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On Saturday, Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez grappled with legacy. There is something admirable about a designer who knows who they are. So much of fashion's War of the Roses — a one-season Creative Director, a PR nightmare, who gets to sit in the front row? — is masquerade. These little battles are the result of mixing creative souls with commerce, which inevitably leads to bruised egos. When you can find a designer who has always stayed true to their desires and apprised of their weaknesses, it is a breath of sweet relief. Proenza Schouler has always been a sweet relief. For Proenza Schouler SS24, CDs Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez depart from last spring’s dark pageantry — a show opened by moody it girl Chloë Sevigny and narrated by moody novelist Ottessa Moshfegh — and instead choose the thing with feathers (literally). New York Times Fashion Director Vanessa Friedman described the collection in one very apropos word: lightness. Last season’s audacious tailoring and sharp geometry have been replaced by watercolor chiffon and shades of buttercream; Moshfegh’s narration has been replaced by compositions from indie-folk darling Weyes Blood, who also opened the show; and grungier textures, like leather and crushed metallic, have been swapped for angel-thin organza. And yet while these two ideas seem diametric — how can a brand invert its seasonal identity yet still be true to itself? — the Proenza Schoulerisms are still there, faithfully waiting in the wings. Signature styles are crystallized, here, though not overplayed: the sculpted shoulders of blazers and boatnecks; an accessory (or two) added; and the messy-glossy hair of the downtown girls floating down the runway. Much like the Mirror Palais show about “anxiety,” or the controversial Helmut Lang love letter to New York, the running undercurrent of New York Fashion Week SS24 has been authenticity (though no designer is brave enough to answer: What the fuck does “authenticity” mean, anyway?). Look too long and you might get transfixed. I was particularly stunned by a cream-colored trench, paired with cushiony denim in the same shade; a white, gossamer almost-wrap-but-not-a-wrap dress that clings to the body, a simulacrum of wetness; two other sheer numbers, ribbed in Alice blue and soft watermelon, gently tugging at the hip bones; and Schouler’s take on the classic LBD, buffeted by recollections of ballet, librarians, and private school uniforms. Though there were pockmarks: I wasn’t totally sold on the knit-wrap halter dresses, which (despite their beauty) felt out of place. Other missteps included the footwear — flip-flops and wiry sandals, reminiscent of 7th-grade dances — and some of the leather pieces, which looked erroneously bulky and ill-cut. It was easy to wonder, at times, if some of these pulls were meant for FW23 and were simply re-shelved. This is not to say that the collection felt half-thought. The intention and sensitivity here are clear, if not guppyish. But if this is McCollough and Hernandez’ new era — an exploration of delicacy, a rejection of the bourgeois opulence that earmarked last year’s shows en masse — then that comes with unspooling the Proenza Schouler brand itself. I have no doubt in my mind that McCollough and Hernandez have the bravery to do so — but they’ve only plucked the first thread. 🌀 You can view the whole collection here.

Do didn’t step away from the aesthetic of the power suit — but instead chose to add more edge to it. “New York is your runway” may be a time-honored cliché, but it’s easy to forget when trying to move deep into a crowded train. First: the “STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOOR” recording. Second: the unmistakable ding dong. Peter Do’s debut runway show for Helmut Lang tried to remind us that we are, in fact, in one of the most glamorous cities in the world. This was one of the most (if not the most) anticipated shows of the season. Under the oppressive Manhattan humidity, expectation built like the chaos of the city with every minute of anticipation before the show began — a good half hour late. The runway, with phrases from poet Ocean Vuong’s 2022 collection Time is a Mother printed in white lines — simulating crosswalks, evoking Jenny Holzer — implies to me that this collection is for those who are on the go. Whether on a taxi, or a car that was their first room, or the subway, these clothes are made for those who will proudly take up space. With subtler tailoring disrupted by satin lines of bright fuschia or NYC-taxi yellow, Do didn’t step away from the aesthetic of the power suit — but instead chose to add more edge to it. A palette of somber colors is interrupted by bright shades you can’t look away from, calling attention to itself like the loud banging of the elevated trains that run in the less glamorous parts of New York. With proportion play and a colorful pantleg here and bright sleeve there, the models look like they just stepped out of the car, which as Ocean Vuong put it in the introductory text for the collection, was a place “...to fuck, or cry, or talk to each other without whispering.” One step further: “In the hands of queer folk, the car is (...) a place to both hide from the world and be more than what we were allowed to be inside it.” Dress shirts buttoned up the back with Vietnamese words printed on them; lines cutting the body diagonally like seatbelts, or perhaps, tiretracks; this is a collection that plays with the rules, rather than playing by them. Not quite poetry, but certainly artful pop lyrics, something urbane. 🌀 You can view the entire collection here.

New York Fashion Week begins with a Trojan Horse. CRIPPLING FEAR, NORMALIZED ANXIETY, LEANING ON THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE, PUTTING THE PIECES TOGETHER, PULLING THEM APART, GOING OVER BUDGET, WORKING UNTIL THE SUN GOES DOWN…THIS MUST BE THE PLACE. GLAMOUR BRINGS HOPE. That’s how Mirror Palais mastermind Marcelo Gaia introduced Collection V — an attempt to strip back artifice and get to the thing so many Creative Directors have torn themselves apart trying to chase: the real. Such is the strength of Gaia’s craftsmanship that any wisp of doubt is out the door before the show even starts. Ivy and roses buttress ivory columns; dirty chandeliers sit between the models and the guests. It seems as if Gaia is attempting to address the thing that gave the brand virality in the first place — critics chalked up the brand up as being nothing more than pretty dresses, smoke and mirrors, made to look good for Instagram but not for real life. Gaia’s experiential design is deftly arranged: the smoke is gone, and real life has arrived. First is a Gaultier-inspired ribbed gown with cross-stitched slits — the boudoir textures associated with the brand still very much in play. Then, influencer contra Poster Girl frontwoman Cindy Kimberly in Gaia’s version of a wedding gown: a Gilded Age train, striped fabric ripped straight from the Plaza Hotel. And a sheer halter dress, buttery cream— maybe a chiffon, maybe a gauze, it’s hard to tell in the candlelight — with ruffles at the neck and sand dunes at the floor. But then, yes, doubt comes back: it’s hard to tell if any of this is supposed to be real life. These dresses are beautiful — but any sermon about fear, anxiety, or vulnerability simply isn’t there. One of my favorite looks, an Amadeus-esque hat with a low-hem skirt may be an allegory about power. But that is the thing, isn’t it? It may be. No hard lines are established here. There are moments where Gaia approximates transparency, slogging off the pretty dress veneer: a slip of black cloth across the breast. A completely sheer polka-dot gown, save for a thong. And one of the most gorgeous pieces I’ve seen all season, though it is only day one: a Grecian A-line with an attached headscarf, the ghost of Grace Kelly floating down the runway. These pieces suggest a more thoughtful pathos behind the collection, and you wonder if Gaia is testing the waters. You start with a Trojan Horsing of contrivance — an influencer cameo, self-referential to a previous bridal look, a dress that could’ve belonged in any of Mirror Palais’ prior collections — and then you bring out the new. In an era when Creative Directors get addicted to social media virality, and influencers struggle with accepting brand transformation, perhaps Gaia knows precisely how to usher in a new era. This must be the place for it, indeed. 🗝 This article is being actively updated. All photo credit goes to the original owners.

Concert outfits aren't built to last. Ahead of her 42nd birthday, Beyoncé asked her fans through Instagram to wear their “most fabulous silver fashions to the shows 8.23 - 9.22. We'll surround ourselves in a shimmering human disco ball each night.” Taylor Swift announced the upcoming release of the concert film of The Eras Tour with AMC Theaters, including in her caption that “Eras attire, friendship bracelets, singing and dancing encouraged 🫶 1, 2, 3 LGB!!!! (iykyk).” Harry Styles’ fans dropped colorful feathers all over the world for two years during LOVE On Tour, a tradition started because the British singer wore an assortment of feather boas at the Grammys in 2021. Concert fashion (which has been a thing since tours have been a thing) is a way to mark yourself as part of a tribe. But how does playing dress-up for tours relate to personal style? And what is it about the ritual of dressing up to go to a live music show that makes us take chances that we wouldn’t in our day-to-day lives? Margot, a 29-year-old marketing executive based outside of New York City, has seen Taylor Swift at The Eras Tour four times. The first Eras show she went to was in a city she had to fly to, so she needed an outfit she could easily take in a carry-on bag: “It was a Midnights-inspired outfit that wasn’t too overdone. I bedazzled a pair of shorts and wore a star mesh shirt.” But for the shows that were within driving distance from where she lives, she had more flexibility: “[for] one of them my boyfriend and I did “Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince.” We got crowns, I made us sashes, and mine was in the Miss Americana movie font and his was in the reputation font.” Making the sashes was a complex process, and Margot was worried her outfits wouldn’t be ready in time: “Like, I’m stressing myself out for nothing, but it’s really fun.” For the third show, she went with her mom and her sister, and they dressed up as the line from “Death By A Thousand Cuts”: “I ask the traffic lights if it will be alright / They say I don’t know.” They wore stoplight t-shirts with a word for each color: “One of them had a bedazzled I [on the red circle], the one in the middle had a bedazzled DON’T [on the yellow], and then the one in the end had a bedazzled KNOW [on the green]. Taylor Nation did respond to my photo — they responded to me on Instagram, so I was very excited.” A huge factor that encourages fans to dress up for tours as big as the Eras tour is the possibility of being noticed. When Taylor Nation (Swift’s management team, and the fan club to end all fan clubs) shares your Instagram story, it’s like getting a gold star from Taylor herself. Margot went to one more show — “...cause I’m crazy,” she says with a cheeky tone. “[For] this one I had bought this jacket that felt very “Getaway Car” vibes. She pauses. “Are you a Swiftie?” she asks me, just to make sure we’re on the same page. Margot doesn’t just go to Taylor Swift concerts. “I just went to the Jonas Brothers concerts, which is why I have no voice,” she says, the raspiness of her voice crackling through my speakerphone. She does recognize that people don’t put the same effort into dressing up for acts smaller than Swift: “I feel like being a Taylor Swift fan forces you in a way to be on a different level of commitment for concerts.” Even if you never wear the pieces again: “The stoplight t-shirts I’m probably never gonna wear again, but the mesh shirts are really cute if I ever do go out, and same with the blazer. I don’t think any of these I would wear to work ever, but some of the pieces I’ll probably never wear again like the bedazzled shorts.” Part of the problem with the bedazzled shorts is that, since they were also a DIY, they ended up being a bit scratchy and not comfortable or practical at all. Yet the sentimental value remains: “I will keep everything.” And while she doesn’t think dressing up for concerts has taught her anything specific about her personal style, she has expanded her understanding of what dressing up can look like: “I wouldn’t consider how I dress for concerts something that I can carry over into my everyday life — just ‘cause I’m not like a crazy adventurous dresser, if you will. But I will say over the years of being a Taylor Swift fan, I commit more and more to my outfit for every tour. It doesn’t influence my everyday life, but it does influence the concert attire version of myself.” Fans prepare for their concert months in advance. For example, Kate is 28 years old and is a healthcare worker based in Ontario, Canada, who is going to the May 9th Eras Tour show in Paris, and she’s making her own outfit for the show. “I’m doing crochet granny squares based off of all of the different eras, so there will be at least two, I think, for each era, so a [corresponding] color and a symbol that I’m crocheting into a dress.” The aesthetic of the dress is somewhat inspired by the Eras Tour poster. “I got on the side of TikTok where everyone is making their own thing. I’ve seen a girl who had like a skirt and each era was a different color and with the lyrics and stuff, and I’ve seen people do a whole bunch of different things, and I was like, I kind of want to make something!” Crocheting clothing for herself and her loved ones is a new thing for her. It’s a new hobby she picked up while on maternity leave, and she made a scarf and hat for herself, and a blanket for her son. She describes the way she dresses on a day-to-day basis as “very casual, bordering on Adam Sandler.” We spoke in mid-August, and at that point, Kate had started the process by easing herself into making the granny squares and figuring out how to best represent each era. She expects the whole process will take her “at least until Christmas,” but her goal is to have it done by March. Gina is 25 years old and is a retail sales associate and design consultant-in-training based in a small town two hours south of Toronto, Canada, where there are a lot of great, small boutiques. She saw Harry Styles last year and put together an ensemble she was very excited about. She used the concert as an excuse to buy a cool pair of pants: “[They were] made from deadstock fabric, I think it actually used to be like a tablecloth or something. They’re a white base and they have pink and green tulips, and yellow tulips, and, I’m just looking at them now, and red splotches all over them, so they ended up being just like such a specific piece that was just very joyful.” She wore them with a white bra top, with a linen shirt over top, and glued sparkly gems on her face for a finishing touch. While Gina does love to dress up for events and occasions, the Harry Styles concert outfit stands out from the rest: “I’ll get cute for an event, for sure, but I definitely didn’t get as excited or put as much importance on my outfit as I did for Harry Styles — and, even then, I spent all summer thinking about what I was gonna wear [...] I think it was the grandeur of finally getting to see him in person and wanting to make it really special, and also knowing that the majority of the audience at Harry Styles was going to be femme, queer presenting, and full of cis women, and everybody was going to be so excited about it and going all out for it. You kind of felt like you had to contribute, in a way.” And even so, she felt like others around her spent even more time and money on their Harry Styles outfit: “I’m not one to drop a ton of money on just anything, but I definitely did [...] the pants were $70 and everything else was kind of thrown together. But I didn’t put as much thought into my outfit I think as other people did.” The pants don’t seem like a far-out departure from the rest of her closet: “I’ve been trying to figure out what terms to use for my style for so long now. I tend to go for a base of classics, but I do like to employ a little bit of whimsy in what I wear. I’m a really big floral print and big earring girl, I love dresses, I love skirts, and I love playing around with proportions whenever I can.” However, she hasn’t been able to wear the tulip pants again, despite the fact that she bought them with hopes of getting good use out of them, and she doesn’t really know why: “I’m definitely guilty of Oh, I’ll wear that! and then I can only think of that. I think it’s also [that] I live in a small town currently, and loud clothing definitely draws looks. I don’t regret spending the money on them, but I definitely bought them thinking that I would wear them again and I just haven’t. They’re a really big proportion and the fabric is kind of stiff, so they’re just like… a little hard to style on a random Tuesday, but I’m hoping that that will change.” But where do these pieces go? Why are they thrown to the annals of our closets? In a world where every piece of fashion seems to get sucked up by the Shein machine, what are the ethics of one-time wear? That’s the thing: whether it’s imitating what the people we go see wear on stage, or finding our own sartorial expressions of obsession, concerts create an environment where people feel confident enough to wear what they want. A pure form of self-expression that the tyranny of casual or business-casual dress codes won’t allow for day-to-day life. But what would happen if we stopped following the rules in the name of authentic self-expression — or capitulated to the expectations of celebrities? 🌀

For the uninitiated. Do you remember where you were when Vogue World revived the bloated corpse of Fashion’s Night Out? Or when Lourdes Leon couldn’t get into the Marc Jacobs show, despite once being the face of the brand? That has been the spirit of the past two New York Fashion Weeks — an attempt at nostalgia puppetry; dressing for TikTok fame instead of a WWD shoutout; and letting A-lists become guest lists. Horrific. What we know so far about Spring 2024 is a (POTENTIAL) breath of fresh air: Ralph Lauren is returning since 2019, Mirror Palais is showing, and the beloved Elena Velez is getting my favorite September 12th slot. I am softly predicting a placid season — the nights are ending early, and the parties are smaller — which may be what we all need after two seasons of relative entropy. Whether you’re new to the NYFW petri dish or need a refresher, here’s everything you need to know about last year’s shows. PETER DO WAS MIRACULOUS The FIT alumnus — and 2020 LVMH Prize for Young Designers finalist — technically got started in 2018, but really came into his own during last year’s S/S season. Do has an abdominal approach to tailoring, borderline sensual, though not the eroticism of a Gaultier or a Galliano — Do is cerebral and finds a sexual-cum-sartorial power (no pun intended) in swagger. Think: double-breasted jackets hanging from a single button; oversized white button-downs glissading around the thighs; tone-on-tone suture stitches bleeding from the waistband. These are the office upstarts ambling to the coffee maker after having sex in a One Vanderbilt broom closet. That winking erudition is the cornerstone of the Do brand and one of the reasons (among many) he was chosen as Helmut Lang’s new Creative Director. He’ll be debuting with Lang this season, and I’m counting down the minutes until his show. FASHION’S NIGHT OUT WAS REVIVED. OR WAS IT? If you, like me, were a nine-year-old precocious fashion devotee in 2009, you only cared about two things: (1) Fashion’s Night Out and (2) how to match the right shade of jegging to your Uggs (mostly the latter). Fashion’s Night Out seemed like the height of glamour: Dannijo collar necklaces, silvery bubble hems, crackle nail polish, when people named Tinsley Mortimer existed, etc. Developed by Vogue during the thick of the recession, FNO was a smattering of 800 events across New York City — an outdoor bazaar and party circuit, buttressed by champagne problems and photo ops. Guests bounced from party to party, show to show, step-and-repeat to step-and-repeat, boosting the cred of Vogue, individual designers, and NYC tourism writ large. FNO was put to bed in 2013, due to hemorrhaged funds and smashed windows in Soho. Last season, however, Vogue announced Vogue World, an outdoor runway show and street fair featuring looks from select NYFW designers (and fitted by Vogue-approved celebs and models). Vogue World seemed like a response to everything wrong with Fashion’s Night Out: tiered tickets came with different perks, security was drastically upped, and a portion of the proceeds went toward the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund. Then, of course, a pleasant yet professional Vogue World x COACH afterparty at the Boom Boom Room. Soho remained spotless this time. Vogue World will skip New York and go to straight to London this year (which may speak to the American market losing cachet to the Europeans). Sad we won’t get Mikhail Baryshnikov doing his best Isadora Duncan impression again. SUSANNE BARTSCH SHOULD HAVE AN EGOT The high priestess of NYC nightlife debuted the Bartschland Capsule Collection at Sony Hall — featuring catsuits decoupaged with flyers from her iconic parties, the only time a cape has ever looked good, and enough text to put Praying to shame. While her official calendar is mysteriously empty, I have a 99% good feeling that she will be flanking the halls of Spring Studios this year. CHRISTIAN COWAN HAD FUN AT NYFW I’ll bite: I did not enjoy Christian Cowan’s S/S 2023 collection. It was atonal and a little too gummy-tacky — lots of bubblegum yellow, obtrusive furs, and Zenon: Girl of the 21st Century cutouts — to truly be kitschy or camp. But he had fun! I like it when designers have fun! Even if my aesthetic sensibilities are betrayed, I will always respect an adventurous artist. The runway should be a playground, not a doctor’s office, and even Cowan’s steelier progenitors (like Alexander McQueen) knew that to be true. Cowan’s youthful insouciance may be the thing that makes or breaks his brand, and I’m curious to see what happens this season. THE BLONDS WERE THERE Going to a Blonds show is like avoiding a pre-flight panic attack: you need non-restrictive clothing, half a Klonopin, and a gentle theremin Spotify playlist on loop before you embark. Love them or hate them: the Blonds have always been good at aesthetic overload. The show ranged from Bob Mackie-inspired denim to Paulie Waulnuts-esque printed windbreakers, all soaked in gold filigree — with remorseless, military-precision synths and a pornified glaze clouding the whole event. The Blonds will be returning this season, if you’re brave enough. NYC HAD NO MAYOR Because Eric Adams was at a cocktail hour with Anna Wintour at the famously haunted Mayor’s Mansion! Aren’t there ribbons he should be cutting? MTA fares he should be lowering? Tabi Swipers he should be catching? To be fair, if I was the mayor of New York City (nightmare job) I would also be drinking appletinis in a Neoclassical parlor room, not answering emails, and pretending I knew things about fashion. On a tangential note, apparently Eric Adams also asserts the mansion is haunted but seems pretty cool with it, and I’d like to ask him about that. Has he caught a ghost yet? Did it enter the soul of partygoer Diane von Fürstenberg like in Space Jam? His job seems pretty lax, so clearly he has the time to answer my emails. OPULENCE, BABY We’re basically in a recession, which means — much like 2009 — we want excess again. That includes the aforementioned Blonds show, but also Sergio Hudson, who debuted a funkified, Grace Jones-inspired power dressing collection; Rodarte, who took a clear note from fairytale king Christian Lacroix; and Area, who found opulence’s outré edges and pulled them into putty, as they always do. As designers like Velez and Do rise, they bring a colophon with them: a uniquely American sense of traditionalism, humility, and do-it-yourself-ism, even when they’re being provocative. For instance, Velez takes heavy inspiration from her Rust Belt roots, mixing metals with repurposed sails and parachutes, and Do is economical in his approach to tailoring (Do on suits: “...when you find a good one, it becomes your safe space.”) The Europeans know austerity is timeless — but will the other American designers drop the gilded act and follow suit this season? Watch this space. 🌀 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.

Trends come and go, embraced or detested, but Miuccia Prada is eternal. Alongside the resurgence of über-90s Sex and the City style, Miu Miu has been at the forefront of the Y2K revival. The see-through silhouettes and breezy fabrics suggest a playfulness to the put-together working woman. Hailed as the reigning brand for coquette girls, both their archival and contemporary collections are defyingly — and always — on trend. Hyperfeminine yet contradicted in its Blokecore aesthetics, designer Miuccia Prada combines European athleisure and girlish academia, as seen in the brand’s pragmatic use of reading glasses and cross-body bags. Disheveled hair contrasts the structured elements throughout the collection; layered cardigans buttoned to the neck are tucked into a pair of transparent culottes. An oversized coat à la The Royal Tenenbaums barely covers the model’s nipples. Miu Miu Fall/Winter 2023 is a versatile collection for the girl who has too much fun on a night out and has to wear her club dress to the office the next day. But is Miu Miu feeding their audience an impossible fantasy? Many people may know Miu Miu as the sister brand to Prada, but Miuccia Prada differentiates the two brands by her design processes. In a 2014 conversation with System Magazine, the fashion house’s namesake revealed her thoughts on this separation: “Miu Miu is not as complicated and thought out as Prada. Rather than being young, Miu Miu is immediate. Prada is very sophisticated and considered; Miu Miu is much more naïve. The solution, when I am working on Miu Miu, has to come immediately, instinctively, spontaneously with whatever is available at the moment.” This reflection raises the question: Is Miu Miu creating trends or following them? The F/W 2023 collection would seem to any viewer to be satisfying in its accurate read of the current trend cycles. Who wouldn’t want to wear a transparent, polka-dotted halter dress out on the town right now? After all, it’s clear that the brand’s creative team has a finger on the pulse; actress Mia Goth opened the show and garnered much social media attention for the buttoned gray cardigan and logo-embossed midi skirt that she wore down the runway. Though a criticism of the brand and its recent releases has been one of hypocrisy; maybe the disheveled look Prada is selling is simply that — a marketing scheme. The price point contradicts the notion that anything about this collection is unintentional. After all: Miu Miu and Prada are luxury brands. This is why the assertion that Miu Miu is “naïve” or “spontaneous” juts against reality — feelings of frustration from customers who are not allowed to look so glamorously lacking in composure, complete with messy hair and skirts tucked into stockings. The person spending their days and nights at work to be able to afford such pieces of clothing is likely not showing up to work with their underwear on display or their sweater buttoned unevenly (so as to flirtatiously show off the underwire of their bra). Playing with trends, though, is something that the brand necessitates in its more experimental design when compared to Prada. The Miu Miu site defines the collection as a means of perspective: “A point of view as an act of intervention and invention. The Fall/Winter 2023 Miu Miu Collection by Miuccia Prada is focused on the instinctive process of looking, ways of seeing, and how an act of observation can, in turn, transform the object of its focus. Looking is a window to thinking. Technique and materialization can actively change how outfits are visually read, and how we understand them.” The Fall collection certainly uses the conjecture of material and construction to make a piece more interesting; a top that one might wear to work immediately becomes sexy and seductive when it is made of see-through silk, billowing against the body and warranting a meeting with HR. Of course, the question as to whether Miu Miu is creating or merely following trends is one that will have to remain unanswered. However, like the collection itself suggests, perhaps there’s perspective in everything. When looking at colors, clear is the absence of opacity, the absence of material. Something that is transparent, that we have the ability to see through, does not reflect any light — the light merely passes through. The F/W 2023 collection, as well as Miu Miu as a whole in its current branding, can be thought of in a comparable way: trends come and go, embraced or detested, but Miuccia Prada is eternal. 🌀 You can watch the whole collection below.

D.S. and Durga’s high points, reviewed. If Paris is the beating heart of perfume, New York, New York is (at least) the faulty cataracts. Not everything that comes out of the Big Apple is good, but it has always foreseen something new. And indeed, for better or worse, its current culture of perfume production often dictates the latest innovations in the field. There are many perfumers who have managed to catch the current wave of viral, internet-savvy, slightly off-kilter narrative perfumery, but none seem as particularly committed to capturing the spirit and ethos of their home as Brooklyn-based D.S. and Durga. Formed from the partnership between husband-and-wife power couple David and Kavi Moltz, their perfume manages to combine the many-but-one unified minimalist brand philosophy of overpriced art school mainstays Byredo with a more down-to-earth, narrative approach to creating perfume often found in smaller indie houses. When D.S. and Durga’s perfume falls short, it does so because of an obligation to its growing mainstream audience; but when it hits, it really bangs. Perhaps my favorite fragrance I’ve yet to smell by the house — Mississippi Medicine — has flown decisively under the radar of TikTok influencers, and even somewhat blurs beneath the branding of D.S. and Durga themselves. Billed as a somehow “badass” masculine scent, what I actually smell is far more genderless, gentle, and evocative than they or anyone else would have you believe. Intensely smoky, it opens with nuances of dry, church-like frankincense, fresh-cut cedarwood, and a boiled sort of vegetable accord. It quickly dries down into a more meditative incense, and clings to the skin with surprisingly tame projection. There are a number of diversions taken here from the wider genre of perfume that smells like smoke. First: the inclusion of aldehydes is, in my eyes, genius. It adds a waxy, buttery, and sparkly element to the frankincense, one also seen in Comme des Garçons’ bestselling Avignon. Second: while the smoke does at first lay on loud and harsh, it quickly settles into a more historic wood. People online have likened it to a haunted church, but to me, this smells of the familiar, worn-down buildings that populate the American South. David Moltz writes that the central notes of cedar, frankincense, and cypress root were inspired by the ritual materials of the Southeastern Ceremonial Complex: an esoteric realm of Native American spirituality archived across the deep South — focused on cosmology, social organization, and warfare. Moltz refers to it as a “death cult,” as it was often historically termed, but what I see represented in Mississippi Medicine is more the mystical spirit of its axis mundi made of cedar: the moment when the pale between worlds grows thin, and the materials of the land become endowed with an electric magic. Less sinister — and more like home. Crossing the Mason-Dixon line (where we will firmly remain for the rest of these reviews), the tame floral Rose Atlantic conjures up preppy fantasies of summers spent sailing in New England, or of drinking rosewater cocktails on a boat overlooking the Long Island Sound. The composition here is the intersection of a marine accord (that will be further explored in more of Moltz’ work) and a lactonic, sort of musky rose. I will be the first to admit that rose soliflores do not often catch my eye. While I do think most people’s criticisms of the queen of flowers — too old, too stuffy — are downright offensive, I think that rose is best suited to take a supporting role to other, more inventive accords or counterpoints. Here is one such example: while there is rose as it would smell in nature within Rose Atlantic, it wears on skin far more Atlantic than rose. The salt does not flesh out the rose, but rather, challenges it. Here is perhaps what I find most enchanting about the world both David and Kavi Moltz have created through the D.S. and Durga brand: via these oppositions just slightly left of comfortable to the average nose — brine and rose petals, for example — the mind is lead towards recalling not the singular source of a smell, but stories, scenes, and memories. David Moltz recalls in what he calls “liner notes” to Rose Atlantic a specific memory of his own: “It’s hot but the sea breeze brings in cool salted air by the late afternoon. The cloudless sky looks east over the Atlantic. Seagulls hang high over cutters, Sloops, and Scoonahs (real spelling Schooner). The borders of the beachhead are covered in bushes of single-petaled rosa rugosa.” At the risk of veering too heavily into literary analysis, I want to gently imply that the style of Moltz’ writing also implies a certain philosophy towards how he creates perfume. There are only a few real sentences here. Vernacular language is important: short bursts of “if you know, you know” — the establishment of place not via explicatory description, but personal recollection. You get a sense he is only half-writing to you; that D.S. and Durga makes perfume for themselves, first and foremost. Rose Atlantic is one such exercise. A gatekept recollection of childhood happiness, perhaps — but a compelling take on the marine genre via the lens of a watery rose, absolutely. Perhaps even more so tied to the poetics of beachside memory is the aptly named Rockaway Beach. Once a summer exclusive, it seems to be slowly creeping into the permanent collection, at least for now. This is another key facet to Moltz’ perfume practice that helps recall a more indie, need-to-know sentiment: perfumes come in and out of production, fleeting and oftentimes inaccessible. There are indeed a number of ‘Studio Juices’ as Moltz calls them (Lilac City, First Light 5 Boroughs) I am dying to smell — but part of their allure, to me, is nested within their exclusivity. However, I was luckily able to get my hands on Rockaway Beach, and what I smell places it firmly within a niche genre of perfume I’d call l’eau de crème solaire: perfume that smells like sunscreen. This, I think, is inherently tied to memory. There is not truly a reason to make a cosmetic product that intentionally recalls the scent of another cosmetic product if not for some semi-universal grasp toward memories of that secondary product’s usage. Think of it as the difference between something like Guerlain’s Terracotta, a perfume that recalls the central coconut-vanilla-frangipani accord of the pasty white gel, but does not directly imitate it, and Comme Des Garçons’ collaboration with Californian fashion house ERL, bluntly named sunscreen. There is much to be said about fragrance as pantomime — perfume recalling back into itself on a set of trick mirrors, beauty products abstracted into simulacra of hairspray, lipstick (…for brevity’s sake, I will stop there.) This is all to say: it does not surprise me that Rockaway Beach, with notes of suntan lotion, skin, and salt — recalls a very specific moment, real or imagined. That specific moment is this: Queens during the summer. Teenage abandon, sweat, loud music, and the smell of your skin after a swim so long your fingers turn to prunes. What I smell is primarily the marine accord from Rose Atlantic isolated, draped in plastic menagerie, and moved across the peninsula from the genteel harbor to the wide-open shore. The predominant accord is salty, almost tart, but in time it dries down to a somewhat impressive wear-time of salty skin and chemical musk. I see it almost as a spiritual sister to Seattle-based perfumer Filigree & Shadow’s Björk-inspired notget — they both set themselves apart from other “beachtime” perfumes by the inclusion of unsightly smells of the sea: the complicated, fishy, and oftentimes odorous accords that recall poignant memories of real summer, and not the projected fantasy of an ideal one. Wear this to the beach right now, or as a Proustian exercise in sentimentality during the long months of January. Here is a perfume that does not recall memory, but rather, entices the imagination. Bistro Waters, a newer release from the house, riffs off the ancient eau de cologne structure played out in other releases like the dashing Italian Citrus and the greatly over-exaggerated Greatest Cologne of All Time. Where Italian Citrus leans candy and TGCoAT aromatic, Bistro Waters puts a vegetable veil over an orange, and settles it upon a bed of edible moss. This might be termed a gastro-gourmand — a perfume that does not recall dessert, but dinner. The image Moltz paints is of a bustling New York restaurant, a fresh plate of vegetables, perhaps a pasta, brought out in haste. What sticks out to me the most is a green pepper accord, somewhat similar to Diptyque’s Italian aperitif Venise, bisected with basil, spices, and an aqueous citrus drink. So-spicy, savory, and worth putting down your credit card to book an annoyingly exclusive Manhattan reservation for. When D.S. and Durga’s ‘fumes (as Moltz likes to call them) do leave their hometown of New York, I get the sense they always travel as tourists. Jazmin Yuactan is their white floral, and, par for the course, they do it a little differently than you would expect. A watery, fresh, candied jasmine, Jazmin recalls the Yucatan region of Mexico not just by name. There is some infuriating and addicting accord that between snake plants and cloves evokes the smell of corn tortillas. I have talked with multiple friends about this, just to make sure we all weren’t imagining it, and most seem to at least somewhat understand. There is something dry and powdery here, almost doughy. It doesn’t show up in the notes, but I feel as if somehow the sweeter thralls of orange blossom are at play. This might be the least indolic version of its eponymous flower I have ever smelled in my life. There is nothing at all about how jasmine is rendered here that feels thick or heady. It is instead more of a steamed bloom related in my mind to Jo Malone’s Orange Blossom cologne. Almost honeysuckle, citrus, sort of humid, and kind of confectionary, Jazmin Yucatan is a curious thing indeed. Before I go — I want to devote time to talking about the house's most earnest and unknown set of current releases. Their “gold label” premium line of small-batch perfumes made with higher quality and less readily available ingredients are named after the familiar aliases of the two founders themselves. I am inherently drawn to familial pairing and romance alike in perfume, and find the idea of releasing a self-titled line of perfume to be the pinnacle of the houses’ interest in both self-referential affect and the poetics of the LP. The first of the two, D.S. is designed to conjure the traditional methods of Indian perfumery. Styled after the attar – a means of co-distilling botanical ingredients in sandalwood essence – D.S. skims through the genres of oud, leather, and wood, and arrives authentically at the intersection of identity and aroma. I think of D.S. in concert with one of David and Kavi’s first-ever collaborations, My Indian Childhood, and furthermore, of Japanese perfumer Satori Osawa’s intentionally difficult answers to traditional imperial traditions of “oriental” perfumes. Intentionally composed challenges to decisively orientalist standards of scent is an extremely promising avenue for contemporary fragrance, and one I would like to see explored far more frequently. D.S. does not necessarily accomplish this, but rather by gesturing like MIC to specific interactions and intersections with Indian perfumery proper, does do interesting work of bridging the gap between niche American perfume and historic practices of scent creation. Part of me wishes D.S. was a little weirder, a little more challenging — but, on the other hand, I do very much respect exercising one’s perfume chops by imitating ancient techniques. D.S. is primarily the intersection of saffron, agarwood, and sandalwood, but I do often feel that a dry, tart oud presents itself most fervently. References in liner notes to gardenia and ylang-ylang could be dialed up a bit, and claims to top-shelf Sri Lankan Holyfield Sandalwood oil might be given a bit more space to breathe. True oud connoisseurs would clearly never look to D.S. and Durga to supply their pungent dreams, so I wonder if the purpose of “introduction to critically re-imagined post-colonial neo-oriental perfumery” might be too tall of a bill to foot. True to form, maybe he just wanted to use the ingredients at his disposal. Its floral counterpart, Durga, has been kept squarely in the back of all sales shelves I have seen it placed on — and if this article accomplishes nothing, I should hope its purpose would be to free this milky-narcotic white floral masterpiece from obscurity and place it among widely-circulated names like Frederic Malle’s Carnal Flower and Hiram Green’s Moon Bloom. Opening with an instantly attention-grabbing blast of herbal chrysanthemum, Durga’s conceit is the juiciness of fresh melon set against bubblegum tuberose. A fine-quality orris is used deftly here to support the smooth and buttery aspects of the central white flower. Where D.S. stumbles in revealing the true nature of its high-quality ingredients (and justifying its incredibly high price point at $380 for 50ml) there is no question in my mind (or my nose) that Durga contains an overabundance of high-quality tuberose absolute. The smell is unmistakable and almost obscene. Most clearly referenced in Carnal Flower, there is a reason, of course, that Malle purports in thick French that “the woman who wears [it] is saying come, kiss me!” Of course, Durga is not merely another tuberose-melon-eucalyptus Carnal Flower clone. What sets it apart is the crucial presence of chrysanthemum. It replaces eucalyptus in this now-notorious combination, lending a somewhat musty, prickly, and off-putting accord to this generally enchanting lineup. I can hear the tiniest, faintest echoes of Serge Lutens haunting funerary masterpiece De Profundis in what chrysanthemum accomplishes and unsettles here. It clings to the skin for a full day, and in the meantime, gives you tendrils of titular tuberose to last in your memory for weeks. If I had all the money in the world, Durga would be my signature perfume from the house. Alas, we all have luckyscent carts to fill and less importantly bills to pay, so I will settle for my treasured sample sale bottle of Mississippi Medicine, and look forward to my next trip to the city that never sleeps. 🌀

A starfish is not a way to solve things. In the 2010s, I remember thinking Tiffany & Co. was the epitome of class. As a teenager who was yet to be awakened to the specter haunting Europe, I envied the girls who got Tiffany’s Key pendants for Christmas and fantasized about the day a dreamy prince with soulful eyes would bring out a little teal box containing a diamond ring. I did not picture a jellyfish brooch with tentacles of 18K yellow gold, baguette sapphires, or a body made of moonstones, tanzanites, and 3 carats worth of diamonds. The 2023 Blue Book showcases Tiffany & Co.’s latest high jewelry collection, Out of the Blue. Inspired by the sea — in an effort to honor whimsy designer Jean Schlumberger — the collection “both perpetuates and reinvents the aquatic worlds that [Schlumberger] dreamt up.” But these Out of the Blue pieces seem to have less whimsy — and seem to be more out-of-touch, even in comparison to prior collections. The Blue Book is a sacred text in the world of high jewelry, published every year since 1845. It began as a way to highlight some of the world’s most precious and rare stones, including diamonds attained from French and Spanish aristocracy. Miraculously, the book’s launch coincided with the first appearance of these incredible pieces on display in the United States (and earned Tiffany founder Charles Lewis Tiffany the nickname “The King of Diamonds,” as deemed by The New York Times). Some lavish pieces went on display at the Paris Expositions of the late 19th century and were awarded gold medals for their opulence. Blue Books from the Gilded Age featured pieces inspired by these historic items, and even 20th and 21st-century versions appeared as well — including a 2013 diamond brooch that pays homage to one originally created for Marie Antoinette (Tiffany purchased the original on May 12, 1997). Looking at the Tiffany & Co. website and social media channels, it feels like the brand is having some sort of identity crisis, bordering on ego death. You can almost feel for them: how hard is it, really, trying to evolve into the 21st century while staying in touch with the roots of a Gilded Age social strata? Out of the Blue collection looks random, like its title, and it’s not the only move by the brand that appears disjointed. Schlumberger famously said he designed to make women look precious, rather than expensive, and his pieces were meant for the icons of his time (see: Elizabeth Taylor and Audrey Hepburn). In this same vein, it makes sense that the brand would be Beyoncé’s official jeweler for the RENAISSANCE World Tour. But the pieces showcased by Beyoncé have barely anything in common with the Blue Book 2023: Out of the Blue collection. The sea creatures of Out of the Blue look like they would be wearing the person, not the other way around, devoid of kitsch, enveloped by their own whimsy. By contrast: Beyoncé’s Tiffany’s standard jewels are loud and ostentatious, but they make her look modern above all else, establishing her as an icon in the industry firmament. They enhance her. I fear if she opted for the starfish or the three-dimensional shell that hides a sapphire, would we even know where to look? And then there’s the Nike collaboration! Flop of the year. One would think this was an attempt to appeal to the sneaker collectors of the world — a younger, hipper crowd more into street style than Gossip Girl-reminiscent key necklaces. But then who is the Out of the Blue collection for? A Marie Antoinnete-esque royal foreign to today’s zeitgeist? You can either broaden your audience, or design for icons and royals, but you cannot have it both ways, baby. 🌀

I’m still looking for a way to refresh my skin that doesn’t involve masochism. The first two things you have to know about icing your face are ONE: it has short-term, beautiful results, and TWO: it hurts. Not one of the TikToks or beauty content creators warned me about this part. This trend consists of getting a bowl of water, adding ice, and dunking your face for a minute or two. I had seen people do it and imagined it would be uncomfortable, but when I actually tried it, it was… humbling. My skin is quite sensitive, and I (somewhat misguidedly) felt safe because the only ingredient needed was water. I woke up every morning, and after showering, would go set a bowl with ice water — mentally preparing myself to do it. It obviously woke me up in the morning, and really decreased my puffiness; however, I gave up after the first couple of days and opted for sticking my jade roller in the ice water and massaging my face with it. This added step to your routine is meant to tighten the skin, improve circulation, reduce the appearance of pores, and give a natural glow. It’s hard to get in that mindset when instead of a Goop-esque relaxation moment, the whole experience is like jumping into the Hudson in February. The use of ice water for skin care purposes is a Korean practice, and it started gaining attention on TikTok — especially last year when Bella Hadid uploaded a video dunking her face in a bowl of ice cubes. It’s remained a popular concept in beauty and wellness alike (it even works for stress and anxiety!), as it has the same effects as a cold shower. According to experts, doing this can lower your heart rate and slow your racing mind down. Because of the ludicrous amount of pain involved, it naturally became a TikTok couples' challenge (but that’s a different story). Still — people swear by it, making it a permanent step of their skincare regimen and recommending it to keep the skin firm and glowy. Is ‘70s-style shock therapy worth the effort? Or is it another thing that — even though we could be influenced to try — won’t really have any beneficial effects? After trying it for a week (even though I committed poorly to the freezing water and used way fewer ice cubes after the first time!), I will say that it does make you feel ready for the day and can slog off any last-night-bad vibes. And I have to confess something: I feel like my skin really liked it, even despite the holy terror the process involves. The rest of my skincare products, especially my moisturizer, went on super smoothly, and my redness was noticeably lower throughout the day. Still, the best and most beneficial effect for me was right after — I truly felt I was less groggy and much more fresh. But I’m still looking for a way to refresh my skin that doesn’t involve masochism. 🌀

How Pandemicouture has (quite tragically) sustained itself. It’s Friday night. You’re reaching for an overpriced gin and tonic you purchased at a club on Christopher Street. Your abdomen smashes against the edge of the bar, a crowd of sweaty bodies dancing against each other. The bright lights ricochet against the mirrorball, splashing rainbow-colored rays onto the walls. Sweat trickles off your neck and onto the sticky floor, but you don’t really notice because Bad Bunny is playing and you’re a little tipsy and you wonder if you’ve actually ever been this happy Just when you’re thinking this night can’t get any better, you spot your crush. They look as dreamy as ever. You make eye contact and weave your way towards them, waving, licking your lips. When you finally reach them, they look confused, but then laugh with recognition: “Oh my god, hey! I didn’t recognize you under that bucket hat. Isn’t it too hot in here for that?” Now aware of the floor and the bodies and the sweat, cringing, this is the moment when you realize you should’ve left the $250 fuzzy Jacquemus bucket hat at home. Bucket hat? Not even once. There are certain trends that hold a chokehold on society and slip surreptitiously into places where they aren’t welcome. The bucket hat in a nightclub is one of them. Few items of clothing are as divisive as it. Madeline, a 28-year-old social worker based in Michigan, believes the entire menagerie, bucket or not, should be burned: “I hate all hats,” she tells me when I ask her to elaborate on her strong anti-bucket hat feelings. “I won’t wear any hats and I think most hats are ugly on other people, too, but bucket hats especially.” She doesn’t feel this way about any other clothing items or big trends. Bucket hats were so overexposed in 2020 that by 2021 they started popping up in merch collections of some of the most popular cultural voices of the year. Olivia Rodrigo released a lilac bucket hat that read “It’s Brutal Out Here” as part of her SOUR album merch, and Sally Rooney had yellow bucket hats with the title of her 2021 release, the novel Beautiful World, Where Are You. And maybe it’s something about the mercantilization of a fashion item that was subversive in its irony when Rhianna wore it in 2018, but the bucket hat simply cannot have the same effect it once did. Especially not in a nightclub — which I have spotted multiple times over the last year on nights out in New York. While the bucket hat evokes negative feelings from some, others are proud wearers and defenders. Alexis is a 26-year-old Advertising Sales Manager based in the greater L.A. area. She first bit into the bucket hat trend when visiting Hawaii in 2021: “I remember I got all dressed up — I had my Birkenstocks, but they were like water Birkenstocks my high-waisted jean shorts; a crop-top tank-top, and I had my bucket hat ready to go.” After that, she embraced the “bucket hat lifestyle” and looked for more ways to incorporate the trend into her “everyday, more laid-back style.” This happens in two specific instances: she wears them for sun protection or to attend baseball games, even when the games are at night (She’s a big baseball fan and has now added two L.A. Angels bucket hats to her collection). I mention to Alexis that I have spotted kids wearing these head accessories to clubs. “That’s bold! I mean, kudos to them for being confident, but I personally don’t think a nightclub is the setting to wear a bucket hat unless there’s, like, a theme.” Jordan is a 28-year-old social media manager based in North Carolina, and another proud bucket hat wearer-devotee. To her, bucket hats offer honest, humble value: a cute accessory that can help dress up an outfit. She owns one in snakeskin print and is a big fan. Jordan tells me: “I don’t wear a ton of bucket hats anymore. I definitely wore more of them when they were like a little bit more trendy.” Now, she pulls out her snakeprint number with intent. “[I wear it] on days when I’m trying to dress a little bit more cute, or that I know I’m going to be taking pictures.” Similarly, for Lina, a 27-year-old writer in the New York City metro area, a sunny yellow bucket hat was the perfect accessory for Pride. She thinks bucket hats are perfect for the summer because they are “joyful” and “fun.” And who wouldn't agree that nothing says "fun" quite like a jaunty $550 Loewe fisherman’s cap? The popularity of the bucket hat seems to be a symptom — or perhaps a trusty pathogen — of a larger phenomenon. Tie-dye sweats, Y2K baby tees, and yes, bucket hats — all overly popular items from early 2020, right before the pandemic broke out in the Western hemisphere — remain in our closets and on the streets despite the fact that the fashion industry is moving at unprecedented hyperspeed. A century ago, the world had overcome the pandemic of the Spanish flu. It was the time of Vionnet, Prohibition, and Bernice Bobs Her Hair. And, at least in the stories that we tell each other about that time, wardrobes did the inverse of our modern proclivities: outfits became more daring, showing more skin, adding a twinge of sparkle. It’s an era that places like New York still glamorize, with an onslaught of speakeasy-inspired venues popping up every year. And while occassionwear has been booming, it’s as if we can’t fully let go of the moments before everything changed. No sparkle — just sobriety. Other than bucket hats, Alexis also owns two pairs of tie-dye sweatpants. “I don’t know if, for me, I’d be comfortable in a rainbow tie-dye. It has to be a little bit more subtle. So I started with a tan and white [...] my other sweatpants that I just purchased at a warehouse deal, probably like two weeks ago, are blue and green tie-dye.” Alexis describes this style as coastal-beachy, which works for her SoCal lifestyle. She’s also not someone who buys into a trend right away, but rather waits around to see if there’s one she really likes and then eventually makes a purchase that will work with the rest of her wardrobe. She got her first pair in 2021, and she got them in a neutral tan. She wore sweatpants before this, but her older pairs were solid bright pink and she wanted something more wearable and trendy. To her, clothing choices are diegetic to comfort — quite literally all about what makes you feel good: “If you like it, flaunt it.” With comfort the reigning undercurrent of Pandemicouture — and the continued rise of athleisure — you start to wonder if repose, rather than beauty, is now the thing driving what we wear. While I believe there’s a time and a place to wear certain things (and maybe the time for fuzzy bucket hats really was the winter of 2021), I do want to encourage you, ever-stylish partygoer, to consider specifically what draws you to a specific trend. Does it remind you of the possibility of a better time? Are you wearing something because TikTok told you that you should? Or are you trying to unfreeze yourself from the overwhelming overflow of microtrends by pulling something seemingly outrageous from your closet? Just make sure that the next time you bump into your crush under the disco lights, your gorgeous face is not hiding under all that fabric. 🌀

McGrath’s eponymous makeup brand, Pat McGrath Labs, launched worldwide in 2015 and is now at a billion-dollar valuation after just 3 years. Pat McGrath’s rise to undisputed beauty pioneer is so revealing of her true talent and passion for her craft. From creating runway looks all throughout the 1990s — to launching her prestigious and connoisseurs-only beauty brand Pat McGrath Labs — here is a rough timeline of her journey so far. 1993 Soul II Soul singer Caron Wheeler calls teen McGrath and asks her to do her makeup on tour in Japan. She then met Amber Valletta in 1993, who then spoke to Steven Meisel about McGrath’s talent. The photographer requested McGrath to create the beauty looks for a couture project alongside him. 1995 In the early nineties, McGrath started working with i-D magazine's fashion director Edward Enninful, which led to her becoming the magazine’s Beauty Director. In 2017, Enninnful would again team up with McGrath, naming her the Beauty Editor-at-Large for British Vogue. 1999 This was the year McGrath developed a line of cosmetics for Giorgio Armani. (By the mid-2000s, she was working with global celebrities like Madonna and Oprah, and adored by her muses — such as Naomi Campbell, and, most recently, Paloma Elsesser.) 2000 — 2010 Since then, McGrath has worked with brands like Prada, Miu Miu, and top models on the runway, creating makeup looks for almost 100 runway shows every year throughout the 2000s. She is regarded as the most prolific runway MUA of all time. Today she has done over 3,000 shows. Her fearless way of approaching beauty has created staples we still see today. 2004 That year, she became Global Cosmetics Creative Design Director for Procter & Gamble — working on brands like Dolce & Gabbana, Covergirl, and Max Factor. 2015 McGrath’s eponymous makeup brand — Pat McGrath Labs — launched worldwide in 2015, and is now at a billion-dollar valuation after just three years. 2021 In 2021, McGrath became the first makeup artist to be named a Dame of the British Empire, for her services to the Fashion and Beauty Industry — and for her efforts to enhance diversity across the fashion landscape. Understanding McGrath's influence comes with acknowledging that she has set the foundation for the majority of makeup trends we know and love today. Everything from dewy skin, to bold and vibrant eyeshadow, to using our hands as makeup tools (!), can be traced back to McGrath’s work. Her perpetual innovation has even made Anna Wintour recognize her as the most influential makeup artist in the world. Her name is Legend, and her nickname is literally Mother. I for one, admire her raw creativity (and passion for makeup and detail). Her looks are both transformative and feminine, and she’s constantly finding new ways of accentuating beauty or featuring a new product with an incomparable technique. It is truly a joy to watch an artist grow and continue to blow new generations away with her work, even after all these years. 🌀

The collection is very feminine — and subversive when compared to the expectations that audiences might have had for the new Bode girl. The Bode Spring/Summer 2024 menswear collection leans traditional in silhouette and continues to surprise with the recent debut of their womenswear. The collection is referential of very feminine wear — subversive when compared to the expectations that audiences might have had for the new Bode girl. Figure-hugging knitwear; see-through tops; pinwheel bras; whimsical bows; and a white gown reminiscent of a wedding dress all largely identify the Bode girl as sexy — almost antithetical to designer Emily Adams Bode Aujla’s antique New England aesthetics and textiles that have made the brand infamous. The brand’s emphasis on the preservation of memories is seen throughout its use of deadstock textiles, fabrics, and traditional tailoring. Consistent with these more tactile references, Bode evokes a strong sense of sentimentality for the past through whimsical buttons and lace appliqué, reminiscent of a 20th-century New Hampshire farmstead. The actual clothes worn during that time period, however, were of immediate practicality, with little use found beyond comfort. Alongside this appreciation for vintage-inspired craftsmanship, the designer has seemingly rejected some dated values of the past when it comes to the inspiration behind her garments. If womenswear of its past references was so restrictive and docile, then why wouldn’t the brand create a new line for women to feel liberated? Why not provide something to call their own? Bode’s decision to release a womenswear line reshaped traditionally gendered clothing pieces — weaving connections between family history and modern dress. Emily cites the women in her family as her muses, instilling in the young designer that vintage pieces hold importance beyond their immediate impression. What was once a lace tablecloth can be made into a skirt, each drape a memory of past dinner parties, yet encouraging of a new life to be cherished in its revival. Aujla’s connection with her materials transcends design and reaches consumers in a way that has rarely been seen for such a newly emerging brand. Alongside this dedication from customers came anticipation for what Bode might be able to do with womenswear. Of course, women had been wearing Bode men's pieces for years; the signature blazers and more structured outerwear provided a traditionally masculine edge when worn over a dress. During Paris Fashion Week 2023, Bode surprised audiences with the debut of their women's line during a menswear time slot. Not only was Aujla tasked with rising to the expectations of observant menswear devotees, but she decided to dismantle gender structures in fashion altogether — and would have to face what this meant for upholding the brand’s reputation as a rather ambiguously unisex line. Anticipation grew in advance, with writer and Opulent Tips mastermind Rachel Tashjian Wise appreciating the brand’s unique New England aesthetics, a brief respite from the ultra-Euro menswear week. Despite some fans proving their dedication to the brand’s 20th-century inspirations, some remained wary of change and questioned the intent behind the debut: Perhaps people had become too used to the brand’s consistency, something Emily Adams Bode Aujla warned against — going as far as stating in a Harper’s Bazaar interview that “I wanted to show people that the womenswear that I would design is not the way that most people would think Bode womenswear would be.” Aujla’s consciousness surrounding the perception of her brand resulted in an ironically subversive womenswear launch. The designer has audiences surprised that a dress might be — gasp! — sexy, or that a top might flatter a woman’s body and be adorned with sequins. After all, why would a Bode womenswear collection be… feminine? With the arrival of the Spring 2024 menswear collection, though, fans of the brand had time to adjust their expectations for what a “Bode girl” might look like. In contrast to the way that menswear looks on women’s bodies, Bode’s womenswear accentuates and reveals, rather than conceals. The collection has a bejeweled peacoat that ties tightly with satin ribbons. Bikini-bottomed underwear not only serves their intended purpose, but they adhere to the body in a flattering, complementary way. Knee-length knitwear and see-through blouses have necklines so deep that the décolletage and chest are put on full display. The collection contains an ornately beaded top in a rich, red color; alongside the top, a matching bag far too small to be of much practicality, suggesting a use of decoration and accessory rather than to provide access to items that a woman might need on the go. A dress tantamount to a wedding gown closes out the show; the model balances a gauzy skirt, feathered boa, and a bow the size of her head; all elements of definite femininity, with no room for blurred abjection. There’s a reason Aujla’s traditional, vintage New England textiles and design have not remained in the past. It’s a subconscious underpinning of Aujla’s work: women in rural, working-class areas — who often were once mere counterparts to their husbands — wore pieces of practicality and servitude, covered and unnoticed. Bode’s womenswear takes these references, reshapes them, and creates them anew by placing them in the modern world. While some designers shock their audiences with men wearing skirts and women wearing tuxes, Bode is a brand that subverts its narrative by simply delivering what is expected. A brand that has been widely known for its ambiguity and gender-defying designs has created a womenswear line that consists of pieces typically worn by those who identify as women — a concept that I continue to find humorous and intriguing at the same time. Maybe Aujla’s vision for the modern Bode girl is reflective of the inspiration she finds in 20th-century womenswear and the women of her family, liberating both generations and paying homage all at the same time. 🌀