschewed intimacy by setting his stage in the Brooklyn Navy Yard’s capacious Duggal Greenhouse. When Maxwell was showing for Pre-Fall back in December, Emily Mercer called his new design ethos “...wearability, cleanliness, simplicity and sensuality,” which is evident here. Construction is everything — a turtleneck dress with a built-in shawl; a marl-knit dress under a matching overcoat; and a deep brown leather skirt piped with orange edging. Opening the collection was one of the most innovative looks I’ve seen from Maxwell: a white halter dress, slit open to reveal layer upon layer of hidden silk. When the 39-year-old designer was named Walmart’s Creative Director back in 2021, everyone jumped. Hitching your wagon to a big-box brand, especially to a brand thought of as fashion purgatory, is dangerous. What happened next was a dialing up of the glam at his eponymous label — perhaps as a way to prove that he had not sold out. While those glitzier moments were perfectly fine, FW24 in particular feels like an attempt to do something honest and heartfelt. It’s nice to see Maxwell stick the landing. Everyone is keeping a close eye on Tory Burch. While many brands struggle with moving over the T.J. Maxx death knell (Michael Kors, Kate Spade, even Theory), Burch was able to save her label from a similar fate. In an interview with Rachel Tashjian Wise last year, Burch said of her Hail Mary pivot: “I want women to individualize everything [...] How do you design things that have the integrity of design that will last and the quality that will last and also the style?” Burch showed at the New York Public Library, and mentioned in her show notes that she was focused on the pretty quotidian: “...an old jacket, a lampshade, even a shower cap.” And yet, much like Sui, the camp is absent. Burch instead approaches a material of worship, from coats constructed out of metallic raffia to shiny merlot bodysuits glossed against the abdomen. The lampshade skirt doesn’t even read as frustumic; it hangs solidly and subtly flares at the thigh line. The only misstep, here, is a minidress curled with cavatappi tendrils, a mid-2000s B-side that should’ve died with the old Burch. Still, though, Burch is in good company with Sui and Maxwell — all three designers, this season, are trying their hand at sincerity, and what it means to reconnect with their respective brands against a changing industry. Earnestness often comes across as saccharine and painful; many designers avoid it, dipping their work in irony to avoid having to say anything meaningful. Playing it as it lays — and letting your art come from the heart without pretense or a desire for applause — is really the way to do it. 🌀 Savannah Eden Bradley is a writer, fashion editor, gallerina, Gnostic scholar, reformed It Girl, and future beautiful ghost from the Carolina coast. She is the Editor-in-Chief of the fashion magazine HALOSCOPE. You can stalk her everywhere online @savbrads.

The FW24 collection is FUN, and we love fun. With fun combinations of lace, fishnet crochet, and tailoring, the Diotima FW24 collection remained cohesive while disrupting expectations — a relief compared to what we have seen elsewhere this season. It moves completely away from quiet luxury, the Mob Wife aesthetic, and the boardroom-ready power girly looks and instead dives deep into tried-and-true aesthetic territory: dressing the artists, the poets, and the rebels. The collection is relatively simple, playing with few elements and repeating them throughout. Nevertheless, it lands fresh and exciting, in great part due to designer Rachel Scott taking current trends and subverting them wittily. For example, instead of regurgitating the pantless looks we’ve seen everywhere since last year, the Diotima FW24 pantless look is built with a cheeky, completely see-through white lace microskirt. Layering pieces like coats are embellished with fringe at the waistline, an unexpected and whimsical addition. Cutouts on dresses function like ersatz polka-dott patterns, instead of the more expected cold shoulder or waist cutout. Thanks to this simplicity, it’s a collection that feels cohesive without being stiff. A color palette mainly comprised of neutrals with pops of pink, maroon, and yellow, helps create the structure necessary for more mischievous ideas. It is easy to picture mixing and matching items from within the collection; everything, even the more outré pieces, would work with everything because the looks carry personality and weight. Sometimes it feels like brands have lost sight of the possibility that a collection can represent a single person’s entire wardrobe, instead of hero items that appeal to different people. These clothes were designed with the Diotima woman in mind, and she’s daring and unafraid. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here. Laura Rocha-Rueda is a Colombian fashion and fiction writer based in Brooklyn who holds a Creative Writing MFA from The New School. She is your local Swiftie and will gladly chat about anything glittery and soft, and about why dismissing pop culture as frivolous is misguided and sad.

The designer drew inspiration from an American classic. On Valentine’s Day, Thom Browne presented his FW24 collection at New York Fashion Week. The show drew inspiration from Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” showcasing a gothic horror of absurd fashions. The designer’s dedication to storytelling was apparent this season, going so far as to add what fashion critic Vanessa Friedman called a “giant tree” in the middle of the runway. Browne played with vertical space, elevating models on high heels and creating a post-mortem, haunted landscape in which the viewer feels closer to the ground. Headpieces and long trains, abstract hair, and lace veils all complement the edginess of the tonal color story. There are dark and dreamy elements seen throughout the collection in ballooned dresses, bandaged skirts, and a tattered tweed-and-leather jacket that all contribute to the creepy, otherworldly mood of the show. Browne paints a picture of a desolate graveyard with child funeral bearers dressed in suits and ghostly women adorned in plaid puffer jackets, providing ready-to-wear classics in an eerie setting. The imagery of Poe’s famed poem is apparent throughout the collection, with blackbirds adorned on dresses and jackets alike. Some might say that the show’s theatrics overshadowed the perfect tailoring; Thom Browne created artistic yet naturalistic shapes with attention to the waistline and lapels. Much of the collection carries a balanced weight towards the shoulders and hemming at the ankles, establishing a dramatic elegance across each piece. Despite the show’s visual ideas of mourning, it’s clear that Thom Browne’s time of creativity and innovation is nowhere near up yet. Instead of a never-ending nightmare plagued by death and despair, Browne has created a world of dreamlike whimsy; delivering a vision of the past that’s been resurrected and reinvented anew. 🌀 You can view the whole FW24 collection here. Erica DeMatos is a writer, editor, and student based in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Find her on social media at @erica_dematos.

From runways to TikTok filters, this phenomenon is so much more than a one-note trend. One day you wake up with the belief that prescription glasses are worn to differentiate the brushstrokes from the visible world, and the next you find yourself digesting dozens of images of people turning this life-long necessity into an outfit-elevating accessory. We have seen it in Miu Miu’s Fall/Winter 2023 fashion show and through TikTok filters, making eyewear an undeniably explosive trend that has been spreading everywhere online throughout 2023 and into the new year. How did this happen? The answer brings us to the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, the moment when millions of companies were forced to go from working in situ to relying on platforms like Zoom, which became an alternative to pure isolation. This technological dependence — including increased screen time — triggered, in some cases, early symptoms of myopia and eyestrain. It is no surprise that 19% of the British population has been wearing their eyeglasses more since quarantine. But why are we drawn to prescription glasses even when we don't need them? The French philosopher René Girard explains this in his mimetic theory of desire, first discussed in his 1961 book Deceit, Desire and the Novel: "Man is the creature who does not know what to desire, and he turns to others in order to make up his mind. We desire what others desire because we imitate their desires." Desire is a non-autonomous act and we are unaware of it. This mimetic phenomenon is reduced to the learning process of animals and humans through the imitation of other members of a group. In this case, if one person desires, a second person sees and imitates the first person's desire, creating a passive conflict of that object. When the two factors mirror each other — for instance, models like Bella Hadid and Emily Ratajkowski wearing prescription glasses in public — any differentiation between them breaks this conflict by making the object in question look more valuable to bystanders. As a result, the need of some becomes the desire of others. That is why you might have, at some point, thought of trying on a pair of glasses that you would never have imagined putting on — or even needed in the first place. On the other hand, the general inclination towards individualism — proliferated by the increase of second-hand shopping — has created a new wave in eyewear in which frames represent a nostalgic dream of the decades before the 2010s. We see it in internet sensations like Enya Umanzor with her oversized glasses and Gabbriette with the "Bayonetta" style frames, both being reincarnations of the 70s and the early 2000s fashion. This is indicative that the object is now evolving and adapting to all kinds of personalities and styles and still conserving the main ingredient of the mimetic phenomenon: the irrational desire to be part of the new wave of eyewear. Will this become another passé concept of the 2020s? If we rigorously follow the principles of Gerard's theory, we will find that the answer depends on the intensity and speed at which the object in question is acquired or normalized by the general public. We cannot deny the inevitable: once our desires are satisfied, or the object loses its value, we will look for the next source of stimulation that is considered unique and exclusive, taking us back to the beginning of the cycle of mimesis. Who knows — maybe the next trend will be the antithesis of eyewear: colored contact lenses and, perhaps, eye surgeries. 🌀 Alejandra Rubio is a 23-year-old writer, programmer, and ancient soul who often analyzes and embellishes her surroundings through opalescent forms of self-expression. You can find her curating her visions everywhere online @glitched__girl.

Pretty clothes and straightforward thinking establish the brand as a loyal name. Few runway looks seem like they could go straight from the model to the mannequin in a store — but Proenza Schouler FW24 is exactly what the season promises: ready-to-wear. Although some of the more daring looks eccentrically play with diagonal lines across the torso and giant scoop necks, all of the models look like wealthy New York girlies strutting to board meetings, networking events, or luncheons they grace with their presence. The emphasis of the collection is on texture: sheer tops combined with leather pants, see-through crochet dresses, metallic fabrics, faux furs, and sheer maxis layered over leggings of a contrasting color. With outerwear as a more pronounced focal point, designers Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez created what will surely become the it-coat everyone will want this year: shaped like a trenchcoat, but with a diagonal wrap and a built-in scarf that wraps around the neck. It’s structural, unexpected, and unboring, which is more than we can ask from a coat that successfully shields us from New York winter weather (especially now that we have snow again). The collection also included some interesting footwear — in particular an eye-drawing pair of cherry red boots shaped like loafers that stretch up the leg, like leather socks. I would love to see these styled for the streets and will be keeping an eye out for them on celebrities’ feet. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here. Laura Rocha-Rueda is a Colombian fashion and fiction writer based in Brooklyn who holds a Creative Writing MFA from The New School. She is your local Swiftie and will gladly chat about anything glittery and soft, and about why dismissing pop culture as frivolous is misguided and sad.

Does the Jason Wu girl not need her hands? In an online climate of ubiquitous complaints about how bad knitwear has gotten over the past few years, fabulous knit pieces were a highlight of Jason Wu Collection FW24. A gray sweater wrapping around the torso, providing figure-hugging shape; a maroon sweater dress; and shoulder-length gray knit gloves were among the pieces that brought soft fuzz to the runway. It is too early to tell whether the conspiracy theory-esque talk about how “Clothes used to be so much better” and “Everything is bad quality now” (I try to remain skeptical when it comes to broad generalizations like these) will be quieted down by the collection. Nonetheless, the knitwear in FW24 comes across as a beautiful attempt to soothe fashion lovers — or, to put it more corporately, fill a gap in the market. I was slightly unsettled by the length of the sleeves, often surpassing models’ hands by a few inches. I wonder if this was an attempt to summon coziness, like pulling your sleeves over your hands on a snowy day. The effect this choice seems to have on the looks is something more stylized, with longer silhouettes. Yet when looking too closely it becomes offputting. To me, the overly long sleeves show helplessness, an emphasis on beauty over independence, and restraint. In my opinion, bold sleeves are meant to make the wearer feel powerful and add to their presence. But no one has ever felt powerful in sleeves that are this long. I do recognize the emphasis on sculptural shapes present throughout the collection. The evening dresses, in particular, are statuesque and combine sharp angles and smooth curves in a way that is reminiscent of trends in contemporary art. With some hits and some misses, this collection struck me as difficult to interpret. 🌀 Laura Rocha-Rueda is a Colombian fashion and fiction writer based in Brooklyn who holds a Creative Writing MFA from The New School. She is your local Swiftie and will gladly chat about anything glittery and soft, and about why dismissing pop culture as frivolous is misguided and sad.

The Chavarria man doesn’t fit the traditional Catholic male stereotype. That’s the point. In front of an altar covered with a white tablecloth and decorated with candles, models in cowboy hats and oversized tailoring made their way down the runway. Hints of Catholic symbolism popped up throughout: a jeweled cross embellishes a black cowboy hat; white and black lace mantillas hang over and obscure models’ faces; rosary beads and crosses dangle from models’ necks. But these symbols are subverted — mantillas obscure the faces of people in menswear, instead of covering the hair of women attending Mass. The Willy Chavarria man doesn’t fit the traditional Catholic male stereotype. That’s the point. The FW24 collection swirls differing aesthetics — a blend of cowboys, streetwear, unboring menswear, and a hint of goth edge. The color palette is sober and neutral, but with so much going on in silhouettes and proportions, with oversized lapels and ties, the collection uses the uncanny for unity. This is bold fashion meant to be worn out on the streets. Reimagining religious symbolism — which is so strongly relevant for Mexican and Mexican-American culture — speaks, to me, to the power of reinterpreting stories that raised us. As someone who grew up in a strongly Catholic society, I instantly recognized the strong ties between some of these symbols with gender roles and expectations. Looking at male models wearing a mantilla, a symbol that is supposed to indicate female humility and restraint, I felt a pleasant surprise. A jeweled cross across the forehead as an accessory is reminiscent of Ash Wednesday. For some people, these subversions may seem shallow and somewhat obvious, but for me, it’s a daring choice. None of these motifs are used in a way to protest against religion itself, but rather to question the way religious leaders have interpreted and taught these doctrines for centuries. They speak against the guilt that we feel when we dare to step outside of useless gender boxes and be ourselves, which is a single interpretation of the messages in sacred texts. Nothing more. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here. Laura Rocha-Rueda is a Colombian fashion and fiction writer based in Brooklyn who holds a Creative Writing MFA from The New School. She is your local Swiftie and will gladly chat about anything glittery and soft, and about why dismissing pop culture as frivolous is misguided and sad.

The Fashion Police have been defunded. I came of age during the Fashion Police era. So, when I think of fashion criticism, I think of catty presenters on TV tearing apart red carpet looks, “Who Wore it Better?” spreads in Us Weekly, and the idea of dressing for your body type. But these days, the world of fashion criticism looks wildly different. Now everyone is a “Fashion Historian” — not a critic. You’re more likely to see Rian Phin dissecting the History of Margiela on TikTok than you are a Toot or Boot-style video tearing apart an actress’ Rodarte dress. On the surface, this is a positive change. The old ways of doing things often led to, shall we say, problematic moments… Giuliana Rancic on Fashion Police saying that Zendaya’s dreads must’ve “smelled like patchouli and weed,” Karl Lagerfeld writing in his book that "no one wants to see curvy women on the catwalk,” Kim Kardashian being called “Shamu” by tabloids throughout her first pregnancy. We just grew tired of it. We were tired of judging the “success” of a look based on the body wearing it. Eventually, that exhaustion grew strong enough to form the capital-BPM Body Positivity Movement, which turned the fashion industry upside down and shook it out like an old handbag. Soon after, we saw tentpole brands like Victoria’s Secret and Chanel strong-armed into more Body-Posi PR moves to stay relevant. However, the overall shift from catty criticism to this overtly intellectualized consumption of fashion is more than just people eschewing the judgemental, body-shaming nature of the industry. These TikToks and livestreams and YouTube videos reflect a deeper appreciation of fashion than their early-aughts counterparts. They’re appreciating the artistry, the designers, the fantasy — it’s not just surface-level tooting and booting. I spoke with noted stylist to the stars, Timothy Chernyaev, about this development. He had an interesting perspective. He explained that “...people these days want longer, more researched, more informative or at least very unique pieces […] I think magazines want to be contemporary and urgent, but actually, people want to sit and have a moment of thoughtfulness.” Chernyaev continued: “The prices of fashion have also become so inflated over the years […] so when you’re talking to your reader, it’s very hard to be like, “Go buy this!” because we know that’s not exactly realistic, so [fashion history deep dives are] another way to engage with it. It’s another way to talk about and enjoy fashion without being prompted to go buy it.” This points to an interesting evolution over the last couple of years that has run parallel to the way we talk about fashion — and that’s the way we buy fashion. Everything used to be sold out of a magazine: a glossy photo of Kate Moss holding a Balenciaga city bag or Alexa Chung in a Miu Miu bomber. The appeal was a flat image — insert “it girl” + “it product” here, press “publish,” generate “sales revenue.” Continue ad nauseam. But now, customers require a little bit more in-depth justification of an item’s “specialness” before they feel comfortable buying it. I reached out to fashion writer Alexandra Hildreth to pick her brain on the subject. During our conversation, she noted that “...the rise of commentary goes hand in hand with the death of the static influencer. Visuals are out and intellectuals are in. It’s not enough to be aspirational anymore, you have to be dynamic, but most importantly smart (or at least appear to be).” Basically, if you want to be successful in the current fashion climate, you better start cranking out some video essays. This is synonymous with the waning relevancy of the written fashion review. Everything these days is visual, but fashion lovers still have an appetite for in-depth and well-researched thoughts on fashion. Luke Meagher of HauteLeMode said in his Vogue Profile by André-Naquian Wheeler, “There are more eyes on the videos… I think that’s a factor that makes people sit up and look at it. I think with [traditional reviews] — there are maybe one or two thousand people reading [it in] a paper or an article online? It’s very in industry.” Luke Meagher is actually, in my opinion, a modern commentator who is the most representative of the Fashion Critics of Yore. He doesn’t pull punches when reviewing red carpet looks and he has maintained a sense of playfulness that is often lost when people transition towards more serious “historianism.” Because that’s truthfully what’s at stake here: the lightheartedness with which we talk about fashion. While fashion historians offer a more thoughtful approach to the art form, it could be argued that a constantly stiff, pseudo-intellectual interpretation of clothing is what contributes to the “snobby” reputation of its lovers. As Timothy Chernyaev’s Instagram handle reminds us: Relax, It’s only Fashion… 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.

A level of inflated self-importance radiated from the designer — who managed to fabricate a collection inspired by someone else’s eminent work. At this point last year, Ludovic de Saint Sernin was showing his opening, and infamously terminal, collection at the helm of Ann Demeulemeester. All but two months later, de Saint Sernin was dropped from the fashion house. What exactly transpired is detained tightly in the lips of those involved — except, of course, for the rumour mill which has conducted its dissension-led rounds. Regardless of what may or may not have occurred in those creative Parisian circles, it’s clear that de Saint Sernin has made the conscious decision to place his energy and focus on  his namesake brand for the FW24 season. Presenting his collection of typically raunchy garments in the backdrop of New York City for the first time, LdSS (as I’ll refer to the designer for the remainder of this piece for the ease of the reader and simultaneously to save the typing energy of myself, the writer) undertook a masterful collaboration with the Robert Mapplethorpe Foundation. It is perhaps due to this partnership that LdSS was enabled to generate an assemblage of clothing that can spark conversation, daring to go further than simply designing what is, at times, a rudimentary approach to the provocative. Utilising Mapplethorpe’s work with florals as an initial jumping-off board, LdSS leaned into the delicate, gently establishing a trust-based rapport with the audience (which included Marc Jacobs). The inspirations are discernable, with Look 12’s black and silver sequined halter-neck top featuring a tulip subtracted from Mapplethorpe’s 1985 photograph Tulip and Thorn. Instead of plagiarism, the effect is one of graceful respect. Flowing into the marketable, LdSS introduced a section not overly groundbreaking in its design, recognisable as a usual perspective on cool-girl-grunge evening and party wear. This was, of course, LdSS’ trademark tight-fitting, balanced level of exposure, and plenty of leather. The incorporation of wet-effect hair — with smokey eyes that are yet to smudge — clearly proclaims that the LdSS wearer dresses with purpose. They are not greasy or smudged as a result of error; they dress as they do to stir conversation. And stir conversation they certainly shall, particularly if they are to don this collection's concluding act. Raw, vulnerable, and often openly pornographic, Mapplethorpe sought to question the controversial and censorable, frequently photographing the queer BDSM community within NYC in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Leather headpieces, pube-peaking leather undies, and chest-exposing gowns made from, you guessed it, leather, brought this sensual exhibit to a statuesque climax. Butt-cleavage trousers reminiscent of McQueen’s exalted bumster added a layer of sentimental respect — with LdSS’s presentation held 14 years to the day of Lee McQueen’s tragic passing. Although entirely coincidental, the inclusion demonstrated the lasting footprint McQueen has had on design. Closing his show, one could argue a level of inflated self-importance radiated from the designer who had managed to fabricate a collection inspired by someone else’s eminent work. Periodically, one needs a moment in the spotlight, or to be the spotlight. Which, well — that depends entirely on the individual. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here. Molly Elizabeth is a freelance fashion writer and commentator based in London.

The 32-year-old designer knows what you’ve been talking about. It’s been erroneously assumed, at one time or another, that the mark of a good artist is their ability to create discord (in other words: you know you’re that bitch when you cause all this conversation). Sandy Liang, despite her unobtrusive storybook-waif trappings, is one of those artists who compels that discord. Since her Spring 2018 Ready-to-Wear collection, arguments (mostly online) have abounded: are her trademark bows overdone? Do they reinforce stereotypical textures of femininity — and, if they do, is that profound enough of a statement? Are people who loathe the bows anti-feminist? Does her brand rely on a frippery motif that cannot be sustained? These arguments are circular, constant, and navel-gazing, and don’t seem to recognize that an object’s power is not inherent but assigned. So it goes without saying that Sunday’s FW24 show — unofficially dubbed The Super Bow — is, much like what happened at Helmut Lang, an anticipated brand crossroads. If Liang wanted to respond to the debates of last season and make a statement about where her eponymous label was headed, it would be now (the designer hasn’t shown for Pre-Fall since 2019). Her show notes, written by Nicolaia Rips, follows a schoolgirl who grows up to a princess. She emerges from the ocean, borne out of seafoam; her little bag, a silver star fallen loose out of the sky, is for new-world trinket-gathering. “Illusions [are] everywhere, on her wrist and on her collar, but she knows who she is,” Rips writes. “The collection is an ode to wearing your clothes, to growing up a little without sacrificing what you love.” Liang did renege on the bows, ever-so-slightly; their most flagrant uses were on an asymmetrical Baker-Miller pink ribbon dress and on the upper bust of a starchy long-sleeve blouse, both of which felt like leftover B-sides to SS24. The rest of the collection kept Liang’s playful inventiveness, but slicked it under a demure patina: here are well-cut turtlenecks over eggshell midi-skirts; tweed-blend bateau necks; fuzzy teddy coats over 30 denier stockings; sturdy, long-sleeved black dresses made for convent living; honeyed mohair; ballerina boots. This was Liang’s response to it all: don’t care, didn’t ask, the bows are staying — but this is the last fairytale. Time to come into the real world. In that, FW24 is a classic transitional collection, and reminded me a lot of the turnover years at Blumarine and Anna Sui — especially as all three are whimsically feminine brands that have occasionally puckered under the ultrasweet. You could sense Liang teasing maturation during FW23, but the following season, with its seashell coin purses and its big fluffy bows, felt like a cowering back into the cave. A lesser designer would’ve followed that lead (especially since her just-as-bow-ified home collection did so well), but Liang clearly recognizes the importance and blithe risk of instinct. Not everything is fully-formed, here, and I imagine these ideas will need to get a bit tighter by the next go-around if they want to stick — but there is something admirable about an artist who is willing to look toward the future with conviction, not capitulate to online babblings, and not sacrifice the things that make them sing. 🌀 You can view the Sandy Liang FW24 collection 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.

First: should maximalism have a point? Enough with quiet luxury! While Libertine’s brand identity can consistently be defined as LOUD, punk, and irreverent luxury, the FW24 collection pushed the limits of maximalism. A galaxy print with roses, gemstones, and jewels was a throughline of the show. Grainy oversized eyes and ears printed on a black background made a fun (and somewhat unsettling) appearance. Dogs embroidered onto jackets as mini plushies added cozy whimsy. It’s interesting to think of Libertine as a Los Angeles brand because the aesthetics to me read closer to the Brooklyn lifestyle: a little clown-like, tongue-in-cheek. Dressed not to impress, but to shock. And while the looks are fun (maybe too many face parts for my personal preference!) the styling didn’t hit the nail on the head for every look. Feathery colorful wigs seemed to somehow mock the electrifying looks. I did love the texture play on shoes and the funky sunglasses as accessorizing accents. But the wigs were often attempting to do too much of the talking when the clothes were perfectly capable of doing so. While the Marc Jacobs show used wigs to its advantage and people haven’t been able to stop talking about Pat McGrath’s makeup for the Margiela Spring 2024 Couture show, here the message is diluted in the styling. Perhaps it wasn’t strong enough in the first place. I appreciate fashion that takes us out of our comfort zones, especially since we’re finally seeming to break out from the tyranny of quiet luxury for quiet luxury’s sake. But this seems to me like simply the other extreme: maximalism for maximalism’s sake. 🌀 Laura Rocha-Rueda is a Colombian fashion and fiction writer based in Brooklyn who holds a Creative Writing MFA from The New School. She is your local Swiftie and will gladly chat about anything glittery and soft, and about why dismissing pop culture as frivolous is misguided and sad.

Peter Do’s FW24 collection tries to protect itself. WHO'S AFRAID OF HELMUT LANG? Peter Do certainly is. After a mixed reaction to his SS24 collection — the first under the Creative Director mantle at Lang, a stilted paean to New York, New York that felt like a leftover Glee set piece — the 32-year-old designer went back to the drafting table. This time, he needed to innovate. What was teased in December’s Pre-Fall collection expressed something more serviceable: a collection inspired not by New York itself but by walking in New York. Models, blurry with energy, ran down Brooklyn streets in paint-splattered raw denim, baggy pants, and weighty suiting. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was miles sexier than his SS24 collection, and felt a little bit closer to the sensual and strict Helmut Lang of the 1990s. Conflating the Creative Director with the brand itself leads to abdominally squelched discussions that don’t reflect the sheer talent of everyone who works there (see: Demna at Balenciaga). But Do’s shows are often deeply personal, as evidenced by the Ocean Vuong-penned floor writings of SS24. It’s a tough spot for any designer: to be known for your fine-tuned, high-tailored vulnerability but asked, under an aloof heritage brand, to negate all that. Finding the scission point is practically impossible. So naturally, when the FW24 show began, entitled “Protection vs. Projection,” all the air was sucked out of the room. (“I literally felt my ankles shaking! My ANKLES,” a front-row friend texted me). Here is a designer at somehow his most vulnerable, his most unprotected, his most risky. Having a mixed-response inaugural collection is one thing; having a mixed-response sophomore collection could confirm your inadequacy. Do’s show notes tried to buffet our recollections with pithy mirror observations: “The way we see the world affects the way we love ourselves. The way we love others is the way we affect the world.” But what is any of that really saying? At what point are these words, all floating signifiers, projection themselves? What was really being said at Helmut Lang FW24 was Don't be afraid, don't be afraid. Do’s heartbeat — brilliant tailoring, a playful relationship to proportion and line — throbbed coolly, steadily. New York as a touchstone was gone; no need for it. Models walked under massive white curtains and mammillary overhead lights, like little ants trailing the edge of a hospital room. Enter a dark ​​resuscitation: cold, antiseptic, yet passionate, a Basic Instinct kind of frosty physicality. And in that, a rejection of the deeply earnest SS24. Do found a new angle: he is not Helmut Lang’s aw-shucks new Creative Director. He is Helmut Lang’s new surgeon. Here are perfectly-tailored women’s suits, gauzy half-pants, textured reptilian bombers, blazers strangled by armbands. Halfway through the show, bright hooded coats protected models who kept their dark eyes affixed to the floor; then, again, the suits and dark eyeliner; then, a very beautiful plaid moment (the scarf skirt in particular is magical); then, gray balaclavas, half-opened, like medieval armor. Do’s womenswear is much stronger than his menswear and feels a lot more finished in terms of idea structure. But all that coolness also felt a little feigned, didn’t it? Throughout the show, a loudspeaker whispered, “Protect me. Protect me.” It’s been the move of so many designers since time immemorial: do it edgy and they won’t see how nervous you are. Every time Do approached something of a statement, like the balaclavas, you could also feel him pulling away, squirming under the Venetian blinds. These are incredibly beautiful clothes, and they're not trying to say anything profound, but I worry about their honesty. Is this collection borne out of insecurity or authenticity? I’m obliged to say the former, because Do clearly loves Helmut Lang, even if he doesn’t entirely understand its ethos. He doesn’t have to engage in hagiography or puppet-master a facsimile of 90s Lang back on the runway — repetition is the lowest form of fashion innovation. But Do does have to figure out what made Lang in the 90s work so well, which is not that hard to do. It just takes guts. 🌀 You can view the Helmut Lang FW24 collection 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.