Search Results

Serviette, a new fragrance brand, explores the concept of good taste. I’ve always struggled with the idea of “good taste.” I read enough Pierre Bourdieu in grad school to know that what “good taste” means at any moment in time is determined by social and cultural narratives, by power structures, by class position. But I’m still a little attached to the concept of “taste,” which gives useful language to personal preferences and idiosyncrasies. I find it hard to reconcile this individual side of taste — what I like — with the social production of taste — what I have been taught to like. When I really like something, do I like it because of my innate instinct or taste? Or because I’ve been influenced to think this way? In the world of social media and groupthink, of influencers and #ads, it can be hard to tease out what one’s own “taste” would even be. When I read about Serviette , a new fragrance brand exploring the idea of taste through perfume, I knew I had to try. Launched in 2024 by independent perfumer Trey Taylor, Serviette’s fragrances aim to explore the ways our relationship with “good taste” is “both deeply personal and inherently social.” We want what we’ve been taught to want. And yet: we still want it. As Taylor writes, “Each handcrafted Serviette fragrance serves as a portal to explore cultural sophistication while questioning its foundations.” It’s particularly interesting to examine taste and perfume together, since the appeal of certain fragrances is deeply personal, often dependent on an individual’s skin chemistry and preferences, even their specific memories and associations. Yet perfume is still a luxury good, one that has particular middle-class appeal in 2025. You may not be able to afford a vacation on the Italian coast or a dinner at Polo Bar but you can still smell like you do. I admire Taylor’s artistry — he is largely self-taught, though he studied under Brooklyn perfume sensation Marissa Zappas — almost as much as his attention to perfume’s history as a commodity and class marker. Serviette’s name comes from English linguist Alan Ross’ differentiation between “U” words (those used by the upper class) and “non-U” words (those used by the upwardly mobile middle class). This differentiation was popularized by Nancy Mitford in a 1956 essay called “The English Aristocracy,” which includes a list of these words, including “Mental: non-U for U mad,” and “Wealthy: non-U for U rich.” “Napkin” is U, but the French imported term “serviette” is non-U: a term used by the aspirational middle class.  Charmingly, each discovery set comes with an embroidered serviette, a nod to perfume’s origins as a way of masking odors in public spaces. Having recently had a dire olfactory experience with a stranger’s dog in a confined space on a boat — saved only by a stray perfume sample in my bag — I am personally very ready to bring back handkerchiefs daubed with fragrance. When I brought mine (spritzed with Frisson d’Hiver ) on the T to work, I felt like a doomed heroine in an Edith Wharton novel. Delicious. Serviette is a brand for the strivers and the skeptical, for those who are interested in developing their own taste and who question the idea of taste altogether. Taylor’s own taste is certainly for contrast, pairing something classic with something bold and new. Take Serviette’s logo and motto, De gustibus disputari potest , Latin for something like, “You can argue about taste.” It’s a winking allusion and sly reversal of the classic Latin maxim, De gustibus non est disputandum , or “There is no disputing about taste.” Likewise, each fragrance in Serviette’s debut collection plays with tradition, taking expected combinations — rose and oud, for example — and adding something new, like diesel exhaust or kush or ice. There’s incredible variety and subtle tension within these four fragrances, each more surprising and intricate the more time I spent with them.  The star of the collection is definitely the rosy oud Byronic Hero . I loved Byronic Hero immediately, in part because it takes inspiration from E.M. Forster’s classic (and criminally underread!) novel Maurice , published posthumously in 1971 because of its frank depictions of homosexuality in Edwardian England. Byronic Hero opens with potent clove and saffron; I definitely get the base note of diesel exhaust here, too. The spicy opening settles into a perfectly balanced middle of fir balsam and rose, always punctuated with that trace of diesel exhaust. I can’t help but think the gasoline is a nod to Maurice’s motorbike in the novel, which offers him and his lover an escape from stuffy Cambridge into the countryside, where they can be together. The jammy rose, too, reminds me how much of Maurice  takes place in gardens at dark: “Scents were everywhere that night, despite the cold, and Maurice returned via the shrubbery, that he might inhale the evening primroses.” Byronic Hero dries down into a spicy, leathery oud swirled with pine forest breeze and the slightest hint of dirt and decay from the patchouli. It’s spicy, dark, and unapologetically intense — a friend described it as “bossy.” Imagine Byredo’s Black Saffron  mixing with DS & Durga’s Bowmakers  in the outdoor air of a gas station: there’s saffron, leather, pine, resin, and diesel. Wear Byronic Hero if you’re the kind of person who likes to wander art galleries alone or read in bars; there’s something mysterious and irresistible — and just a little bit striving — to the whole tableau.  Sour Diesel  is a tart, juicy, very green cannabis perfume. Named for a much-beloved strain of sativa, Sour Diesel is both complex and accessible; I can imagine it appealing to fans of kush notes and the cannabis-fragrance-curious alike. The opening notes of pink pepper and rhubarb are spicy, sour, and fresh; it reminds me of the very green, very spicy opening of Pearfat Parfum’s Stomped on a Bed of Lettuce . The heart of Sour Diesel is rosy Egyptian geranium and a very mellow kush note, almost citrusy with terpenes. The geranium is fresh and green and pairs perfectly with the slightest hint of zesty juniper berry. Even as it dries down into a delicious woody patchouli, Sour Diesel stays chilly, spicy, and fresh. I genuinely have never smelled a cannabis perfume that’s so floral and tart; the closest comparison is Byredo’s limited edition Open Sky , which has a peppery, citrusy cannabis center. But Sour Diesel is wholly unique. If you could bottle up the first sunny Saturday of spring, one where everyone in the world seems to be outside enjoying the mix of warm sun, fresh air, and city streets, it would be Sour Diesel. It’s bright and playful, something totally new. Ruche  is the most subtle and delicate of Serviette’s debut collection. The opening notes of pepper and nutmeg are faintly spicy, almost indiscernible save for how they amplify and complicate the juicy raspberry middle note. The raspberry emerges right away: the first whiff of Ruche feels fruity and familiar, like a body spray from Bath & Body Works. The galbanum is unexpected and fresh, adding a beautiful, crisp green note that smells almost herbal on my skin. The sandalwood and patchouli base is warm and earthy, bringing the raspberry heart outdoors. Ruche is an impressively original addition to the “fruitchouli” family of fragrances, which juxtapose the funk of patchouli with sweet, fruity notes. I’d put Ruche closer to popular, palatable fruitchoulis like Burberry Her or Chanel Coco Mademoiselle  than Mugler’s divisive Angel  (the OG fruitchouli), but Taylor’s creation is crisper, greener, and woodier than any I’ve smelled. Ruche is a fragrant snapshot of a raspberry bush, fruit, leaves, thorns, dirt, and all. It’s airy and sophisticated, the kind of subtle musk that wears equally well to the office as an evening out.  My favorite of the collection is by far Frisson d’Hiver . I used the entirety of my sample bottle within weeks and I’ll be adding a full bottle to my collection ASAP. From my first blind spray, I was transfixed: I wrote “obsessed” and “have never smelled something like this??” in my Notes app. Frisson d’Hiver, French for winter chill, gets its name from Louis Charles Alfred de Musset’s sonnet “Que j'aime le premier frisson d'hiver,” a love song to the cold days of winter. Appropriately, Frisson d’Hiver’s top notes are bergamot, orange blossom, and ice; the opening is citrusy, delicately floral, and genuinely cold. I have no idea how Taylor has crafted an ice note like this without any discernible mint or menthol. I need to know!  The first icy citrus whiff unfolds into a sweet white floral, dominated by a vibrant, fresh lily of the valley note. There’s jasmine and rose here too, but they feel like part of the background, a lovely floral breeze wafting around as you bend in towards the tiny, delicate blooms of lily of the valley. The base amber accord is sweetly vanilla and a little resinous. Frisson d’Hiver smells like false spring, like finding the first crocus in your garden poking up through the melting snow on a sunny morning. It’s the opposite of Byronic Hero: bright, fresh, and cold. Frisson d’Hiver is sophisticated yet understated — Taylor’s influences for the fragrance include the Barbican Conservatory, Helmut Lang SS98 , and Princess Diana’s appearance at a state dinner in Vienna in 1986, wearing a Victor Edelstein gown and her pearl-and-sapphire choker. There is something so luxe about Frisson d’Hiver, something intoxicating; when I’m not wearing it, I’m missing it. Taylor has shown incredible range with the launch of Serviette, from delicate solar blooms to tart kush notes to delicious fruitchouli to the incredible rosy oud of Byronic Hero. I look forward to seeing what juxtapositions and surprises he will formulate next, and what kind of tastes he will cater to. 🌀 Bekah Waalkes is a writer, critic, and perfume enthusiast based in Boston. When she’s not stalking eBay for Italo Calvino first editions or vintage body spray, you can find her scrolling on Twitter and updating her online reading journal

Everybody wants to cook, but who wants to HOST? Here at HALOSCOPE HQ, we’re always in pursuit of ultimate chicness. Where to find t he chicest fur hat , how to be the chicest baker  — and now, how to be the chicest dinner party host. Hosting a successful dinner party is an art form that can take years to master. To give you a jump start on that process, here are some of our best tips and tricks from a seasoned dinner party host (me!) for every HS reader out there looking to inject a little more refined glamour into their lives. Crafting the Perfect Menu Arguably, the most important part of a dinner party is, you guessed it, the dinner. Your dining room could be magnificently decorated, with perfectly warm lighting and centerpieces that would make even Martha Stewart blush — but if your food sucks, your guests will be going home early. My tried-and-true method of dinner party menu planning is this: elevate the classics. Make food people know but present it in a new and exciting way. Make  a bunch of pizzas  with pepperoni and cheese, but then do a couple with smoked salmon and dill or caviar and crème fraiche. Don’t get too experimental unless you’re certain  your guests would be down to go on an adventure. Too many times I’ve watched a good friend’s boyfriend chomp into one of my “avant-garde, Michelin-inspired” creations with the most confused, disappointed face you’ve ever seen. It’s a sight that would make any hostess’ heart sink into their stomach. Confusion and disappointment are the two feelings, above all else, that you do NOT want your guests to experience. “Disappointment” is an easy one to avoid. You just need to make sure the food is tasty and enough to go around. However, “confusion” is a little bit trickier…. Any hostess worth their salt knows that you don’t want your dinner party to be boring.  You certainly want some elements of surprise, of intrigue and delight — those are all great feelings. But you don’t want your guest to feel lost. I’d highly recommend printing out little menu cards for each place setting. That way, your guests know exactly what to expect inside of each dish and in what order they will be arriving. In fact, while you’re at it, label everything — label the drink dispensers, the dinner rolls, and the extra silverware. You want your guests to be able to operate independently if they need to. They may feel awkward if they have to stop you to ask a bunch of questions, which just makes them a less comfortable guest overall. Now, onto the food! My favorite dinner party crowd-pleasers are: Julia Child’s Beef Bourguignon Éclair Cake Shepherd’s Pie Early Girl’s Braided Dinner Rolls Matty Matheson’s Valentine’s Day Feast Setting a 2010s Tumblr-worthy Table  This is where you get to let your imagination run wild. First question: Are you sitting around the table, or is the table just for the food? The answer to this will largely dictate how you operate on the decoration front. If you’re sitting around the table, you can’t have centerpieces too tall, or else your guests won’t be able to chat. If it’s a grab-and-go situation, you can run wild: a dozen taper candles covering the table, giant vases of flowers and feathers and crystals, or maybe even a massive papier-mâché swan dipping down onto the tablecloth ? Second question: What will each individual guest experience throughout the night? If your guests will be seated around the table all night, go around and sit in every one of the chairs. What does your view look like? Can you easily grab everything on the table? Is there a spot on the floor that desperately needs to be cleaned? Can you get in and out of your chair easily and without bumping into anything? If guests will be seated elsewhere, are there enough chairs? Does one of the chairs feel like a sort of makeshift situation? Where will they put their plates? You don’t want your guest uncomfortably perched on the ottoman with their plate in their lap. They’re guests! Treat them well! Taking the time to walk in your guests' shoes will elevate your dinner party experience immeasurably. Truthfully, the key to any kind of event hosting is personalization. Does this event feel slapped together, or does it feel like the host sat down and really thought about me   among the crowd of other guests? That’s what they’ll be asking, either consciously or unconsciously, throughout the night. So, make the answer a clear and resounding: “Yes! Of course, I thought of you!” Creating a Sophisticated Atmosphere that Will Keep Guests Boozing Long After Dessert Warm, low lighting. I can’t say it enough. Warm. Low. Lighting. Turn off the big light and fire up your lamps. Ideally, you want varied light sources throughout the room: a lamp in at least two corners, candles lit on the table, a sconce on the wall. You should be able to see clearly without squinting — but everything should have a gentle, orange glow to it. If you have fluorescent or bright white bulbs in your fixtures. Don’t plan any dinner parties until you get those swapped to incandescent bulbs. Your guests will thank me. Music can be a make-or-break for a dinner party. It may take you years to develop the perfect playlist. I know I’m still working on mine. Here are the ironclad dinner party music “rules” that I live by: The speaker should be located far from the seating area. The volume should be loud enough to be heard and enjoyed by your guests, but not so close to their ears that they cannot comfortably talk amongst each other. Gentle sounds. Nothing harsh or sharp should be played during dinner service. Think: ambient rock, Ethiopian jazz, instrumentals. Now is not the time for SOPHIE’s “Faceshopping”... save that for the after-party. Play music in the bathroom. There is nothing worse than trying to silently pee in someone else’s house while you’re a little bit drunk. Do your guests a favor and pop another Bluetooth speaker in the WC. Share Your Chicness! Hopefully, this mini Haloscope Handbook Guide was able to set you up for success in crafting your very own très chic dinner party. Don’t forget to tag @haloscopemag in any posts about your lovely evenings on socials! Bisous chaton ! 🌀 Kaitlin Owens is the Archival Editor of HALOSCOPE nd the Editor -n-Chief of DILETTANTE. For a closer look at her portfolio, please visit kaitlindotcom.com or @kaitlindotcom on Instagram.

Notes on bottling and selling the West. Helplessly, we dream of cowboys — the Westernwear trend of the early 2020s is well-trod thinkpiece territory by now. In the wake of this trend, as Aspen’s pseudo-cowboys drop thousands of dollars on Kemo Sabe, Western apparel is embroiled in a contentious authenticity scare. Those are fashion boots, not workboots, profess the real cowboys among us. Your Carhartt isn’t even broken in, and if it is, it’s because you bought it vintage. Me me me me more cowboy than you. Fake cowboy finger-pointing persists as an accusation of stolen valor. Movie and real cowboys alike represent a loose collection of “American ideals”: working-class discipline, upstanding character, and patriotism. Instagram’s trad wives — another bit of thinkpiece fodder that keeps on giving — suggest that traditional, heteronormative family structures are among the cowboy dress-up rules of engagement. But, as Young Republicans decorate their parties with images of Trump and Vance in cowboy hats, cowboy imagery has strong staying power on the other side of the aisle. From Chappell Roan’s hot pink tassels, to rhinestoned Westernwear at Beyonce’s Renaissance Tour, to the popularity of queer line dancing night at Studcountry  in Echo Park, we cannot, it seems, stop dreaming of cowboys. I, born and raised in downtown Chicago, Illinois, am surely no authority on what constitutes a real cowboy. I am perfectly situated, though, to discuss the self-sustaining niche of fake  cowboy-ness, and why the Aritzia-clad young women of the coasts still feel called to wear their bedazzled cowboy hats to the club or pick up D.S. & Durga’s Cowgirl Grass on a romp around Williamsburg. Parallel to the prominence of Westernwear on the runway and Bella Hadid being papped on her way to the rodeo is a small but notable handful of cowboy-themed perfumes released in the past few years. Fragrance operates free from the confines of authenticity-signalling with which Western apparel is concerned. Perfumery is, fundamentally, a gesture of evocation, of seeming, rather than being. As HALOSCOPE’s own Audrey Robinovitz writes in her defense of aldehydes , there is an “ innate and deeply beautiful artifice of all perfumery.” As such, the Western perfume trend is not marked by an authenticity competition like that ensuing in fashion. Ask any ranch worker what the labor of a cowboy actually smells like, and you will probably get the same answer I did — ranch work smells, overwhelmingly, of manure. Of cowboy fragrances released in the past couple of years, none reach for an Agar Olfactory or Toskovat-esque verisimilitude in recreating this unsavory part of the West. This is not to say that there are no gestures towards authenticity in the world of Western perfumes — there are a handful of Western houses that market on the basis of their “realness.” TruWestern , as its name suggests, markets their line of fragrances inspired by real locations in the American West.  The other type of authenticity one could reach for in the quest to smell like a cowboy is colognes enjoyed by the real cowboys in question. The real cowboys I’ve been lucky enough to speak to display a preference for the classics of masculine perfumery — a Ralph Lauren Red Label or Tom Ford Ombré Leather snagged under the guidance of department store employees. Why return home from the range just to cover yourself in its scent again? Clean up nice with some Acqua di Gio. A survey of cowboy perfumes is incomplete, however, without the founding father, the John Wayne of olfactory Western-ness, Stetson’s Coty , referred to in common parlance simply as Stetson. Stetson’s fragrance met the same fate as its hats — it became a floating signifier of rugged masculinity, entirely unmoored from its roots on the range. My grandfather, a high school teacher in the Great Ohio Desert , wore Stetson. Stetson represents the ability of fragrance to transcend the Westernwear authenticity rat-race: wearing a cowboy hat in Cleveland might turn heads and raise questions, but Stetson acts as a sort of invisible masculine armor, one any man may don to feel, you know, free, and American. Stetson later released Lady Stetson for all the cowgirls seeking similar projections. Where Stetson Coty’s marketing dodges explicitly colonial implications, making vague gestures to a masculine valiance that happens to take place in the West, Lady Stetson is “how the West was won.” In contrast, cowboy-themed perfumes released in the 2020s exist largely as a wink and a nod to their fakeness, their inauthenticity, their uncalloused hands. Despite the ubiquity of Stetson and the success of brands like TruWestern, high-end cowboy fragrances hailing from the world of everything expensive, superfluous, artsy, and soft,  seem acutely aware of the paradox of their own existence.  Suede Pony (2021) & Cowboy Kush (2022) — Boy Smells Los Angeles-based perfumery Boy Smells knows its place: Los Angeles is the only place where one must go eastward to get to The West. Tucked in the corner of Southern California, Los Angeles is not always regarded as part of The West, that mythic place of wide open skies and agricultural work ethic. It is an urban landscape of office jobs and plastic surgery and athleisure. The house has released two cowboy-themed scents, Cowboy Kush, and the recently discontinued Suede Pony. Neither attempt to gesture at some lived Western experience, but rather, from their vantage point in Hollywood, tell stories of what registered Democrats who shop at Glossier would like the image of the cowboy to mean. Suede Pony opens with a strong suede/leather accord but dries down to a core of woodsy cardamom and sparkling fresh fruit. Suede Pony smells like a tentative first mojito in the lobby of Aspen’s Hotel Jerome, surrounded by clean leather and bouquets of dried flowers, where perhaps a man in Kemo Sabe will tell you tales of crypto mining in Austin or commercial real estate in San Francisco. Stories free of manure, and grass, but stories of Western profiteering nonetheless.  Cowboy Kush walks a similar path, if not a slightly dirtier one, though the nutty woodiness of the drydown borders on sweet. I have yet to smell a photorealistic cannabis accord in any fragrance, and this is no exception, but along with the patchouli and leather, Cowboy Kush is an altogether bolder and smokier evocation of cowboy imagery than Suede Pony. Cowboy Kush could be an olfactory profile of Thomas Pynchon’s Inherent Vice , a marijuana-fueled Los Angeles murder mystery that bears the mark of old Hollywood cowboys in its particular flavor of masculinity. It is hedonistic hippie ritual in a Western-ish leather jacket. Untamable (2024) — Imaginary Authors Earlier I said no new perfume releases have reached for verisimilitudinous notes of animal and grass. This is not entirely true — Imaginary Authors’ “Untamable” cuts it pretty close. As a white floral enjoyer myself, my nose is perhaps not sufficiently well-versed in the world of animalics to judge the caliber of this perfume. I just know that it comes on strong. The drydown, however, is a brighter and more mellow woody and grassy cumin. Operating out of Portland, Oregon, Imaginary Authors is also located on the fringe of The West proper but serves up a take on the imagined West that is refreshing and unique in its brutalism. Corpus Equus (2021) — Naomi Goodsir Rest in peace to every horse who met an untimely demise on a John Ford film. There are horses all over the marketing of Corpus Equus, but it stops short of including the earthy animalic notes of Untamable — Corpus Equus is a pleasant smoky leather. There is a trend among the fragrances on this list of opening with a strong Western scent profile and drying down to a core of florals and amber. It is a gesture of trying on cowboy hats at the Venice Nick Fouquet but ultimately leaving them on the shelf — you’re not really a cowgirl, are you? Corpus Equus opens with a sharp, masculine edge of leather and smoke, drying down to an inoffensive if dusky rose. Its leather, while it lasts, toes a line between bitter and warm. This is not the body of a horse, but the smell of its surrounding stable, of what one imagines to be true about the type of person who rides a horse. See: American, free. Cowgirl Grass (2024) — D.S. and Durga We now arrive at the secret of this piece, which is that it is, at its core, a eulogy. In 2024, Brooklyn-based perfumery D.S. & Durga released a reformulation of their discontinued 2004 scent Cowgirl Grass. In a similar gesture to the launch of Lady Stetson, the original scent was the life partner of the brand’s other Western-inspired scent, Cowboy Grass, which is a straightforwardly grassy blend of vetiver and thyme so bright it is almost metallic. I imagine the original Cowgirl Grass, a similar blend with added tuberose and rose, smelled similarly. I don’t know her, and I never will. Cowgirl Grass is situated firmly in the Suede Pony tradition of proud inauthenticity. It opens with an inoffensively sweet lychee that is not quite edible, fading into a powdered sugar ambery musk reminiscent of DeD Cool’s Xtra Milk. The vetiver accord is not noticeable so much as it serves to clean the whole thing up to a department store septicness.  If that sounds patronizing, it is not because I necessarily dislike Cowgirl Grass 2024, but out of initial confusion as to why this scent is roped (ha, ha) into the Western conversation via its name and marketing. D.S. & Durga describes the dry-down as “tough musk from the wild Western territory,” a quirky take on what is otherwise the star note of many cozy clean-girl perfumes of late. It avoids the colonial implications of Stetson’s copywriting. The florals of cowgirl grass are more reminiscent of the bubbly peony of OUAI’s Melrose Place than the dusky rose one would expect from the ranch diva conjured by D.S.’ imagery of “classic cowgirl belts encrusted in jewels.” OUAI’s Melrose Place, with a nearly identical notes list, locates itself squarely in West Hollywood, rather than out on the range. “Smell,” reads OUAI’s description of their own musky lychee pink floral, “like you only eat avocado toast.” Again we encounter Los Angeles’ Western-ness paradox. Despite being situated near the country’s Westernmost point, the avocado-toast-eating Los Angeles pilates princess is almost directly antithetical to the iconography of the Wild West — working-class Americana, old-school glamour. I can’t help but feel that OUAI’s marketing of Melrose Place is more true to the olfactory profile these scents share. In that case, why choose this name, this angle? A pessimistic answer would be that of a cash grab, a swipe for what money remains left on the table of the Western trend. Perhaps D.S. & Durga’s recent venture capital acquisition  exposed a gap in middle-American markets. What I feel — what I optimistically hope — is that the reformulation is a more honest Brooklyn cowgirl perfume than its predecessor. It is perhaps more honest for a Brooklyn-based perfumery to market this way, to let the cowboy enthusiasts of the coasts get their fix in a more subtle gesture than a rhinestoned cowboy hat. Cowgirl Grass dispenses with the pretense of a strong leather or smoke opening and skips straight to the point that most cowboy perfumes arrive at as they sit on your wrist — it’s a feminine floral with a Western name. It is a poster of Marlon Brando on a teenage girl’s bedroom wall. It is true to what we dream of when we dream of the cowboy. It is perhaps more honest to enter a dive bar on the arm of a Carhartt-clad Bushwick cowboy smelling of lychee and amber than smelling, for some reason, of shit. 🌀 Caelan Reeves is a writer from Chicago. You can find her fragrance writing and other dispatches from the simulacra on Instagram  and Twitter .

Thoughts on White Lotus fashion, Samuel Guì Yang FW25, and a sale at Stutterheim. Welcome to The HALO Report — HALOSCOPE’s new weekly digest, an of-the-moment mix of news items, opinion pieces, and sale announcements designed to keep you posted on the nitty-gritty of the fashion world and all of its tangents without having to keep a constant eye on your feed.  This week, fits from the “Muslim Met Gala,” a cheerier take on “smell-maxxing” teens, an entry point into the wonderful world of Brazilian fashion, the cream of the Shanghai Fashion Week crop, big news for Jim Carrey fans, some one-time-only sample sales (one’s in Spain!), and more. The latest long-ish reads from the brightest minds in fashion. Calling it the “Muslim Met Gala,” “ On the Holiest of Muslim Holidays, Outfits That Mingle the Personal and Traditional ” by Tiana Randall for Vogue  explores some of the best Eid Al-Fitr, well, fits! From pearl-encrusted abaya robes to thobe tunics paired with high-top Jordans, NYC Muslims showed UP for Eid this year, as per usual.  “What Brands Do the Characters on The White Lotus Wear? A Closer Look ” by Elise Taylor for Vogue  is a comprehensive look at the labels worn by everyone from Parker Posey’s Victoria (somewhat surprisingly, Rachel Comey and Ganni) to Aimee Lou Wood’s Chelsea (a dress currently on sale at Revolve). Expect to see a lot of My Beachy Side cover-ups at the beach this summer (potentially recycled come Halloween).  Back Row ’s Amy Odell writes about “ How 'Sustainable' Fashion Became a Nightmare for Consumers ,” citing a lack of industry regulation that puts the onus on customers to vet their clothes sources with a level of scrutiny most people cannot muster up—it’s hard to forsake a dopamine hit in favor of hours of dutiful research (or forgoing clothes shopping all together).  Once again, Aussie fragrance writer Miccaeli stuns with her latest piece for FUMES , “ The Joy of Gen Z's New Perfume Culture .” Part rebuttal of the dourly negative article  published a month ago in The Cut, part paean to earnest teen boy culture, Miccaeli endows us with hope for the future of the fragrance industry (and Gen Z as a whole).  I wrote “ My Style Heroes: Aline Bessa ” a few months ago, but the Brazilian fashion fan’s wardrobe feels all the more relevant as we veer into the warmer months and our media becomes saturated with conventional conceptions of what “hot” fashion looks like—here’s a reminder that fashion is an art, and South American designers like Renata Buzzo and Heloisa Faria are making unbelievable work that only the most creative dressers, including Bessa, are wearing, as of now . Let’s make this summer one of recognizing non-Eurocentric designers in our own wardrobes! What to keep in mind — and look forward to — in the past and coming weeks. Shanghai Fashion Week’s underrated shows just ended, and Vogue ’s José Criales-Unzueta sings the praises of Samuel Guì Yang ’s work, inspired by everyone from Patti Smith to the politically influential (now often forgotten outside of China) Soong sisters . Easy but not resigned, voluminous but not fussy, “chic” but not Western, Yang’s clothes seem poised to bring contemporary Chinese style to the world stage.  Paolina Russo’s SS25  is available to shop now at Addicted Seoul—teensy miniskirts with cyanotype-like prints are meant to be layered over bottom-heavy trousers and paired with neon, rash guard-like tops (you’ll be seeing a ton of shirts with rash guard-style serger seams come summer).  “Balletcore” is dead. Long live BDSM Ballet! Ludovic de Saint Sernin’s SS25 offerings  include pale pink halter dresses with skirts that attach to the bodices with risqué lace-up details, suede one-shoulder tops, and more of the label’s signature slutty-but-sublime garb primed for a siren-coded summer.  In random collab news, Marni x Hoka  drops on Friday, April 4, on the LN-CC website, with sneakers that look like mini mattresses molded around one’s feet and more as-of-yet secret merch.  For all you Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind -heads out there, the latest drop from SCRT  will satisfy your need for high-quality bootleg merch, with hoodies depicting smudgy palimpsests of Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet’s faces, trousers printed with frames from the film, and more. Less about impulse buys — and more about tracking discounts on the pieces already on your wishlist.  Use KLEKNKJZB for exclusive access to the RUS archive sale , offering up to 70% off the brand’s beloved, sculptural, and strangely affordable “investment knits.” Check out the Emiko Studios Instagram  this weekend, specifically on Saturday the 5th at 5 pm BST (that’s noon Eastern, FYI) for a one-off sample sale of never-seen-before (or again) pieces! Stutterheim’s mid-season sale  offers 30% off a selection of elevated rain gear for those in locales where summer doesn’t mean an escape from precipitation.  “SALE” gets you an extra 20% off the Tommy Hilfiger sale section , bringing prices on some preppy basics down to under $10.  If you happen to be lucky enough to be in Madrid this weekend, the Hereu  sample sale is on Calle de Sandoval  from the 9th to the 12th and promises to be spectacular.  🌀 Em Seely-Katz is the creator of the fashion blog Esque, the News Editor of HALOSCOPE, and a writer, stylist, and anime-watcher about town. You can usually find them writing copy for niche perfume houses or making awful collages at @that.esque on Instagram.

Thoughts on Severance fashion, the Loewe overhaul, and a sale at Maryam Nassir Zadeh. Welcome to The HALO Report — HALOSCOPE’s new weekly digest, an of-the-moment mix of news items, opinion pieces, and sale announcements designed to keep you posted on the nitty-gritty of the fashion world and all of its tangents without having to keep a constant eye on your feed.  This week, Severance is worming its way into our homes and closets, the boys are going full Baba Yaga, Loewe is in good hands, Forever 21 is on its way through the pearly gates, a Nowruz sale is still on, as are some deals on a Julia Fox-favored label, and more. The latest long-ish reads from the brightest minds in fashion. Though “in” and “out” lists have become a quarterly annoyance, “ Qualifying the Ins-and-Outs of the March Fashion Scene in New York City ” by Sol Thompson for One Size Fits All is on the more astute, less obnoxious side of the genre. At the very least, it declares Baggu “out” (we certainly don’t need any more of its uncanny, AI-generated detritus floating around our ecosystems) and observes that fashion boys have started wearing head kerchiefs à la Baba Yaga. Good stuff.  Vogue’s Lilah Ramzi provides a great semantic primer for fashion nerds with “ When Does Fashion Become Vintage? A Guide to Understanding Vintage, Archival, and Antique Fashion ,” an invaluable resource for those who want to sound sartorially savvy when discussing clothes from days of yore.   The latest article in The Molehill writer Viv Chen’s series on the fashion of Severance,  “ are gray coats the unofficial uniform of kier? ,” goes deep into the psychology of color and  provides links if the piece sets of a hankering in your soul for the perfect charcoal outerwear.  Chen continues her Severance fixation, this time for Marie Claire  and dealing in home furnishings instead of wearables, in “' Severance' Is a Vintage Furniture Collector’s Fever Dream ,” interviewing production designers and furniture sourcers to flesh out the clever interiority of the show’s interiors.  Trash Panic ’s Glenn Mae helpfully shares over 80 pieces  in “ The Dump - Vol. 25 | Better Than Bode ,” a wellspring of links for people without a spare month’s rent or two to spend on a single embroidered top or corduroy trousers. What to keep in mind — and look forward to — in the past and coming weeks. “ The Proenza Schouler Boys Are Officially In at Loewe ,” writes Chantal Fernandez for The Cut —it’ll be nigh-on impossible to fill the (faux-balloon-heeled) shoes that Jonathan Anderson left vacant, but the masses are relieved that a time-tested, relatively young duo will be at the reins of the now-beloved Spanish label.  Vaquera’s SS25  is up for the shopping, or for most of us, the inspiring—pieces like a baseball hat  covered in pins or a tiny bubble skirt  attached to bike shorts beg to be DIY-ed, especially at their extravagant price points.  In case you didn’t know, “ Forever 21 Might Be Closing Its Stores, But the Memories We Built There Will Live on…Forever ,” writes Emma Specter for Vogue . Expect to see “vintage” F21 graphic tees, distressed flannels, and sundresses pop up on the resale market for wild markups now that the brand’s doors are nearly closed.  Dazed’s Isobel Van Dyke shares the sobering news that only 0.3 percent of the looks presented in the latest Fashion Week season were worn by plus-size models in “ Size inclusivity fell again at the AW25 shows .” Brain Dead’s SS25 campaign , ahead of its official launch of a Portland, OR storefront, features on-point photos of models with faux sunburns to showcase the brand’s newest sun-protective eyewear (some of the best on the scene at the moment). Less about impulse buys — and more about tracking discounts on the pieces already on your wishlist.  Use ENDOFWINTERSALEENDSSOON for an extra 10% off the Bungee Space winter sale , featuring Julia Fox-favorite label Evade House (she wore a top from the label to party with Charli onstage at the Grammys), this writer-favorite Fey Fey Worldwide, and many more offbeat picks.  Take up to 60% off the past season of Maryam Nassir Zadeh’s  hardy button-downs, delicate going-out tops, and timeless accessories.   VVORK VVORK VVORK is holding a Nowruz sale , taking up to 35% off its handmade, one-of-a-kind Iranian graphic tees.  Some of Anna Sui’s most gothy-grunge pieces from past seasons are now up to 50% off in the label’s spring sale , especially exciting after this past season’s splashy Fashion Week showing.  Grenson offers 20% off  a selection of its sturdy, polished leather accessories, with plenty of footwear to tide you over until sandal weather.  🌀 Em Seely-Katz is the creator of the fashion blog Esque, the News Editor of HALOSCOPE, and a writer, stylist, and anime-watcher about town. You can usually find them writing copy for niche perfume houses or making awful collages at @that.esque on Instagram.

That perfectly worn-in band tee is a reward for dealing with a cheating ex. The vintage-devoted, SSENSE-sale-stalking, eBay bidding oracles know the value of a perfectly worn-in band tee — and they’re not about to let a bad breakup ruin a good outfit. For some, a reminder of heartache pales in comparison to a piece’s coolness value. For others, items left behind are a way to fund a shopping spree. Keeping clothing perfumed with memories of lovers past can be an active practice in detachment and a spiritual challenge well worth a wardrobe staple. Moving on after a breakup looks different for everyone, but the fashionably inclined can agree on one thing: the clothing and accessories you acquire during the relationship are a consolation prize for heartbreak, and if it’s cool enough, you’re keeping it. So what is there to do with the fashion that’s been left behind? All is fair in love and war — especially if it’s Prada. River Takada , a textiles artist and teacher who obsesses over fiber quality, describes a particularly unique threadbare camouflage T-shirt from an ex as an “archival” piece in her wardrobe. In the face of good vintage, all the pain washes away. “I can identify that this shirt — perfectly worn-in — transcends that,” Takada says. “It's worth more to me than the memories are.” When Ashley Novak, vintage aficionado and foodie behind Tart n’ Savory , rediscovered a briefly lost band tee from an ex, it felt like a “reclamation.” The Minor Threat T-shirt has a perfect vintage feel, she says — it’s worn in, it’s soft, it’s cut in the right places. The shirt was forgotten, the ex was forgotten, and when it reappeared, it became a new shirt. “I don't think about this person ever, sometimes not even when I wear the T-shirt,” she says. “It's become a neutralized object.” It’s one of many T-shirts she’s kept from exes (a couple of which are so vintage they belonged to her ex-partner’s parents), and they hail mostly from relationships with people she’d rather forget. Novak likened the experience to an injury lawsuit ad: “If you dated this loser, you are entitled to keep their mom's cool T-shirt.”  Kayla Roolaart, homeware buyer and author of the design-centered newsletter No Crumbs , uses a similar metaphor. Like the touristy T-shirt your aunt might bring back from her trip to Florida, Roolaart says, “I just think of, ‘I was in a shitty relationship and all I got was a great T-shirt.” When Roolaart’s ex moved out of their Bushwick abode, she rid the apartment of any stylistic traces of him (de-boy-ifying the bedroom was a top priority). All that remains are the sartorial survivors piling up in the closet: a button-down he never wore, gifts from holidays past, and a baby blue nylon Prada bag — fairly earned rewards for emotional turmoil. Additions to your closet might be the only thing worth saving from a nasty breakup.  Despite a sour ending to the years-long relationship, the button-down he left behind stays in her regular rotation. “I'm willing to forgive and forget that for the object,” she says. “I'm not going to take it out on the shirt. What am I gonna do? Put it on trial?” Life lesson: toss the boyfriend, keep the shirt. Roolaart also realized post-breakup that many of the pieces she acquired throughout the relationship weren’t exactly her — if anything, the expensive gifts he gave her seemed like attempts at stroking his own ego, she says. The button-down was a major score, but the Prada bag (in a style she’d never reach for) sits in the closet serving a more lucrative purpose than holding lip gloss, Roolaart says: “It’s also my in-case-of-emergency fund.” For those whose exes never quite nailed your taste, a closet purge might be exactly what the fashion doctor ordered. A local consignment store has surely heard your story before, according to Sarah Jones, who worked as a buyer at Buffalo Exchange for seven years. Multiple people came in every day looking to sell their ex’s clothes, she says, and the person you hand them to understands you might need to vent. As a consignment buyer, “you're basically somebody’s therapist half the time.”  Jones is also the proud owner of a 1990 Cocteau Twins single-stitch tee she won in a breakup, “like a reward for me for wasting my time,” she says. She was shocked her ex didn’t put up more of a fight over an item she considers to be a holy grail. “Clothing was definitely my whole life,” Jones says. “I was like, how could you not want and appreciate this? He'd just be like, it's just clothing to me.”  While a consignment cash bonus might feel good in the moment, fashion journalist and host of the Pre-Loved   Podcast   Emily Stohl  advises fighting against the urge to throw away all reminders of an ex. Rather, she suggests storing the items until the wound isn’t so fresh. This is also advice prescribed by TV’s favorite single mom, Lorelai Gilmore, who coined it “the boyfriend box.” As Lorelai explains to Rory in Season 1 Episode 21 of Gilmore Girls , a boyfriend box serves to store the sentimental items you might toss in a fit of rage and tears after a breakup. You pack it up, stick it in a closet, and wait until the time comes when it’s no longer so painful. “You’re going to want that stuff one day when you’re old and married and looking back and thinking, ‘I certainly had an interesting life,’” Lorelai says. “I threw away stuff I’d kill to have today.” The only surefire remedy to heartbreak is time. With time, and the wound fully healed, those reminders of the past aren’t reminders of pain, they’re reminders of a rich life.  When Roolaart relegated her ex’s items to a corner of the closet, she didn’t do so hoping to avoid all the pain. “I think we do a disservice if we only keep memories from things that were joyful and discard everything that was painful, because it's just a part of your life, and you can't only keep the things that don't hurt,” Roolaart says. She’s ok keeping some of the painful things around. “I don't want to completely erase bits of my life,” she says. “This isn't Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind . I can deal with some of the ugly bits.” After all, entangling sentiment in our wardrobes is unavoidable. We constantly obsess over the emotional attachment to items of clothing, Stohl points out, even subconsciously. Whether it be a sweater purchased abroad that you reach for on a bad day to lift your mood or the football jersey your dad refuses to wash during the regular season for good luck, we afford our clothing far more depth than what can be felt in the fibers.  “We do this all the time with our clothes, right?” she says. “We add so much more — which is something that I love about fashion — but we add so much more to the clothing than just what it is and what it looks like.” And for the items that conjure up painful memories for now, there’s always time for the narrative to change. “Maybe that band T-shirt that you kept from your last relationship could end up being the awesome vintage band T-shirt that you're wearing the next time something really great happens to you,” she says. “And that becomes its new story.” 🌀 MacKinley Jade  is a journalist, friend, and lover living in New York City. She writes the fashion and culture newsletter Yeehawt  and posts poorly lit outfit photos @mackinleyjade  on Instagram.

Fragrance Editor Audrey Robinovitz and independent perfumer Marissa Zappas talk the smell of empty houses, symbolic violets, and everything that makes life worth living. Zappas shot by Anna Koblish (@annakoblish). Marissa Zappas is an independent perfumer who lives and works in New York City. Her work runs the gamut between irreverent gourmands that have enjoyed viral success online, and evocative offline collaborations with artists, poets, playwrights, and astrologers. Drawing inspiration from overlooked historical figures, the cinematic career of Elizabeth Taylor, and the historic landscape of New York experimental film – she currently functions as one of the eccentric figureheads for a nascent movement of self-made and independently-marketed perfume houses appealing to a deeply personal and conceptual model of buying and wearing luxury fragrance. Carving out her own niche in this landscape, the fully realized and rebranded repertoire of thirteen plus fragrances bearing her name now stands for most things gothic, camp, fantastical, and otherwise playfully anachronistic in contemporary olfaction. Today, she sits down with perfume critic Audrey Robinovitz to talk both work and play. This interview has been edited for length and clarity. Audrey Robinovitz: Hi Marissa! It’s an honor to finally get to talk with you more in depth. I’ve been a fan of both your own perfume and your presence in the niche perfume community for a while. Marissa Zappas: Thank you, likewise. AR: I’ll start simple. What fragrances have you been wearing recently? MZ: A fragrance I’m working on for Miranda July. AR: More in the realm of creation: do you have a favorite floral absolute? MZ: If I had to choose, tuberose or mimosa. AR: It can often be frustrating for me, working in niche perfume sales, to see how stigmatized synthetics have become, given how ubiquitous and useful they are in perfumery. I find something like cosmone musk to be such a fascinating raw material, and feel like it has an equal amount of nuance to a fine natural extract. Are there any synthetics you couldn’t live without?  MZ: Too many. People who turn their noses up at synthetics don’t understand that most synthetics are actually safer for skin, as well as the environment, compared to naturals… Honestly, we need to just let them shop for perfume at Whole Foods or Erewhon instead.  AR: This is a very biased question to ask, and maybe just something I’ve always wanted to ask you on a personal level – but do you have a favorite Diptyque fragrance? I seem to remember you mentioning L’eau Trois, which is one of my all-time favorite things Diptyque has made.  MZ: Yeah, I love that one. I also enjoy Ofresia and Olene.  AR: Those are such great choices. Olene was the first niche perfume I ever bought myself, so it holds a special place in my heart. Ofresia was also done by Olivia Giacobetti, so it's one of the few things she did for us.  MZ: Right.  AR: I think people often associate fragrance memories with adolescence, because they have a way of sticking around for a really long time - do you have any scent memories that bring you back to periods of your life that weren't your childhood? For me, I’ll always associate star jasmine, or that very specific type of what they call “confederate jasmine” down here, with being a teenager in South Carolina.  MZ: Oh wow. The scent memory that’s coming to mind that I’ve never totally been conscious of before is the smell of a newly remodeled house. Like fresh carpet and paint. My mom has this chronic habit of flipping houses, so we would always be moving and remodeling.  AR: That’s really interesting, my dad did real estate for a little bit too, so I always remember walking around houses that had nothing in them – which is a really specific feeling.  MZ : That’s like another part of the sensory experience I think, and they would just gradually get filled with some of our stuff, but it was usually cheap furniture, because we would never stay there too long.  Zappas' current perfume lineup. AR: Your practice has been in my mind a lot as niche perfumery becomes more and more quote-unquote “trendy” – I love to see perfumers and houses at large that can capture the imaginations of people who are completely new to fragrance, and also gain notoriety among more seasoned collectors. If you could show three iconic fragrances to a complete novice looking to explore niche perfume, which would you pick?  MZ: I don’t think a lot of current “niche” is actually iconic. Shalimar is iconic… I think Champagne by YSL is iconic. Green Irish Tweed. Mitsouko. I’m the wrong person to ask this question. I went shopping at Place Vendome recently looking to fall in love with a perfume and willing to spend money and walked away empty-handed…  AR: There’s a lot of really mediocre perfume right now! Especially in more mainstream shopping circuits. AR: Sorry this question is going to be long, but its something I think about all the time. As the market for niche fragrances becomes more and more expansive, what are your thoughts on claiming provocative fantasy accords (blood, glass, snow, etc) to generate enticing marketing, versus the intentional replication of abstract smells to exist in a larger more traditional composition? I think of your inclusion of a “gunpowder note” in CHING SHIH existing alongside Orris and Othsmathus is successful in the same way something like Comme des Garcons 2011’s uses accords of Industrial Glue and Scotch Tape accords within a traditional airy floral. MZ: I love provocative fantasy accords. Part of the fun in perfume is comparing the reality of the scent to the descriptions… perfume is a fantasy project… but not when they do all  the heavy lifting… not when the scent doesn’t remotely live up to the wordage. There is no universal description of a perfume, or scent, at the end of the day.  AR: I remember speaking once about our joint frustration from a marketing perspective with people who privilege a perfume’s performance over all other aspects of its smell, and who push for every single thing they wear to achieve “beast mode” sillage/longevity, etc. What do you think, from a perfumer’s perspective, consumers get wrong about making something “long-lasting?” MZ: Well, from the art perspective, I prioritize the smell, even if it doesn’t last long. I don’t personally care how long a fragrance lasts. But people like [it] when a fragrance lasts, and for good reason. So many people wear fragrances to take up more space and make an impression in the first place, and I understand that. I just don’t wear fragrances that way anymore, and I couldn’t even tell you why. To be honest, my reasoning is jaded. Some perfumes would smell much better if they didn’t last AS LONG and you just reapplied it a couple extra times. But, we prioritize functionality in this current day and age. I accept that. AR: That’s a good point. It's just so different from how I think about and wear my perfume, to be honest. One of my favorite parts of your practice is how interdisciplinary your fragrances are. Is there an artistic medium (painting, theater, etc) you have not previously worked alongside that you would like to break into? MZ: I think music. I would love to make a perfume for or with Lana del Rey.  AR: You’ve worked not only with CARNIVAL OF SOULS but also MAGGIE in transforming film into fragrance. If you could pick any fragrance to be adapted into a film, what would it be? What do you think that film would look like? MZ: I was going to say Paris by YSL, where a woman blows up her life in the US and moves to Paris… that story never gets old to me... Or, maybe there’s a movie about two star-crossed lesbians – one wears Angel and one wears Alien.  AR: That’s so fun. I think I’m the one who wears Angel.  MZ: And I’d be Alien. AR: Maybe more of an abstract question: but do you think there is a unique compatibility between perfume and the cinema? I think of how TV advertisements for designer perfume have become a sort of cultural joke for being so overwrought and nonsensical, but at the core of that phenomenon seems to be a link between fragrance and non-narrative moving pictures.  MZ: Totally, I mean David Lynch (RIP) made the most gorgeous and cinematic fragrance advertisements. It’s a really untapped genre of art!  Zappas shot by Anna Koblish (@annakoblish). AR: Talking more specifically about vintage perfume, since I know that’s a passion we both share: do you have a favorite Guerlain? Hard question, I know. I see echoes of Mitsouko in MAGGIE, and obviously a lineage of bottle design in your recent rebrand. I remember you also spoke with my friend Joshua a very long time ago about your great-grandmother wearing Shalimar. MZ: Yeah, I’d have to say Shalimar out of respect for the queen, but I probably enjoy wearing Apres d’Londee more…  AR: Same. I’ve written about it before, but it’s one of my favorite fragrances of all time. I feel like a fairy wearing it. Speaking of, I think a lot about your practice in relation to gender. These fragrances clearly seem to be made in relation to a larger bibliography of feminist theory. You clearly seem to revel in perfume as [a] vampish costume or adornment – something that puts on a very emboldening and performative type of feminine glamour. I connect a lot with this vision of what perfume is and what it can do. How do you think we can balance this goal with an age in which the more mainstream cosmetics industry manufactures and exploits beauty standards for profit? MZ: Your question is how to not exploit a passion or interest by selling it? I wish I knew, I’m just out here trying to make a living doing what I love. Does everything feel exploited once there’s money attached to it? Maybe. For better or worse, the only way I can work is to create from a place of genuine inspiration. I try to ignore what’s going on in the immediate commercial fragrance realm, which is not hard. So, if that means making a perfume inspired by something unpopular like Phantom of the Opera , or whatever it is, then I will because I love Phantom of the Opera. Sometimes my perfumes represent feminist values and sometimes they really don’t, because what inspires me is definitely not always “feminist.”  AR: Totally. Coming from more of a scholarly background, I know you’ve studied anthropology in the past and specifically worked with the social implications of the construction of cemeteries, and how various cultures think about death. What lessons do you think you’ve carried with you from your research into life in general? Has this influenced how you make perfume at all? MZ: I think a lot of anthropologists consider themselves an outsider. Whether or not that’s true is… yet to be determined. I think of myself as an outsider in certain ways, though. Not completely, but I tend to have one foot in and one foot out.  AR: Like the idea of ethnography, that you’re simultaneously “in” the culture observing it but you’re also apart from it?  MZ: Yeah, but at the same time I don’t really say that anymore. Because I feel like I’m in it at this point and it's uncomfortable, actually, to feel so immersed in it. In New York City life. I have more perspective when I’m half outside of the community I participate in, which is how I functioned growing up. I very much feel immersed in it right now, as an adult, so perspective is hard. Perspective is hard for a lot of people right now at this moment in history, especially for those of us who exist on social media. Questions of what's real and what's not are harder than ever to answer. I’ve said this before, but I really use perfume myself in a way that’s for lack of a better word – necromantic. I think all perfume is worn in an attempt to evoke... whatever it may be. AR: Totally. I think that resonates a lot with how I think about the world of niche fragrances. I think so much of what the niche market has to offer is these more profound historical or cultural or even societal references. You can have a perfume that is inspired by different figures from history, as you’ve done before, or something based on concepts you wouldn’t be able to get from a stereotypical designer brand, at least not anymore.  This is maybe another strange question, but do you have a favorite “classic” piece of literature? You strike me as someone who would resonate a lot with the brooding atmosphere of something like Wuthering Heights or Frankenstein .  MZ: Frankenstein, definitely. I also, strangely, love the book Heidi. AR: I can imagine we both also share an affinity for classic film. What movies are touchpoints for getting to know you as a person?  MZ: I would say National Velvet is number one. Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, the musical Oklahoma . I’m going to go ahead and say it… Forrest Gump is one of my favorite movies.   AR: It’s funny, I feel like everyone I know has a very strong opinion about that movie. They either love it or they hate it. But I really liked it.  MZ : It’s an incredible movie on so many levels, especially for Americans. And the soundtrack.  AR: I respect it! It’s one of my mom’s favorite movies, so I feel like I always associate it with her. Her name is Jenny, too.  Zappas' scents Dream Sequence and The Sun Card; the former was inspired by the dream ballet in the 1955 film adaptation of Oklahoma . AR: This is a simple question I think reveals a lot about someone - do you have a favorite flower? Not even just in terms of its scent, but in general. Mine will always be lily of the valley.  MZ: Wow. I think violets, little purple violets. There's a quote, and it was something I wanted to get tattooed on my body for like ten years but didn’t. It’s a Tennessee Williams quote: “The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.” AR: That’s beautiful. I feel like violets have such cultural and literary symbolism, and obviously, in fragrance, they're gorgeous.  This is something maybe only tangentially related to perfume, but I think the worlds of fine fashion and perfume are often dependent on each other - plus, I love your own personal style. If you had the opportunity to work alongside any fashion house, who would you pick? MZ: Schiaparelli. AR: Oh I can so  see that for you. That would be so glamorous. This is maybe a personal pet theory of mine: do you think the average woman consumer’s fear of perfumes smelling “too old lady” comes from a fear of aging? There are so many conventions of classical perfumery like aldehydes and powdery, anisic notes I adore, but feel like your average consumer, especially at my job, really seems to have a vendetta against [me].  MZ: Yeah, I mean I think it’s just your classic fear of aging and dying.  AR: It’s interesting for me, because I feel I often love those notes precisely because they carry those connotations of 20th-century fragrance, but they are also so beautiful on their own. I feel like I’m always trying to convince customers at my job that something smelling powdery isn't a bad thing.  MZ: Yeah, I completely understand. I also think there’s somehow — even though we're living in the 21st century, there’s in a way, more misogyny than ever in fragrance.  AR: It’s funny because I feel like even at my job I get a lot of customers who come in saying “I want to smell like a man” or they usually say something like “I want more of a cologne than a perfume.” And it’s an inside joke I have with my coworkers, that 9 times out of 10 they end up being really drawn to something like Do Son, or a similar white floral fragrance, and their perceptions of what they wanted were actually way different than what they ended up liking. So usually when they say that to me, I think it means they want something that’s unconventional, or that doesn’t smell like that very specific type of rose-musk-aldehydes floral, but I love smelling unapologetically feminine. I don’t get it.  MZ: And that’s interesting, I found that to be the case as well when I worked at Annick Goutal. Plus Do Son is just sort of a reiteration of Fracas, so people come in wanting something edgy and masculine and walk out with Do Son, it's funny. But I’ve found you’re right, we really don’t know what we want a lot of the time when we’re shopping for fragrance. I guess that’s half the fun of it. AR: One last question, I’ve loved getting to see pictures of you and your new dog Gogo - you’re so adorable together. If he could wear perfume, what type of scent do you think he would choose?  MZ : Oh my god. Gogo is freaky. I think Gogo would wear something really animalic, because he’s honestly really into poop. I think he would wear something like Oud by Tom Ford, he can’t resist those fecal notes.  AR: Is it just like smelling other dogs’ at a park, or is it his own? MZ: All of it. But he’s a puppy, so I guess this is something puppies are into I’m learning.   AR: He’s just curious about the world I guess! MZ: So, so curious.  🌀 Audrey Robinovitz is a multidisciplinary artist, scholar, and self-professed perfume critic. Her work intersects with the continued traditions of fiber and olfactory arts, post-structural feminism, and media studies. At this very moment, she is most likely either smelling perfume or taking pictures of flowers.

Thoughts on the eternal Creative Director shuffle, a cargo pants redux, and a sale at Réalisation Par. Welcome to The HALO Report — HALOSCOPE’s new weekly digest, an of-the-moment mix of news items, opinion pieces, and sale announcements designed to keep you posted on the nitty-gritty of the fashion world and all of its tangents without having to keep a constant eye on your feed.  This week, EVERYTHING is changing in the Creative Director roster, cargo pants are paid their dues, iconic New Yorkers give their fragrance recs, summer lines for both max- and minimalists finally reveal themselves to early bird customers, a few incredible apothecary-style sales are on, and more. The latest long-ish reads from the brightest minds in fashion. For Back Row , Amy Odell writes “ The Biggest Wins and Fails from Fashion Month ,” documenting and deliberating upon the directorial debuts, disasters, and Doechii appearances that defined the FW25 season.  “ Addressed: How to Style Cargo Pants ” by Laia Garcia-Furtado for Vogue  is an educational trip through runway references, referencing Nicolas Ghesquiere’s 2002 Balenciaga trousers as well as the recent Coperni “cargo tights” and many more sartorial coups in advising us, with a whimsical sensibility, how best to style the spring staple.  Totally Recommend shares “ I Spent $13,275 Trying to Buy Hope ,” detailing a score of “wellness”-coded purchases from facial acupuncture to Goop shampoo that did little but drain her bank account and fill her with shame. A great prophylactic as we enter possibly the most beauty-pushing season of the year and the words “bikini body” threaten us from every newsstand once again.  The iconic fashion journalist featured in “ Selleb Spotlight: Avery Trufelman (Articles of Interest Podcast) ” shares some of her latest purchases, introducing us to a handful of niche designers and homeware artisans who adorn her and her Brooklyn brownstone.    The Dry Down Diaries by Christina Loff is one of the best fragrance publications currently in “print,” and “ Perfume recs from New Yorkers vol. 2 ” delivers on that claim, polling personalities such as Batsheva Hay and Liana Satenstein on their scents du jour, from Marissa Zappas to Amouage to Brazilian body oils. What to keep in mind — and look forward to — in the past and coming weeks. As was foreshadowed all season, Jonathan Anderson is leaving Loewe, likely headed to replace Maria Grazia Chiuri at Dior—a New York Times article  on the switch-up rightfully criticizes the fantasy football-esque fixation upon Creative Director shuffles that dampens the impact of news like this, as it’s hardly coming without months and months of warning. Anderson’s complete resuscitation of the Spanish label will live on everywhere from the runways to TheRealReal’s meme-y social media campaigns , and whoever lines up to take over at Loewe will have unfathomably large shoes to fill.  We invoked the name of Demna too casually last week , and look what we’ve done… The designer known for his superfluously provocative campaigns, streetwear cribbing from the stylings of marginalized communities, and hype-y focus on merchandise as opposed to couture is going to Gucci. The brand has been flailing since Alessandro Michele’s departure in 2022, so this chaotic appointment  seems fitting for a label with little to lose.  Get early access to Siedres’ SS25 , a collection full of muted tones in preppy, Challengers -adjacent sporty stylings butting up against romantic lacy numbers in the bohemian harmonies that will define this summer’s fashion M.O. Remember, “boho” is just a sloppy conception of romance plus prep, and when it’s boiled down to those components, it seems a lot more appealing than imagining a beleaguered Coachella 2009 attendee’s wardrobe.  For more minimalist warm-weather dressers, early access is also available to the latest drop from Studio Nicholson —no other brand, even Lemaire or Totême, is doing summer like this label. At the link, you’ll find crisp short suits, roomy barrel-legged trousers, and more put-together but louche spring/summer basics with which to create a compelling wardrobe.  Sign up to be among the first to shop the Nanushka x Asics Sportstyle collab , a union that promises a few colorways of gorgeous, slightly perverse lacy trainers that combine the highs and lows of Eastern European aesthetics into one fetish-inspiring pair of shoes.  Less about impulse buys — and more about tracking discounts on the pieces already on your wishlist.  It is time for the Clyde Spring Archive Sale , and this year’s is full of woven hats, fingerless leather gloves, and tons more unique but utilitarian statement accessories that will define your wardrobe each season.  Like a modern-day apothecary, Kindred Black offers a sale  on the styles of glass bottles it is phasing out, filling them with anointing oils made of chamomile, neroli, and other plants with nurturing and soothing properties.  Jorum Studio celebrates National Fragrance Week  until March 23 with a 15% discount on its entire site of scents using NFW2025—I highly  recommend trying one of the Scottish brand’s delightful discovery sets full of herbal, cozy, emotional perfumes before buying a full bottle, though I had to go for one of “Unspoken Gesture,” a moving melange of cardamom, hazelnut and fig, unlike anything I’d ever smelled before.  Use HONEY to take 20% off everything at Réalisation Par —if there were ever a place to find a sundress, this would be it (and doesn’t this polka dot number  look like that discontinued Saks Potts dress everyone was in a tizzy about two years ago?). Take a sweet 50% off tons of Bally clothes and accessories  exclusive to its online store, including plenty of leather boots, belts, and bags that transcend season and will look as fresh in a few years as they do now.   🌀 Em Seely-Katz is the creator of the fashion blog Esque, the News Editor of HALOSCOPE, and a writer, stylist, and anime-watcher about town. You can usually find them writing copy for niche perfume houses or making awful collages at @that.esque on Instagram.

Kim Kardashian’s new “ultimate butt” shapewear promises the perfect body – by covering your real body in foam and nylon. But when did we take the “sex” out of "sexy"? Buying lingerie is an incredibly surreal pursuit. Silk, satin, cotton, or lace: the materials you slip between your skin and the world can act as thresholds, becoming invitations to touch and to feeling. Wearing only lingerie is an essentially liminal state, between dressed and undressed, between putting something on and taking it off. It all disappears in a slippery moment: the slick of red, the sheen of scent, the fall of material to the floor. In the rich territory of those few seconds, all manner of fantasies and desires come to fruit.  But not all lingerie is made to be taken off. In a recent video for Skims,  her billion-dollar shapewear brand, Kim Kardashian announced the new  “ultimate butt” range, which launched in time for Valentine’s Day. “Our Ultimate butt-enhancing solutions will magically make your dream butt appear (no squats required),” reads the marketing copy. In the clip, Kardashian appears as a fairy godmother to a thin, white model, who asks her: “Can’t there just be one thing in life that’s easy?”. Kardashian waves her wand. The model magically gains her dream ass and breasts. “With Skims’ new shapewear, you can get a butt, boob, and curves immediately,” she says. The model is ecstatic, running her hands over her new body (it’s unclear to me which of these words should be in quotation marks – “her”? “new”? “body”?).  This is not the first time Kardashian’s brand has used the word “ultimate”. Tonally, the teaser video is almost an exact replica of the clip Skims released last year for their “ultimate nipple” bra , which featured fake nipples made out of foam “for a perky, braless look that makes a bold statement”. But what is that bold statement? What are these new nipples, this new ass, for ?  James Baldwin  wrote that sensuality is about presence. “To be sensual, I think, is to respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does.” In shapewear, the body becomes something more like an absent  presence: the foam nipple or the tight spandex negates the flesh, even as it recreates it. In the comments of the “ultimate butt” teaser on Skims’ Instagram, men are asking nauseating questions like: “what happens when she takes her clothes off?”. And I can’t help but wonder the same thing – not because shapewear is a devious feminine scam, but because actually taking your clothes off is so clearly not  the point of shapewear. What I find so bizarre and arresting about Kardashian’s mass-produced foam body parts is that they are not remotely about sex. They’re for looking, not feeling. If they are the “ultimate” anything, they are the ultimate denial of the flesh, a modern chastity belt which, like an iron girdle, mimics the shape of the body parts it locks away. Sensuality cannot exist in this lifeless world: imagine kissing a nipple made of nylon and elastane.  In creating Skims, Kim Kardashian has transferred the impulse to suck in your stomach when you’re having sex (an act proven to obstruct orgasm) into a material object. In her world, you don’t “free the nipple”. You create, instead, the Platonic ideal of a nipple. Shapewear makes sense for Kim. She has long operated within the idea that sexiness is about restriction: clothing as enclosure, flesh as mouldable. Her relationship to the body is something that has been played out on the world stage since her sex tape was leaked in 2007. Three years ago, she shrank herself to fit into Marilyn Monroe’s dress  at the Met Gala; ten years ago, her ass was breaking the internet  on the cover of PAPER Magazine. At this year’s Grammys, her ex-husband was parading the naked body of his (now ex-)wife on the red carpet – which prompted tabloids to remind us that it wasn’t so long ago that he was telling Kardashian that her ‘naked’ Thierry Mugler dress was “too sexy”.  I cannot imagine what it is like to be Kim Kardashian, but I know that she is absolutely true to the ideals she sells. She starves her body to fit into a dead woman’s dress. She takes measures more painful and more permanent than a bra or a pair of leggings, which after all, can be slipped on or off. She has built an entire empire upon a very specific view of what it means to have a body.  The uninterrupted success of Skims, which has continued to rise all the way through the body-positive era and into the post-Ozempic age, speaks to the fact that this view of the body is our most culturally pervasive attitude. At Donald Trump’s presidential inauguration in January, Melania Trump wore a  stiff broad-brimmed boater hat  by Eric Javits, which some commentators on the left suggested was a kind of self-imposed chastity belt, intended to prevent Melania’s husband from kissing her. Kardashian posted the ‘look’ on her Instagram story. I was not surprised that Kim liked Melania's hat. These women share, above all, a body politic: the female form, in public, must always be circumscribed, moulded, exact. There is nothing new about this attitude: in The Female Nude , Lynda Nead writes that “the female body has [always] been regarded as unformed, undifferentiated matter” where “the procedures and conventions of high art are one way of controlling this unruly body and placing it within the securing boundaries of aesthetic discourse.”  With its origins in whalebone corsets and heavy bustles, modern shapewear is another.  Trace back Skims’ changing marketing strategy, and you’d have a perfect timeline of our bodily attitudes in the last ten years. In a 2014 interview , Kardashian said: “I grew up when the body to have was the tall, slim, supermodel one, like Cindy Crawford’s. No one looked like me. It’s good to break the mold and recreate one." Her choice of words predates, but also predicts, Skims, a brand which once used the language of body positivity, but now vehemently states that not only is this the new mould – it is the “ultimate” one. A few years ago, Kardashian told Vogue that Skims is “the comfiest underwear that perfectly moulds to your body”. But in a world where people are injecting their stomachs to repress their appetites, no one talks about comfort anymore. It’s not a coincidence that Skims has chosen this moment to launch its “ultimate” collection: as more and more people take Ozempic and lose weight, they’re also losing their asses and breasts. Now, you can choose where you want fat to appear on your body, and peel it off just as easily as you slipped it on. With the “ultimate” range, it’s clear that it is your  body that must perfectly mould to  Skims, not the other way around. Skims’ “ultimate” shapewear and Ozempic are perfect, gleaming bedmates. Patients taking Ozempic report that they are not just uninterested in eating: they’re no longer going out and staying late, no longer drinking or dancing or smoking. They’re also losing their sex drives, partly because the drug interacts with dopamine receptors, and partly because it can cause hormone imbalances. Just as shapewear curtails and tightens soft flesh into submission, Ozempic works by creating an endless sense of fullness, of completeness. Its success stems from the idea that a thin body is the only desirable body. And yet: it is the drug that kills desire. The “ultimate butt” and the “ultimate nipples” demand the highest standard of bodily perfection. And yet: it is the body that resists pleasure.  But lingerie has so much potential as a source of erotic creation, sensual dreaming. I’ve never liked Kim’s takes on the ‘naked dress’ – the Mugler, the Marilyn. In the first, she couldn’t breathe; in the second, she couldn’t eat. Package your body tightly enough, and you are free from ever feeling anything at all, including pleasure. My favourite ‘naked dress’ is created in Atonement , when Keira Knightley emerges from the pond in a slip the colour of her skin, clinging to her dripping body.  The wet dress – and the way that, after she leaves, James MacAvoy caresses, reverently, the water which once held her body – are more intensely erotic than any nudity or bodily contact. The electric charge of the scene is that the clothes and gestures invite  the body, rather than deny its existence. Simone de Beauvoir  wrote about feminine fashion as something that “disguises, deforms, or moulds the body,” and which “in any case… delivers it to view”. But in this moment, flesh becomes visible, unformed, unmoulded, and claims a physical presence in the world, opening the self to a subjective experience of pleasure.  Because flesh moves . When bodies come together, there are folds and dips and ripples. And desire is hungry. This movement and this hunger, the way they root you in your body and in the moment, are the driving narrative forces of sex. Baldwin writes that “something very sinister happens to the people of a country when they begin to distrust their own reactions as deeply as they do here, and become as joyless as they have become.” It has been pointed out multiple times that Kardashian’s empire is built upon a construction of whiteness which borrows parts of Black female bodies without ever centering them as subjective entities. There is something inherently numbing in this process: Baldwin connects the resulting attitudes specifically to the emotional state of white Americans. To reject sensuality, he points out, is to prevent empathy.  The failure of Skims to create anything remotely sexy is made more apparent by the ways in which lingerie can not only enhance, but actually create opportunities for truly embodied fantasies, dreams, passions. bell hooks begins her essay on “ Women Artists: The Creative Process”  with an image of herself as “a girl who dreams of leisure… a girl for fibres”, “stretched out, wearing silks, satins, and cashmeres”, “adorned… for the awesome task of just lingering, spending uninterrupted time with my thoughts, dreams, and intense yearnings”. In her language, hooks reminds me of the connections, not etymological but emotional, between “lingerie” and “lingering” and “leisure”.  She’s talking about the artistic process, but sex is also – or should be – a creative act. It requires presence – in the moment and in your body. You can’t have sex in your Skims, not because you are literally clothed, but because shapewear rewrites your body language, removing you from the narrative of your own sensual experience.  When Kim waves her wand, we’re meant to imagine that she is granting a wish. But her only magic is in removing, denying, circumscribing. What I want, what I am seeking out, is not lingerie as a disappearing act, but as a conjuring. A creative ritual, a manifestation of your desires. The best lingerie should feel like spraying perfume in the places you wish to be kissed.  🌀 Ismene Ormonde is a culture writer and essayist based in London, with words in The Guardian, Observer, Byline, amongst others. She writes about   the pursuit of pleasure on her Substack .

Esther Hong, NYC-based jewelry designer and Petricore creator, talks found objects, cyborg feminism, and the self-delusion of being an artist. I meet up with Esther Hong in cyberspace, our conversation about her experimental jewelry brand, Petricore , aptly mediated by screens. Esther is fresh out of the shower when I catch up with her from her parents’ home in Houston, Texas. She is sporting her choppy black hair — cut high across her forehead — narrow, frameless glasses, and an air of unaffected coolness.  Esther has returned home to the Lone Star State from her Bushwick apartment and nearby art studio after a recent manic episode led to a brief stay in a psych ward. This break from her whirlwind artist’s life in the city has given her the chance to reflect on her creative path, the inspiration behind her designs, and the consequences of building a career online — reflections she shares with perfect candor, wisdom, and reverence for the power of art.  Petricore was launched in 2019, in what Esther refers to as a lockdown-inspired act of desperation. The experimental artisan jewelry brand quickly shifted toward cyber aesthetics and found objects. Across the Petricore archive, you’ll find circuit boards on necks, watches strung together across waists, and iPod Shuffles clipped to locks of hair. You’ll also find recognizable faces like influencer TinyJewishGirl, IMG Worldwide model Luke Clod, and actress/writer Ariela Barer. In 2024, Esther rebranded as Petri core and joined Studio 103, a collaborative artists’ studio in Brooklyn featuring textile, jewelry, and accessory designs.  Originally Petri chor , a term for the smell after rain, the nascent branding reveals its early inclinations: flower charms and beads awash in vibrant VSCO-filtered light. An olfactory term might seem misplaced for a jewelry brand, but Petricore is much more than mere accessory: Multisensorial, multifunctional, and now, multifactorial. Petricore’s newest endeavor, dubbed the “Modular Collection,” offers sleek, silver designs that snake around the body and writhe with adjustable drawstring stoppers. The pieces, which can be mixed and matched in interaction with each other, lend a cyborgian effect to the wearer as the silver cords seem almost like wires connecting one’s various circuit boards.  The new Petricore merges its two components seamlessly, with the organic and the artificial playing out in perfect harmony. Esther describes her newest collection of silver hardware as “inspired by the form of dew drops:” symbols for the digitization of nature. Petricore, in my estimation, plays within the gaps and exposures of the postmodern. It is interested in playing with the identities offered by the digital world; Petricore wearers are Manic Pixie Dream Girls, cyborgs, TikTok dominatrixes, femcels, and artificial influencers like Lil Miquela. Petricore’s designs define adaptability as the transgression of boundaries, and the identity of Petricore wearers is as unstable as the pieces themselves.  Brandi Martin: Can you describe the evolution of Petricore?  Esther Hong: It started when I was looking for a job during COVID and no one would hire me. I was just stuck in my room, stuck with my family, just looking for a way to make something work and make something beautiful. It was during the Y2K trend when everyone was making friendship bracelets and kitschy things, and it hit for all of us for some reason. I was looking at this one account called @uglyaccessories that styled Beabadoobee in friendship bracelets. I was like, “Oh, my God, I can fucking do that. Like, why can't I fucking do that? Why can't I be the one styling Beabadoobee?” And so I went to Hobby Lobby, and I found the exact same little beads, and I started making them myself, and just by the generosity of my friends, sold them on my Instagram story. After that, I started experimenting with clay and all these different mediums.  It was basically a huge ongoing project of “Can I do this? Oh, I can. Can I do all the things I see online? Yes, I can.” I was just proving myself right over and over again, and also ripping artists off over and over again [laughs] but adding my own twist to things. I eventually revealed to myself that I had a creative style that was unique. Now it's a completely different thing, where I'm experimenting with modularity in terms of stainless steel and the most resilient materials. And it's completely unique. I don't see anyone else doing anything like it. So it makes me so proud that the love child that was the internet and my friends, and people believing in me, in other people, in art that is kind of derivative but not, ended up making something that is actually original.  BM: What have been your big milestones with Petricore?  EH: Definitely TinyJewishGirl. Ariela Barer posted this photo wearing her piece with Tegan and Sara and I was like “Oh my God. I can die now.” I met Quelle Chris at a concert venue I worked at in college. He’s this rapper I’ve admired for a really long time. I offered to send him a promo piece and we became mutuals.  Once stylists and influencers saw me as legitimate after my clock era and into my circuit board era, that was huge. That was the defining moment that made me believe Petricore could really be something. People were finding me left and right. The algorithm finally swept me in and I was becoming explore page material. Someone posted my work on a style blog Instagram and it was like “Woah,” because I was that girl, and now that girl is using me as inspiration.  The biggest milestone I’ve had was making my modular pieces, which helped me enter into a phase of real sophistication with my art. It went from kitsch to architecture.  Oh, and getting my Shopify domain was really big. That shit is expensive.  BM: Why jewelry?  EH: I am just truly, seriously an impatient person. With fabrics, I can't even think about sizing variations and I don't want to. I don't want to have to discriminate for the sake of efficiency. It seems way too complicated — the body and its form as a template. That's too much for me to even think about, let alone making [sic]  sure each stitch is perfect. If I were to make clothes, it would be very conceptual, and it might only be for my body because I can't think of every other body. Jewelry makes it so that you can adorn any body, any gender, any spectrum. It's so accessible, and that’s what makes it beautiful. BM: You’ve sourced vintage watches, lockets, charms, iPods, and circuit boards for your past work. Can you speak about recontextualizing and giving new life to these items? EH: Recontextualizing is my practice of love, renewal, and rebirth. When I started this jewelry project at home during COVID, I could not really source too much, and I wasn't even really thinking about sustainability or zero-waste to start with. It was as simple as “watches would look so cool on the neck.” I was being vain and being poor at the same time and that led to making things that were truly beautiful in a completely different way. I feel like I want to be such a rebel child, but I am so soft. So my way of rebelling, the biggest way that I could think of in the confines of my budget and who I was as a person, was putting lockets right next to a watch or putting pearls right next to Cuban chains. It just unlocked a whole new power for me to take just about anything and imagine something completely brand-new.  It’s funny, too — when I first started and I didn’t have much capital I was stealing so much from Hobby Lobby. I was like “I hate being here in Texas, I hate this Protestant-owned company, I hate what they do against gay people. I’m just gonna rebel against it by stealing and then creating something gay.”  BM: Recently you’ve transitioned to your “modular” pieces. Why is this where you’ve shifted your creative energies?  EH: The idea just dawned on me when I was in a rush to have something new to show for my studio opening. There was no pre-planning, no vision board, no eureka moment. I was just playing with snake chains and magnetic clasps and drawstring beads I ordered. I ordered them all in bulk because I had this vision of wet, slippery metal, and the more I played with it, the more I was like, this could be wet and slippery all the time; it could be wet and slippery in between people. And then I made modular pieces. I love the concept of them because it allows anyone to play with jewelry as something that is not so dainty but is also very strong, and very mathematical.  BM: If I may draw upon our interest in Donna Haraway, these pieces feel like a manifestation of cyborg feminism: a dissolution of jewelry taxonomies; in active interplay with the body; a continuation of Petricore’s cyber aesthetics.  I'm literally screaming. You're talking to me and I'm talking to you. Now that you're telling me Donna Haraway I'm freaking out because — I'm gonna get personal now — I don't know what it is about our friendship that has carried me through so much of my life without you even being present. I'm so impatient I can't read Donna Haraway, but I hold on to the titles and the tidbits that you say, and I'm sure that I use them in my art.  BM: I’m the theory, you're the practice.  EH: No, it's so crazy. So what this is reminding me of is that in anything I make the general themes that I want to embody is the delicate balance of soft and hard — and now with the modular collection, balancing use, function, form, fit and style all in one, which I think Japanese people do really well with all of their design. Good design being a piece that fits into your life, in its philosophy as well as its use case, as well as it just simply being so beautiful — which is a fucking woman. BM: Oh my god yes.  EH: It's just a pregnant woman.  BM: So when you’re balancing all these disparate themes and ways of being, how do you conceptualize the life force of your art? Are you the agent, or are the materials? EH: I'm such a messy person. I mean, I just exploded into mania. When I do Petricore, it's truly a feeling of such deep catharsis for me, because I literally have no idea what I am doing at any point in time — which is why I'm so confused when people say they like it because I feel like it's a scam. I feel like a scam artist sometimes, even though I'm literally making art and I'm pricing it fairly and I deliver. It’s just a ball of confusion for me.  I do everything backward. I buy so many pieces in bulk, and I spend a lot of money on them, just so that I can be in debt and then have as much time and space as I need to make something beautiful that I know will happen. It's this delusional faith in knowing that the art will come out, because it has come out time and time again, and people have loved it time and time again. And that's why I feel like it’s a scam, I guess, because I do it backward, but I'm scamming myself into believing that I'll be a good artist, and so I turned into a good artist.  BM: I think you might have landed upon the only way to be an artist.  EH: Yeah. Now I want to get into painting after I had my big break [laughs] well, breakdown. I just want to be a painter now. I do want to do Petricore but I have it figured out, and it's easy for me to do now. It seems like a cycle of just doing because I locked into something, a medium that feels original and beautiful in all facets of good design — and so I don't have to “think” about Petricore anymore. It has its own self-revolving diametric of play and work. But I miss discovering things, I miss the chase, and now I think that will have to happen with painting or drawing.  BM: What is it like to experience your career (and life) online and has it informed your work? EH: It seriously has. I had my psychotic break online which is a really big and funny moment for me because I was like “Oh my God, I cut my hair like Lane from Serial Experiments Lane. Am I God?” Everything felt like a metaphor upon itself, upon itself, which was me. And that is real, if you want to think about it that way. Your phone could be so real, especially because I started Petricore online. Everything I did that helped me become myself was online so I had a really hard time separating myself from my phone.  I saw myself in everything and it's too easy to do that. But now that I'm out of that moment, I still think it's miraculous, the ability to be with the world on such a grand scale, to create art at such a grand scale, to discover art and exchange goods at such a grand scale. I wouldn't be an artist without my phone, and I wouldn't be an artist without Instagram, but I am an artist at heart and in soul. I think it's going to be a lifelong journey of knowing and trusting that it's in my body and not on my phone.  BM: Phone is just a tool.  EH: Phone need not be pregnant woman. BM: You’re the pregnant woman. The phone is just the sonogram.  EH: Oh my god yes.  BM: How and why did you come to work in a studio?  EH: I found a group of people who all had a greater vision for their work. We were all chasing different things, but together made a truly precious space to create. My life circumstances aren’t compatible to keep up with it, but while it worked it helped me really solidify what Petricore could be.  The stability of being able to clock into a space and make things is so important for anyone. When I first got it, I remember going there and taking the time to organize all of my little bits, all of my used pieces that I hauled over from Texas. They’re still sitting there in their tiny little boxes since I’ve yet to do much with my old upcycling practice because I had the time and space to create a new idea while keeping all my little found treasures near and organized. That did so much for my headspace; It did so much for my confidence. I wasn't just a college student, splaying out everything I ever owned on the floor and trying to see things from it. I think every artist really deserves to have a consistent space like that. Murakami said something about being consistent, but I don't like him.  BM: Actually, I think Esther Hong said that.  EH: Yeah, fuck him.  BM: What advice do you have for pursuing a creative career?  EH: Being with friends, connecting with friends. Friends are the best thing for any creative. I feel like the state of play is really hard to access as a creative in this world, and it feels like delusion, because the world is really fast and hard and rough, and to be an artist is a very crazy thing to do technically.  Every epiphany I've had that has helped me create something real has come from conversation and just being in awe of another person's mind, even though it has nothing to do with me. Like us, when we would just talk about girlhood, literature, fashion, secrets — that led to thinking about beautiful things, which led to searching for something like that in my life…butterfly effect.  It has such a magnificent impact on creatives because that's their own working mind they don't share with other people. The more you talk, the more you realize truths for yourself, and the more real your art gets, and then one day, it comes out in something beautiful.  BM: Where is Petricore going next?  EH: Oh my God, I don't know. I have many ideas. One of them is building a modular system that interconnects seamlessly with each other. So I can see how this bracelet can make two earrings, or how a belt can be broken into two necklaces. Create a diagram or an ever-growing database that allows you to see which piece can connect with which to give wearers unlimited agency to modulate their own wear and use function, every time. Basically arithmetizing my pieces so that I can add a whole new layer to the accessibility feature, where it could be like a game that you play or items to collect to make something big.  For more information about Petricore, including upcoming drops or custom orders, please visit their Instagram .   🌀 Brandi Martin is a writer, artist, and self-professed femcel scholar. Her work often covers post-structural feminism, monstrosity in the horror genre, and aesthetics.

The New York designer talks about the inspiration behind his FW25 collection. Does anyone know color better than Colin LoCascio ? You'd be hard-pressed — especially this season — to find anyone with the temerity and taste necessary to embrace such vibrance. Hailing from Queens, the 31-year-old designer cut his teeth at RISD, then became a 2023 finalist for the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund prize after establishing his namesake brand. LoCascio's ascendancy comes at a time when American design finds itself at a crossroads — NYFW, both across the Fall/Winter and Spring/Summer seasons, followed an unusually sparse calendar, and rising tariffs now push designers' sales and craftsmanship trajectories. It's easy to feel embittered by this tension, but designers like LoCascio understand a fundamental truth this season: hope is the thing with feathers. This interview has been edited for length and clarity. Savannah Eden Bradley: Your Fall/Winter 2025 collection seems to mark a new chapter for the brand — both in terms of craftsmanship and personal evolution. How did your time in the CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund shape your approach to this collection? Colin LoCascio: Being a part of the CVFF was such a transformative experience. During the fund, you are constantly meeting industry insiders and pitching your brand- — what makes it special, what makes it different, and ultimately why they should choose you. That process really allowed me to identify my brand and what I stand for. I looked back at the last 5 years of collections and used that as the building blocks of the new collection. I identified key elements from my collection and doubled down on those. SEB: You note Van Gogh’s “Yellow House” period as an influence, a time marked by change, optimism, and intense artistic experimentation. How did these themes manifest in your design process, both aesthetically and emotionally? CL: I was really inspired by the color palette that Van Gogh worked with in that era. The sentiment of starting anew and going in a new direction [with ]the work he created at the time echoed the sentiment of my collection. "Over the last few years, we’ve built a visual vocabulary and language for the brand, and now it’s just about evolving and elevating." SEB:  Your signature florals have transformed into tactile, sculptural elements this season, appearing in both hand-embroidered and 3D-printed forms. What excites you most about this interplay between centuries-old techniques and futuristic fabrication? CL: I wanted to explore new materials and new ways to imagine my signature flowers. 3D printing was always something I wanted to explore, and this collection felt like the best time to do it! I really liked the idea of rooting the world of technology and 3D printing in more historical mediums like hand embroidery and hand dyeing. SEB:  Moreover: handwork — dyeing, embellishing, crochet — plays a major role in this collection. What draws you to these intimate, labor-intensive techniques, and how do you see them coexisting with the more digital aspects of fashion’s future? CL: I think the artistry in fashion [lies] in the pattern-making, the artistry of the handwork and finishings. Our customer loves to see some “hand” in the work we develop. I love being able to collaborate and work with centuries-old techniques and people whose skills are passed down [from] generation to generation. SEB:  Your early work was known for its print-heavy mesh designs, but this collection moves toward intricate, highly crafted pieces that have even appeared on major red carpets. How do you see your brand identity evolving while staying true to its core DNA? CL: Over the last few years, we’ve built a visual vocabulary and language for the brand, and now it’s just about evolving and elevating. Our brand is founded and rooted on the love of color and texture and the idea that fashion can be a means of self-care and self-expression. Our customer base is older than when we first launched, and she’s looking for new things from us. SEB:  Fashion is in an ongoing dialogue with technology, but there’s often a tension between the digital and the handmade. In your view, what is the future of fashion craftsmanship, and how do you see your work pushing that conversation forward? CL: I think the future of fashion is about embracing both aspects of digital and the handmade — finding new ways of incorporating centuries-long techniques in new and fresh ways. I think the future of craftsmanship is [in] utilizing technology and various mediums to further world-build within your collection. You may view the entire Colin LoCascio FW25 collection here . 🌀 Savannah Eden Bradley  is a writer, fashion editor, gallerina, Gnostic scholar, reformed It Girl, and future beautiful ghost from the Carolina coast. She is the Editor-in-Chief of the fashion magazine HALOSCOPE. You can stalk her everywhere online @savbrads.

A glimpse into the forgotten Gen X Soft Club aesthetic. Being nostalgic for a future that will never exist is nothing new; Gen Xers did it first — but only after fantasizing about it. Sure, we now know that technology is only going to get worse until it gets better; the internet is growing increasingly hostile, AI is slowly but surely hunting all of its corners, and it has been hard to avoid digital doomerism ever since the years began to start with the number 2. There was, however, a small window of time during which these technological changes, as fast as they were being developed, brought not only hope but a joyous portrait of the future.  And thus, from the brief period between c. 1997 and 2002, the Gen X Soft Club aesthetic lived. Coined by Sloane A. Hilton , Gen X Soft Club originated in a time marked by huge and hasty technological development that was responsible for many of the hopes and fears of these years. This was the time when the Internet was taking its first steps as a commercial vehicle and physical distance was becoming less of a nuisance in communications. Technological advancements were making the future seem bright and exciting; surfing the internet became a way of exploration, as if it were uncharted waters. The digital world was new and huge, and everyone was curious about it. All of this, together with the advances and marketability of quick and easy ways of communicating with each other (think of the “novelty of texting”), created highly abstract spaces and digital landscapes that are reflected in the art and overall aesthetic of these years. And, just as the ‘80s found its way of projecting a fictional future in flying cars and spaceships, Gen X’s future came in the shape of shifting, blurry cities painted in artificial colors and in vast and alien spaces such as the ocean or the space that aimed to mirror the artificiality and otherness of this newly discovered digital world. All of this is better understood by picturing one of the most representative shapes of the era: the Blobject , a design style defined by the lack of sharp edges and the presence of bright colors, and is known for being the hallmark of this era’s technology. Designers such as Ross Lovegrove  and Karim Rashid  were some of its pioneers, working closely with these futuristic, organic shapes. In Charles Reeve ’s exhibition catalog  for Karim Rashid’s From 15 Minutes into the Future (2007), the blobject  is mentioned in relation to the artist’s curiosity and hope for the future, reversing the, at times, terrifying expectations of previous generations regarding technological advancements. Recent references to this iconic shape include viral moments like Coperni’s Glass Mini Swipe  or Diesel’s Play bag ; although not in the same spirit, these models are clear examples of the functionality of the shape — even though back then the blob was the embodiment of unfulfilled potential, a shape adjustable enough to hold the infinite possibilities imagined back then. The irregular, fluctuating roundness of the blob mirrored living organisms and cells, and yet it made the digital world feel alien and artificial instead of fully alive. Sea motives, drops of water, silver, and transparent/translucent textures were ever-present, alluding to the growing fluidity of time and space technology was enabling. Contemporary music videos, such as George Michael’s Fastlove  (1996)  or O-Town’s Liquid Dreams  (2000) , made use of these motives, and artists such as Aaliyah,   Janet Jackson , and Hype Williams  were part of the creators that forged this aesthetic that heavily relied on its inherent coolness, metallic textures, and real or imaginary technology. Imaginary internet spaces trickled down to architecture and design; the digital became the physical by force of using plastic materials, artificial colors, and round interiors, finding inspiration in either the retro-futuristic design of the ‘70s or the radical, bluish minimalism of spaces like waiting rooms or laboratories.  This digital, modern spirit was all mirrored in the fashion and styling of the time: the ‘90s minimalism that we all know and love, although still somehow present in the depurated lines and use of cold neutrals, shifted towards a more metallic and futuristic palette and a style that drew a lot of its elements from the UK and Japan’s club scene and contemporary hip hop fusion. This mix of minimalism and utilitarianism was seen in the presence of tube tops and clean lines, in the voracious attempts to make clothes look shiny and artificial by using polyester, mesh, and nylon, and in the ethereal makeup colors that often worked with white/silvery eyeshadows, cold shades, and shiny lip glosses.  “Statistically,” fashion photographer Sarah Moon   stated , “it's a fact that every decade or so, a bubble bursts on the scene.” The novelty of image accessibility was both an overwhelming burden and a photogenic dream; consumers were bombarded with images of objects they could access but could not have at the same time. In many ways, they were the first ones to translate digital sensibilities into the real world through images. The heavy reliance on abstract environments and online artificiality made it hard to recreate; however, it was slow in a world that was getting faster by the second. The social issues that go into the bursting of a bubble may vary, but its fabric is the same — in chasing novelty, fashion always meets its limitations, and, as the recession hit, the social spirit shifted towards evasion rather than optimism, leaving way to what we now call the Y2K aesthetic.  At its very core, Gen X Soft Club did not just address the new contemporary digital reality in which Gen Xers lived; it also translated digital landscapes to metaphors, tying together the new technological reality that came from the expansion of cyberspace. The newly developed digital landscape came with a deep sense of displacement: "If not here, then everywhere else,” it seemed to scream. Privacy suddenly dissipated, and in its place appeared a world in which being a voyeur into someone else’s life was the norm. This new fear of voyeurism and promiscuity is seen in MVs such as  Jennifer Lopez’s “If You Had My Love” (1999),  in which a woman’s life was completely accessible via livestream (this fear was later on embraced, giving birth to reality TV…). Some of these issues feel eerily contemporary; instead of solving the problem, time would only aggravate it. As Gen X’s future catches up on us, are we revisiting its futuristic optimism, or have the remnants of this aesthetic taken on a new meaning in today’s digital world? The promised digital land has already been explored, and the new technological reality is not looking that good. We now find ourselves in a sort of neo-retrofuturistic  idealism that can be seen in a lot of the designs, colors, photographs and materials used in contemporary fashion and art: from Pat McGrath’s glossy, synthetic Glass Skin for Margiela to the rediscovery of old tech and their design (such as Coperni’s bag/CD player or the iPod Nano/hair clips), Soft Club’s projected future is being simultaneously projected onto ours.  Our way of keeping up with the future is, however, subtle and slow. As the fear of technological advances and of being under a constant state of surveillance impregnates our social fabric once again, we find ourselves yearning for a time in which the Internet was a place of easy exploration and fun. There have been subtle attempts at rekindling this spirit by repurposing technology (the mentioned iPod Nanos as hair clips, wires as hair ties, used fish nets as t-shirts…), resurrecting the hazy portrayal of urban life, mixing terrestrial and alien looks, or reintroducing club music to the mainstream. New anti-surveillance spirit is often seen but rarely explicitly experienced: high-fashion moments like LOEWE’s SS25 feather masks , brands like OHMNI (self-described as the “ last frontier at preserving your privacy, autonomy, and rights over your body and your data ”), MVs such as Amaia’s “M.A.P.S"  or album concepts such as Oklou’s choke enough ;  they all seek to highlight the state of surveillance and the impossibility of keeping up with internet images.  If the fears of these years were unfounded, why are they still present? As we sit and witness AI infiltrate every single aspect of our lives, the alienation of workers in the fashion industry, could we take refuge in an organically artificial  cyber-landscape? By propelling this ultra artificiality, by willing digital landscapes into reality, can we also transform the future of fashion into a more sustainable way of repurposing technological waste? The future certainly points in that direction right now, just as it did back in 1999. And perhaps this bubble will burst, too. In the meantime, the cities should remain blurred. 🌀 Paula Luengo is a freelance writer based in Madrid. Her writing explores subjects that go from music to fashion and media analysis, with a nostalgic eye for the old and battered. Find her on X , on  IG , or anywhere in between.