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The girlbloggers are not here to get you to think. But they are here to get you to understand. There are ways to spot her before you even know who she is. She is defined by objects: a Diet Coke on the bedside table, littered with wrappers and crystals in equal measure; bunnies, fawns, soft birds; pink ballet slippers; Ottessa Moshfegh books; and an overwhelming sense of despair. She posts photos of anemic Victoria’s Secret models, broken rosaries, wet flowers, cigarettes. Lines of white text slapped over these pictures bind them together, an illuminated manuscript: I thank God for the beauty he gave me; The feminine urge to open Pinterest; I will always be the virgin-prostitute, the perverse angel, the two-faced sinister and saintly woman. These girls — the girlbloggers — are not novel if you, like me, grew up on Tumblr. 2014 Soft Grunge got us to this point. The American Apparel kids standing against the wall got us to this point. Vogue Beauty Secrets got us to this point. When you see the girlbloggers slither into your feed, they are weaving little spells, telling us why they’re here: I am actually insane and delusional. Not really, but they believe it — because the opposite coda has deeply infected the way women interact online. Safe spaces are antiseptic girlboss incubators (see: The Wing’s rise and fall, The Everygirl® complex, Instagram pages called “Her Incredible Mindset,” etc.). The capital G-P Girl Power cottage industry makes it gauche to be anything other than Strong. And the cool spaces that did exist, that allowed young women to fully express themselves — like Rookie Magazine, the original Twitter, and even Tumblr’s old temperature — are long, long gone. It is easy to think you’re an insane and delusional woman if nobody else is talking about it. So what do you do? You adopt a fake online identity — dainty, girlblogger-approved usernames like cherryfawn and lolitagirl333 abound — and start your 95 Theses. They call me crazy but they can’t call me ugly. The feminine urge to not be like my mother. I’m just a girl going crazy in her bedroom. Me after brutally bodyshaming myself. Girlblogging while I sip on my girlcoffee in my girlbedroom. In more ways than one, the girlblogger is a new divarication of the turtlenecked campus poet or the long-haired Joan Baez, attempting to make a public, profound sense of her sadness. Over the past decade, as literary magazines closed and coffee shops started charging for open mic night, a social media shift was inevitable — the romantics always find a way to keep yowling. Which begs the question: is the girlblogger primordial? The sources are clear: Sylvia Plath and her fig tree; Anaïs Nin’s brutal-beautiful letters to Henry Miller; the complicated, bittersweet poems of Rita Dove and Anne Sexton. If you want to go back even further, there are other progenitors of female pain: George Sand, Artemisia Gentlischi, Saint Hildegard of Bingen, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. The sad girl in her bedroom is not doing anything new by typing Why can’t I be everything I imagined? over a beautiful picture; she is begetting what so many female artists have done before her. Making art about female suffering, making sense of yourself as a young woman and as a human being, is a cosmic urge, something that demands to be marshaled. The only difference between a girlblogger and a Charlotte Perkins Gilman is that the former is doing so anonymously, publicly, and without the vestiges of an art school or literary education. That can be, in itself, a little radical. Girlblogging is also a subliminal response to the ways we’ve squared beauty, holding onto the worst parts of third-wave feminism (like Naomi Wolf’s The Beauty Myth) and leaving the rest to the vultures. Women, especially young women, are being told diametric maxims: Wearing makeup is an act of capitalist violence. You must wear lip gloss to reclaim your sexual identity. You are a bad feminist if you shop at Sephora. If you don’t shop at Sephora, you’re not supporting female entrepreneurs. And so on. But the key underpinning in all of this is the age-old curse: whether you’re barefaced with dirt under your fingernails or lacquered in Sherwin-Williams foundation, you must try all you can to not be accused of vanity, lest you want your entire being questioned. For women, being accused of vanity is like being accused of murder — no recourse, no return — and some women themselves mistakenly indulge in this myth. The Liz Lemons scoff at the pretty girls; the woman in the miniskirt will not get the promotion. Girlbloggers are devoted cataloguers of beauty. They empathize with the protagonist of Moshfegh’s 2018 novel My Year of Rest and Relaxation for her beauty, intelligence, and malaise; they digitally scrapbook film stills from Black Swan and Marie Antoinette; they are practically self-taught art history majors, spreading text across Herbert James Draper and Charles François Jalabert paintings. Whether they can see the beauty in themselves is a whole other beast, one that comprises a lot of female turmoil — but they certainly can see the beauty in all other things. In a cultural environment in which beauty is a dirty word, that can also be radical. Criticism of the girlblogger abounds: Why do these girls, both adults and teenagers, relate so much to films like Lolita and Girl, Interrupted? Shouldn’t they be embarrassed about that? Is it all ironic? Are they fetishizing mental illness? Not necessarily good questions. That is the power of self-recognition through the other: in women’s inner lives, there are things so deep-down and abstruse that they can hardly be articulated. A wink of pain; a hazy night in a church basement. To see a woman be a problem on screen, in text, in an anonymous image — smoking, sleeping ‘til noon, weeping in the corner — it is not empowering, but it is a comfort. A silent validation that your pain is not rare, that there are millions of other fig trees in the grove. That can be either a sorrow or a salve, depending on your view. I came across a post on Pinterest, the obvious work of a girlblogger: the image of a woman’s neck, thin and bony, cast in dark shadow, an anonymous screed plastered across her chest. Men will never understand the female insanity equivalent. The self-destructive need to succeed. The borderline delusion of constantly striving for the unattainable. The deadly white swan, black swan phenomenon. These are not new ideas, but they did give me pause, because I had never seen them written so plainly and economically. Unlike their predecessors, the girlbloggers are not here to get you to think. But they are here to get you to understand. 🌀 Savannah Eden Bradley is a 22-year-old writer, fashion editor, gallerina, Gnostic scholar, reformed it girl, and future beautiful ghost from the Carolina coast. She is the Editor-in-Chief of HALOSCOPE. You can stalk her everywhere online @savbrads.

The next class of young designers view fashion as almost solely art-making. Following two years of research, development, and construction, the recent graduates of the fashion design MFA program at SUNY Fashion Institute of Technology — better known as FIT — have made their NYFW debut. Held at the iconic Spring Studios in downtown Manhattan, the 14-designer showcase entitled “UNI/VERSAL” highlighted each burgeoning talent while also highlighting the FIT curriculum in the process — suggesting the idea that community will always reign over competition. Known for “nurturing unconventional minds,” FIT can gladly say their recent grads are the epitome of such a statement, showing their diverse backgrounds, styles, and aesthetics through their work. Many of the designers took the term unconventional to a new level by utilizing unique materials and techniques. Take show opener Lilach Porges for example, who crafted parts of her collection using a robotic arm and Braskem GR605R-CF (a polymer containing 90% recycled material). Due to the plastic, immovable nature of her first look, Porges sent her model down the runway via hoverboard, exciting the crowd for what was to come. Other notable looks include those from Vasundhra Dhamija and Kuai Li who experimented quite literally with shape and silhouette in a range of bold, beautiful colors. In the days following the show, casual fashion viewers were quick to judge the former FIT students, asking who would actually wear such items. But to true fashion devotees, we understand it’s not always about consumerism or functionality. At the end of the day, fashion is both commerce and an art — and deserves as much admiration and appreciation as any other form. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here.

The brand isn't attempting to cater to the general public. Thank god. While watching THE BLONDS SS24 show, I had flashbacks to the Victoria’s Secret 2011 fashion show, expecting Adam Levine to come out and perform Moves Like Jagger any second. While the American lingerie brand left a gap in the market (and much to be desired from its 2023 comeback), it appears THE BLONDS are here to fulfill your sparkly angel fantasies. Although edgier than the original Victoria’s Secret shows ever dared to be (an edge highlighted by hot and steamy reggaetón playing in the background, as opposed to bubblegum pop), the concept of Very Hot Slim Woman In Limited Glittering Clothing remains. With feathers, headwear, and shimmering hair parts, the models strutted down the runway and pouted like an Olsen twin in 2008. The brand delivered what they’re best known for, according to its website: “...creating collections that are glamorously over the top with a rebellious twist that cater to the entertainment industry. Inspired by music, film, and art, the brand utilizes an eclectic mix of textiles and embroidery to create hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind garments that focus on accentuating the human form.” In a way, the accentuation of the human form they refer to is really exaggeration (and not all natural). Like Thierry Mugler, THE BLONDS’ garments imagine the female body as something sculptural — but their cast of highly-produced models are the type to leave little to chance, with features that can’t be achieved to that level without some level of synthetic help: perfectly round, big breasts, full lips, 0% buccal fat, and smooth, keratin-soaked hair. Every season, people who think fashion has nothing to do with them complain about wearability. It’s true that these items are not wearable, but it’s also true that they’re not meant to be. THE BLONDS design items for the biggest pop stars in the world to wear onstage, from Lady Gaga to Beyoncé. They collaborate with Mattel to dress Barbie and with Disney to dress their villains. Their clothes belong in fantasyland, and through that, perhaps they remain removed from the problem that caused Victoria’s Secret downfall in the first place — they aren’t attempting to cater to the general public. That has never been their thing. Phillippe Blond, designer and co-founder of the brand, modeled a golden jumpsuit, and then took a bow with Creative Director David Blond, with the couple giving each other a peck on the lips — perhaps performative and genuine at the same time. The moment, like the collection, will remain in the sparkling, Barbie World universe of THE BLONDS. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here.

You should know the Parsons MFA designers before the world becomes obsessed with them. As models strut the runway at the Brooklyn Museum in the designs from the Parsons MFA in Fashion Design SS24 collections, the lines between fashion and art-making blurred. The fifteen designers who are likely to become the future of fashion looked for ways to disrupt the traditional; be it material, cut, proportion, or even which parts of the body are highlighted or covered, each designer reinterpreted what “clothing” means in evidently personal ways. Sunny Ning showed eight looks worthy of award-season red carpets, with delicately-torn pastel fabrics. The collection includes gowns dripping over models’ heads, colorful pantsuits in playful asymmetric cuts, and a couple of fabulous hats. I wouldn’t sleep on these dresses if I were Cardi B’s or Tilda Swinson’s stylist. Fabiola Soavelo’s collection reminded me of the Caribbean — yet a covered-up take on resort dressing: not for modesty, but for weather. Here is a Harlem Caribbean, with textures that emulate the sea and overcoats of exaggerated yet precise tailoring. I appreciated the contrast of the heavy fabrics against the models’ bare feet and ankle bracelets. Next up came Siri, whose disruption focused on cut dualities — exaggerated, balloonlike clothes juxtaposed against drapey, slim items. Then, a surprise: Siri’s first looks highlight what looks like male genitalia (yet the whole collection seems to be a play on gender). Hsiao-Han Kuo’s looks are thickly futuristic; it’s as if the models stepped off a spaceship to come show Earth what’s in vogue in galaxies light years away. With bubble moments and diametric textures, mixing knit and leather in unexpected ways, this is another collection that looks sculpture-like — yet alive with movement. Daorui Story Si broke up the pattern with looks in all black and pops of neon green: a felt-looking matte black suit with a neon flower on the jacket pocket; then, a more casual look including a jacket with rips bleeding neon green. The looks then transition from gray to white with gold and lilac accents, and as the colors get lighter, so do the silhouettes. This is menswear for the modern fashionisto — someone who gets a thrill from the sheer thought of breaking the rules. Anna Roth brought perhaps the most playful collection of all, with models dressed like cartoonish monsters. Big googly eyes and sea-creature tentacles aren’t perhaps what people imagine when thinking of fashion; it seems as if Roth’s success relies on leaning heavily on whimsy and playfulness. These clothes are full of joy and irony, in a way that seems very appropriate for someone who’s completing an MFA. Nan Jiang also brought whimsy onto the runway, but with looks that lean more towards the primal, made for warriors from a fantasy land of ice. Again: here’s a collection that skews quite playful, with exaggerated gowns that have great red carpet potential. Yu Gong is the ruler of menswear with proportion play. With billowing garments and the chunkiest boots I’ve ever seen, resembling blocks of barely-cut marble, sculptural textures are clearly popular in the Parsons MFA classroom. There’s a cartoonish aspect to these looks that highlights Yu Gong’s sense of humor, with traditional ties and jackets spraypainted over looser, more casual fabrics. Similarly, Ying Kong reimagined menswear with bright color combinations and patterns we rarely see in suits and ties, if ever. With unexpected cutouts and items that show significantly more skin than what is traditional for menswear, the garments appear to be flirting with the bodies of the models — witty banter first and foremost. Ying Kong’s womenswear also participates in this flirtation, and maintains the color palette of cream, pastel blue, and pops of red and neon yellow. Natsumi Aoki’s sober color story and heavy textures — rips and intense layers — brought a darker, muddier aesthetic to the runway. The colors of moss and light-wash denim, and accessories like protective goggles and hoods completing the looks, seem to speak to a more dystopian future, and harken to representations of climate change-addled landscapes. Mel Corchado brought explicit commentary regarding the industry to the show, with a lilac knit dress dripping words down the front: “OUR INDUSTRY IS VIOLENT AND THERE IS SO MUCH WE CAN DO.” Other high-volume looks included a model wearing what appears to be fake blood painted on her torso for a top and a sequined skirt, and two looks comprised of chains constraining the models’ bodies. Chang Liu’s garments reminded me of natural world surfaces recreated through knitwear: the depths of the sea, the dunes of the desert. Deep blues and beiges create waves and movements, and provide a cleansing balm between two intense collections. Yamil Arbaje had a few more subtle, unassuming looks, later broken up by bright colors and the phrase EL PODER PRODUCE REALIDAD (Power produces reality), printed on a bright yellow t-shirt — then, over and over again on a pair of casual camel-colored pants. As the looks go on, Arbaje seems to also be deconstructing menswear, beginning with a more conservative look and later on introducing bolder colors, patterned cardigans, and purses. Ren Haixi would best be described as the anti-Chanel, with a construction of deconstructed tweed. Ripping apart the traditional prep of tweed suits, Ren Haixi uses the traditional fabric in spite of itself. Lorena Pipenco took proportion play to the next level, with a gigantic balloon asymmetrical dress, fuzzy boots, an inflated gown, and an even more swollen pair of shorts. However large you’re imagining these items — think ten times larger. There is no doubt that the Brooklyn Museum is the perfect setting for this show, as it blurred the (made up, in my opinion) line between fashion and art construction. I will be keeping an eye on these names, and I suggest you do too. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here.

There’s a certain immortality about the collection, softened by brazen sexuality. Svitlana Bevza glowed under the spotlight of New York Fashion Week this season — after debuting a collection produced under the volatile conditions of the Russo-Ukrainian war last year. Things seemed to be a lot calmer this time around and she was happy to be in the bustling city. Bevza continued to remain loyal to her palette of neutrals, mainly black-and-white, and to her slight subversion of what that color pairing tends to imply. Satin bralettes peeked from the neckline of a gray, floor-grazing dress — something that promised comfort and weightlessness, two elements necessary for the transition into mercurial spring temperatures — and was completely visible through another. In a look that featured a sweeping satin coat, discretion was abandoned; the bralette was exposed, and you got the feeling that such secrets could lie beneath the modest white trench coat and black slacks. Two fishnet tops bared models’ breasts and skirt slits crept up dangerously high. The expected, uniform austerity of Bevza’s black-and-white was softened by the brazen sexuality of her designs. And would it be a proper Bevza collection without an unexpected pop of color amongst the neutrals? This season's outlier was a bold, unlikely choice for a designer who famously prefers more muted variations of the few colors she includes within her collections. Refreshing bursts of orange appeared sporadically between delicate sheets of white and black, like fresh spring blooms sprouted early enough to catch remnants of the winter’s blizzard (and wilted just before the pre-summer showers came to melt it all away). Those very blooms — marigolds, to be exact — appeared on a number of sleeveless blouses and slips throughout the collection. Marigolds are very popular all around the world, but in Ukraine, Bevza’s home country, they hold significance beyond their beauty and contribution to the ecosystem. “In Ukraine, it symbolizes love for the motherland and revival,” she told Vogue. “I remembered how my grandfather gave me these seeds and I planted them on my balcony one year. And now, every year, they grow.” Bevza is known for her inclusion of Ukrainian motifs within her collections and the sentiment behind this specific addition gave much-needed heart to the never-ending trend of florals being worn during the springtime. Bevza’s clothing is an easy choice. There’s a certain immortality about the collection that goes beyond the public’s current obsession with the supposed superior tastes timeless fashion implies — and hones in on the idea that one doesn’t have to confine oneself within an aesthetic box, regardless of how trendy it is to do so these days. The line’s simplicity and adaptability could allow for a wearer to slouch around as much as swan about, to frolic in a field of marigolds and then enjoy an upscale lunch out. It all depends on how you would style it. When vision is scarce within the wearer, the clothing defaults to appealing to the everywoman — the woman who wants the world to know she is capable of being both polished and seductive, and recognizes that one cannot exist without the other. It is this versatility that has given Bevza the ability to avoid the assumed banality of minimalism her palette initially promises — and is one we can only hope to continue to see as she solidifies her place amongst her fellow minimalistic luxury peers this season. You can view the whole collection here. 🌀

But I don't think we can blame it all on AI. Gyrating moose and cats and dogs oh my, yes, it’s Puppets and Puppets. Little animatronic critters flanked the halls of the Immaculate Conception Church auditorium on Wednesday afternoon, the belongings of NYC subway saxophonist Joe Ajilo. That jazzy knowingness was a prelude to the commercial-yet-eccentric P&P show — a recurring brand theme almost every season. In a statement to WWD, Puppets and Puppets designer Carly Mark stated: “It’s a lot about me and being a woman in New York. The saxophone player with all these little animals I see when I’m doing my commute from my house to the office. And I think about what would I want to wear while I’m doing that commute.” Begetting what Peter Do did for Helmut Lang — a love letter to New York — there is a sporty sweetness to the collection, almost high ‘80s, with lamé detailing, muscle sleeves, and poxes of athletic green. The highlights are clear: pannier pockets on a thick cargo pant; a red satin ribbon held in the mouth; little black dresses, billowy, whipped by the wind. But those highlights are scant. There are good ideas, here — a long-sleeved, collaged sheath dress, a Gilded Age leg-of-mutton sleeve, a ruched gown printed with scenes from the Unicorn Tapestries — but they all jut against one another, ill-defined, unable to be tethered. The athleticism supplants the medieval fancy; the silver glitter dresses supplant the polo shirts and cargo pants; the sleeveless tanks supplant the fringe. It would be one thing if there was a recognizable undercurrent through these aesthetics — a color, a fabric, a silhouette — but if there is one, it’s invisible. Part of this disassociation may be due to Mark’s use of Midjourney AI to design prints for the collection. “In terms of using it as a tool, I’m not afraid of AI,” she said to WWD. “Taking over the world, we’ll see.” All I know is this: if a robot is designing a dress, it’s not doing a very good job so far. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here.

Velez is looking you directly in the eye and asking you to take this impossibly garish thing very seriously, and that is her power. There are only so many lengths beautiful gowns can take you. My pre-season prophecy was correct: this would be a placid season, one without much drama and, in the words of Cathy Horyn, the industry will need to reckon with newer beliefs and values if it wants to stay relevant. Gauzy numbers and feeble attempts at Recession-era nostalgia cannot do that. Before Elena Velez’s show, the question people had — and by people, I mean the Twitter rabble — was thus: Who gets to decide, now? Who are our new upstarts? Not the squeaky-clean commercial darlings, à la Tom Ford or John Galliano, but the enfant terribles — the Gaultiers, the McQueens, the Slimanes. Taste mechanics have been dulled, neutered; creative directors have been plucked from pop culture, not pedigree; and one-time innovators have now become devoid of risk, instead pleasantly shepherding their brands and corpse-puppeting their greatest hits. Whether you like it or not (and many people don’t, thanks to a scandal revolving around unpaid casting) CFDA award-winning Elena Velez is our new enfant terrible. The missing elements in our current design ecosystem — risk, audaciousness, braggadocio, sex, catharsis, violence — are here in SS24, potent in their lack of precision. Models amble down the runway in milky waffle-knit tights and thick leather dresses, struggling to walk in a straight line. Then, they wrestle in the mud, their bustiers and beautiful gowns ruined, splattering front-row dilettantes in sludge. Velez is looking you directly in the eye and asking you to take this impossibly garish thing very seriously, and that is her power. Critics are keen to corner Velez as a gleefully brutish “antiheroine” — even down to a “villainess.” It’s not an accusation without merit; she has an aloof social presence both online and in real life, avoiding post-show interviews and instead tightroping on an unspoken tension. It is far too easy to chalk any of this up to sexism — but it is also too easy to wonder why Velez’s male peers, like Demna Gvasalia, are baptized as industrial “bad boys” with a wink and a fawn, and Velez is baptized the witch. And yet — shockingly and pleasantly refreshing — Velez is aware of this positioning. In her show notes, she writes: “It feels to me like the sanitization and unilateralization of womanhood in popular culture today leaves no room for the nuance and multiplicity we deserve as architects of labyrinthine interior lives.” In that, the collection has a core of rigidity that keeps you squirming. Models have their hands cuffed to their backs, their hair matted, their legs caked in plaster. One model — her plaster-covered breasts wreathed by long, white-blonde hair — floats through the mud, an undead woman climbing out of a Scottish peat bog. My favorite look in the collection is perhaps Velez’s most commercial, but no matter: a strapless dress with slanted ribs and julienned layers of silicone latex hanging from the waist, crawling towards you, beautiful and evil. Velez’s poison medicine, from inside-out jacket construction to cobwebby corsets clinging to the abdomen, is a deep relief. The Velez woman is aggressive, defiant, spooky, post-progressive, real — and, against the popular judgment of many modern CDs — she is not making any kind of point about politics, identity, or being. Velez is doing what so many other designers have been glamorously accused of: beautiful dresses for beautiful people, no deeper moral conviction. But Velez is doing it with a sleek perception — this is clothing made from necessity, from authenticity, and on her own terms. That is the essence of risk. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here.

The designer debuted a show inspired by the work of Roman Polanski. Always drawing from unique cultural touchpoints, Joseph Altuzarra’s inspiration for his Spring Summer 2024 collection was “the timeless horror masterpiece by Roman Polanski and a precursor to the New Wave Movement in American film, Rosemary’s Baby (1968),” according to the show notes. The accompanying show music certainly invoked a sense of horror — but barely any of the looks made me want to run down the hallway screaming. Prior to the show beginning, the brand’s website also stated: "The Spring Summer 2024 collection takes inspiration from the French New Wave cinematic movement, which celebrated spontaneity and realism. This collection embraces the beauty found in the everyday, evoking a sense of rawness and vulnerability, while paying homage to an era of elegance and liberation where bold shapes and daring lines redefined the boundaries of style." Altuzarra’s love for film is evident — his collection is a beautiful example of different mediums reflexively influencing one another. (One can also understand a fashion show as a film: orchestrated, well-rehearsed art.) The feminine, perfect peacoats struck me as the most obvious link to the French New Wave. These modish, 1960s silhouettes could have been worn in The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (the light pink satin!). It should be said that the specific resurrection of Polanski — controversial for obvious reasons — feels like a very specific thesis by Altuzarra, and I’m uncertain of its very specific meaning. On an aesthetic level: pops of bright reds, springy yellows, and icy blues mediated the overarching shades of grey. The designer is, after all, a master of color. The romantic, academic mood of the looks carries a whiff of Miu Miu Fall/Winter 2023; namely, the casual cashmere sweaters, modestly hemmed skirts, and decisive coats. Altuzarra’s female protagonist, however, is more of a haunted ingénue. Some looks, like the satin mini skirt and preppy coat, truly felt like a modern take on the late 1950s/early 1960s era Altuzarra was inspired by. My favorite look was a mustard organza collared shirt paired with a low-waisted cherry brown skirt. And you can’t miss the clusters of embroidery that drip from the delicate fabrics like budding spring branches of pearls. Other looks — such as the various tie-dye dresses sprinkled occasionally — felt like a commercial necessity but less cohesive with the collection itself. We can’t blame a designer for embracing an equation that churns out sales and brand identity. Overall, I romanticized the cinephile who goes to avante-garde films in wispy outfits alongside Altuzarra, just as much as I struggled to distinguish a reimagined blazer and a satin slip skirt from the rest of fashion week. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here.

Put down the moto jacket. It's okay. Brandon Maxwell held one of the most gatekept shows of the season, allowing no one from the outside world to see the newest collection before the show was over. With glamorous drapings of playful sheer fabric and a limited color palette — mostly neutrals, with the exception of a couple of bright red dresses and pops of metallics on denim — the SS24 collection is clean, unfussy, striving for chic. There’s nothing inherently wrong with these clothes, but it’s obvious who they’re for. Brandon Maxwell is catering to the more traditional of the fashion characters: a woman of high net worth, possibly an always-polished housewife on the Upper East Side. She has a Saks personal shopper to refresh her wardrobe every season; a table at Russ and Daughters; a busy philanthropic schedule; and a hazy understanding of “outside clothes,” because she hasn’t ridden the MTA since the Clinton election. Some of the accessories Maxwell chose — floppy, oversized purses with metallic buckles and long handles — reminded me of the 2010s. And perhaps this entire collection does, in a way. It is high fashion for the eternally rich and glamorous; pre-virtual runways, pre-Instagram Live, the kind that even the fast fashion brands would need a beat to be able to copy because it isn’t accessible right away (unless you were there). This glamour retains an edge to it: sheer textures that highlight silhouettes are contrasted against slouchy knit sweaters (but the right kind of slouchy, where the item still fits properly even when it’s loose around the body). Then: a leather moto jacket, a leather sleeveless maxi dress with mermaid-scale detailing, and a similar skirt all make sure the collection retains its cool. Yet I wouldn’t use words like “bold” or “exciting” to describe SS24 — and perhaps that’s on purpose. There’s no whimsy, but the woman who wears Brandon Maxwell doesn’t need that. She’s got a luncheon to attend. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here.

Justin Jacob Louis begins with a collection inspired by his Indigenous roots; HYPER COUTURE drowns in graffiti. Global Fashion Collective opened its series of four NYFW shows with HYPER COUTURE and Justin Jacob Louis. In the collective’s spirit of providing a platform for new and established designers — and helping designers “increase their global brand presence” — these showcases diversify what’s typically seen at major fashion weeks, and this first show was no exception. Justin Jacob Louis used a good part of his runway time to showcase his ancestral culture, with song and dance by members of the Samson Cree Nation — one of the First Nations in what is today considered Canadian territory. In traditional outfits, the runway was livened by drums and singing. One of the community members explained their presence at Fashion Week by stating that fashion is dance, and shared the unshakable tagline: “This isn’t fast fashion — this is first fashion.” Providing space on the runway for Louis’ community was a political act, as another performing community member explained: “Not too long ago we would’ve been arrested for doing this — until 1974 (sic), when the United States passed a law that allowed us to practice our religion.” (The law was later passed in 1978). As I watched the first half of Louis’ runway show, I felt a bit uncomfortable: reclaiming this space is by all means necessary — but who is the NYFW audience? And that dreaded question: who are these clothes for? However, as we got more context and understood what Louis was doing — sharing the space, showing a much smaller collection than he could have to allow the reclaiming to happen on the runway — it seemed exactly aligned with what the Global Fashion Collective promises to do. Then, when we got to see Louis’ clothes — a street-style collection with symbols alluding to his community and ancestry, shown by Indigenous models — I wished the platform he got was much, much larger. HYPER COUTURE, on the other hand, stuck to its original concept: “FASHION THEME PARK.” The collection was made up of bright neons and textures that were reminiscent of grime — like ripped graffiti off a global metropolis’ walls, wrapped around the body. It closed with a bride and groom in graffiti’d denim, a playful concept that remains somewhat trivial. Not that we should expect anything different from a theme park. 🌀

Balloon skirts! Knee-length trenches! And Jeff Bezos (?) Staged at The Plaza Hotel, Staud’s choice of venue was certainly a power play for the West Coast designer. Yes, I’ve landed on the East Coast and I’m staying at The Plaza. Staud makes clothes for your fabulous, well-off older sister who, last night, arrived in the city for a vague (or Vogue) business trip. But was choosing this very New York, New York runway low-hanging fruit for NYFW? The pessimist in me admits that it reads as a stuffy symbol of luxury for the self-branded “affordable luxury” brand. On the other hand — my optimistic eye appreciates the backdrop of old-school New York glamour to bolster a presentation seeping with ‘90s influence. Prior to the show, Sarah Staudinger told WWD that the collection was inspired by the Italian phrase villeggiatura, meaning a prolonged stay (often in a stunning European town). The looks certainly invoked a breeze of ease, although with a note of unpresuming opulence that someone who got married in Saint-Tropez speaks as their second language. Certainly, we would all like to stay a while and dazzle at the mirage of approachable luxury. The opening sequence of looks embraced silky, slinky, and simple tailoring, emboldened by pastel blues and purples. A Cinderella blue, two-piece set seemed to merge monochrome minimalism with Staud’s innate sense of play, an ensemble that would fly in an office or at a cocktail hour with the cool girls. A trio of knee-length trench coats walked arm in arm down the runway, the belt a neatly tied bow that concealed nothing beneath. I appreciated this take on a classic piece of outerwear and envisioned the jacket mixing well with bright rain boots and spring walks through Central Park. Large, ballooning, bubble-hemmed skirts floated and landed this collection - pieces meant for play, but beware of accidentally splashing in any puddles. As pointed out by Twitter users, the skirt was likely a direct reference to Isaac Mizrahi S/S 1994 and/or Chanel Couture S/S 1999. The pace of the show accelerated with the arrival of a fishnet, embellished crystal dress that let bare skin shine underneath the glitter. A glamorous layer that a model would wear in Ibiza, it felt like a styling departure from Staud’s good girl who works in corporate America but knows fashion; instead, it’s pushing towards the playful, sexy side of Staud that appears in her mini skirts and bold patterns. Must a girl always choose between being either? A welcome surprise: there was no Tommy bag in sight on this runway. Known for their elaborately embellished accessories, I had hoped for a hint of exciting arm candy to pair with some of the more neutral looks. Instead, I’m excited by the checker print fish-shaped bag, and only slightly suspicious of the incredibly oversized, white, moon bag — which is, at its best, an experimentation with proportion, and at its worst, a potential grab for Instagram Story shots. (One can’t fixate on this eternal push-and-pull of fashion week in the age of social media or you’ll make yourself dizzy.) Nonetheless, on a Sunday evening in September, all eyes were on Staud’s classically playful creations, and last night I dreamt of going to work in those navy blue, starry embellished trousers. Oh, and Jeff Bezos was there (?), too, so maybe he had similar dreams last night. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here.

The Spring/Summer 2024 show will be the last under Burton’s reign. After more than two decades, Alexander McQueen creative director Sarah Burton has parted ways with the iconic brand. In a statement to Vogue Business, Kering chairman and CEO François-Henri Pinault said in a statement: “I am immensely grateful to Sarah, and I want to personally thank her for her work over the past two decades, first alongside Lee Alexander McQueen, where her role was instrumental to his success, and then as the creative director since 2010. Through her own experience, sensitivity and talent, Sarah continued to evolve the artistic expression of this iconic house. She kept and continued Lee’s heritage, attention to detail and unique vision, while adding her own personal, highly creative touch.” Burton has been a steadfast shepherd of the McQueen brand. Joining the team as an intern in 1996, she was promoted to head of design for womenswear in 2000. After McQueen’s death in 2010, Burton was named Creative Director, where she continued his legacy through her audacious tailoring and romantic ethos — the same tenets that defined the brand under McQueen’s helm, though updated for a more accessible ready-to-wear offer. In 2012, she was awarded an Order of the British Empire (OBE) for her services to the British fashion industry. On September 30 — during Paris Fashion Week — the Spring/Summer 2024 show will be the last under Burton’s reign. In a press release, Burton stated: “I am so proud of everything I’ve done and of my incredible team at Alexander McQueen. They are my family, and this has been my home for the past 26 years. I want to thank François-Henri Pinault for believing in me and offering me this amazing opportunity. Above all, I want to thank Lee Alexander McQueen. He taught me so much, and I am eternally grateful to him. I am looking forward to the future and my next chapter and will always carry this treasured time with me.” No reason for Burton’s departure has been stated yet. Given her successful track record at McQueen and her relatively well-received Spring 2024 menswear collection, questions abound. This story will be continually updated with more information. 🌀