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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. 🌀

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.