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

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

The Fashion Police have been defunded. I came of age during the Fashion Police era. So, when I think of fashion criticism, I think of catty presenters on TV tearing apart red carpet looks, “Who Wore it Better?” spreads in Us Weekly, and the idea of dressing for your body type. But these days, the world of fashion criticism looks wildly different. Now everyone is a “Fashion Historian” — not a critic. You’re more likely to see Rian Phin dissecting the History of Margiela on TikTok than you are a Toot or Boot-style video tearing apart an actress’ Rodarte dress. On the surface, this is a positive change. The old ways of doing things often led to, shall we say, problematic moments… Giuliana Rancic on Fashion Police saying that Zendaya’s dreads must’ve “smelled like patchouli and weed,” Karl Lagerfeld writing in his book that "no one wants to see curvy women on the catwalk,” Kim Kardashian being called “Shamu” by tabloids throughout her first pregnancy. We just grew tired of it. We were tired of judging the “success” of a look based on the body wearing it. Eventually, that exhaustion grew strong enough to form the capital-BPM Body Positivity Movement, which turned the fashion industry upside down and shook it out like an old handbag. Soon after, we saw tentpole brands like Victoria’s Secret and Chanel strong-armed into more Body-Posi PR moves to stay relevant. However, the overall shift from catty criticism to this overtly intellectualized consumption of fashion is more than just people eschewing the judgemental, body-shaming nature of the industry. These TikToks and livestreams and YouTube videos reflect a deeper appreciation of fashion than their early-aughts counterparts. They’re appreciating the artistry, the designers, the fantasy — it’s not just surface-level tooting and booting. I spoke with noted stylist to the stars, Timothy Chernyaev, about this development. He had an interesting perspective. He explained that “...people these days want longer, more researched, more informative or at least very unique pieces […] I think magazines want to be contemporary and urgent, but actually, people want to sit and have a moment of thoughtfulness.” Chernyaev continued: “The prices of fashion have also become so inflated over the years […] so when you’re talking to your reader, it’s very hard to be like, “Go buy this!” because we know that’s not exactly realistic, so [fashion history deep dives are] another way to engage with it. It’s another way to talk about and enjoy fashion without being prompted to go buy it.” This points to an interesting evolution over the last couple of years that has run parallel to the way we talk about fashion — and that’s the way we buy fashion. Everything used to be sold out of a magazine: a glossy photo of Kate Moss holding a Balenciaga city bag or Alexa Chung in a Miu Miu bomber. The appeal was a flat image — insert “it girl” + “it product” here, press “publish,” generate “sales revenue.” Continue ad nauseam. But now, customers require a little bit more in-depth justification of an item’s “specialness” before they feel comfortable buying it. I reached out to fashion writer Alexandra Hildreth to pick her brain on the subject. During our conversation, she noted that “...the rise of commentary goes hand in hand with the death of the static influencer. Visuals are out and intellectuals are in. It’s not enough to be aspirational anymore, you have to be dynamic, but most importantly smart (or at least appear to be).” Basically, if you want to be successful in the current fashion climate, you better start cranking out some video essays. This is synonymous with the waning relevancy of the written fashion review. Everything these days is visual, but fashion lovers still have an appetite for in-depth and well-researched thoughts on fashion. Luke Meagher of HauteLeMode said in his Vogue Profile by André-Naquian Wheeler, “There are more eyes on the videos… I think that’s a factor that makes people sit up and look at it. I think with [traditional reviews] — there are maybe one or two thousand people reading [it in] a paper or an article online? It’s very in industry.” Luke Meagher is actually, in my opinion, a modern commentator who is the most representative of the Fashion Critics of Yore. He doesn’t pull punches when reviewing red carpet looks and he has maintained a sense of playfulness that is often lost when people transition towards more serious “historianism.” Because that’s truthfully what’s at stake here: the lightheartedness with which we talk about fashion. While fashion historians offer a more thoughtful approach to the art form, it could be argued that a constantly stiff, pseudo-intellectual interpretation of clothing is what contributes to the “snobby” reputation of its lovers. As Timothy Chernyaev’s Instagram handle reminds us: Relax, It’s only Fashion… Kaitlin Owens is a vintage fashion writer, movie buff, lover of good eats, and a women’s size 7.5 (if any shoe brands are reading). She is the Editor-in-Chief of Dilettante Magazine. You can find her on socials @magdilettante.

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

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

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

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

A Valentine’s Day ode to love, longing, and nostalgic glamour, from production duo Fyodor Shiryaev and Louisa Fulkerson. Photographer: Fyodor Shiryaev (@fy_d_r) Set Design: Louisa Fulkerson (@louisafulkerson) Stylist: Kayla Innes (@kaylainnes) Garments: Sourced from (@cherirvintage) Makeup: Isze Cohen (@frostiedelite) Hair: Teresa Boggs (@killerheads) Model: Isabel Jeremias (@izzymay16)

Join us on a walk down Orchard Street. Want me to let you in on a little secret? The best fashion spots in New York are the ones you find yourself. At the risk of sounding like a cliché Carrie Bradshaw, the magic of New York City is that fashion is everywhere. You kind of just have to walk around and find your corner of stylish preference. Most recently, Orchard Street has become my go-to walk. It’s full of history, vintage shops, chic boutiques, and it even has Sweet Pickle Books. However, over my years of living in New York, I’ve managed to pin down some dream locations scattered around the city where I go to either see beautiful clothes on display, interact with people wearing beautiful clothes, or buy beautiful clothes. Here’s a roundup of my favorite spots. Kiki’s It’s Greek food with incredible personal style. Everyone who works there or dines there is hot. A great spot to bring out-of-towners or for date night. Employees Only Speakeasies are the most popular trend for bars in New York City, but while most of them will feel touristy and gimmicky, this one makes me want to dress like a flapper. Say Scott three times in front of the mirror and Fitzgerald himself will rip your gin martini out of your ring-stacked fingers. Fig. 19 Another non-gimmick speakeasy, with an art gallery as a front. Chandeliers hang from the ceilings and the ambiance is decadent yet modern. Great dancing music. Bibliotheque A beautiful new café, wine bar, and bookstore in Soho where everyone will have a book, laptop, or notebook out on their table. Dress your best and release your inner literary ambitions. A book is always a great accessory. Ralph’s Coffee Shop Hear me out: yes, it’s touristy, but the drinks are genuinely delicious and the merch with the Ralph Lauren bear is classy and adorable. Great spot to find gifts and rejoice in all-American opulence. Rogue A cool vintage shop with great curation and an A+ online presence. Dress to impress and hope they ask you for a fit breakdown. They also recently had an open casting call for a blind dating video for Valentine’s Day (if I were single and 24 I might have applied). I’d give them a follow on Instagram because they might do another one soon! The Niche Shop Originally a spot for the Upper East Side vintage-loving girlies, they have expanded to the other side of the park. Their curation feels more girly-pop than Rogue, leaning heavily on romantic aesthetics and pink. It’s a great spot to find unique secondhand pieces. Bergdorf Goodman A trip to Bergdorf’s is always inspirational and educational. Walk around the evening dress floor for a bit. Consider trying on the Versace pants. It’s literally luxury at your fingertips and an experience in itself. If you’re looking to buy luxury, there’s something about the Upper East Side grandmother energy of the place that makes it more welcoming than other luxury shops. The Museum at FIT FIT is the Mecca for fashion learning and their museum, open to the public, features rotating exhibits deeply exploring a fashion-related topic. Its collection includes over 50,000 pieces of clothing from a wide range of historic periods and its curation is always impeccable. Love Thy Neighbor’Hood and Statement Sleeves are currently on view. The MET Costume Institute The Costume Institute houses 33,000 items that date from the 15th century to today. While the biggest exhibitions shown by the Costume Institute open with the Met Gala each year, they hold other smaller exhibitions throughout the calendar. Women Dressing Women is currently on view. The Costume Institute is also accessible to designers, students, and scholars by appointment. 🌀 Laura Rocha-Rueda is a Colombian fashion and fiction writer based in Brooklyn who holds a Creative Writing MFA from The New School. She is your local Swiftie and will gladly chat about anything glittery and soft, and about why dismissing pop culture as frivolous is misguided and sad.

Is the fashion good enough to ignore a checkered past? Fashion has been missing fantasy for far too long. Viewers are tired of “interesting” clothes worn by dour models stomping down a stark, white runway. That is precisely why Maison Margiela’s Spring 2024 Couture collection made such a big splash. It was a return to theatrics. It was gorgeous clothes in a gorgeous setting worn by gorgeous models with gorgeous makeup. It was extravagance, it was excellence, it was what we want in our fashion shows. There is, however, a thorn in this rose: the creative director of Maison Margiela, John Galliano. Galliano is a controversial figure and has long been a mainstay in the fashion industry. His career started in 1984 after he graduated from Central Saint Martins with a degree in Fashion Design. Since then, he has worked at his own eponymous label, Givenchy, Dior, Oscar de la Renta, and, since 2014, Maison Margiela. Caroline Kloster writes for CR Fashion Book, “Under Galliano, each [of] Dior[‘s] ... shows weren’t presentations of clothing, but rather elaborate and theatrical experiences similar to seeing a live play or going to the movies… He equated high fashion with the spectacular in a way that the industry had never seen before.” To this day, images from John Galliano for Christian Dior Fall/Winter 1998 and John Galliano Fall/Winter 2007 remain some of the most reposted fashion editorials on the Internet. They show a level of romantic set design, technical precision, and theatrical environmentalism that is all but lost in today’s runways. He is a creative genius — no doubt about that. Unfortunately, like a lot of artists, he has a more prurient side to him that can be hateful and disgusting. The largest controversy surrounding John Galliano stems from three instances that occurred between 2010 and 2011. During the first incident in September 2011, the BBC reported that he “harangued museum curator Geraldine Bloch about being Jewish… He also hurled racist insults at her friend, who is of South Asian origin, for 45 minutes before police came to break up the argument.” Galliano blamed drug and alcohol addiction for his outburst. During the second incident in October 2011, he accosted an anonymous 40-year-old woman with anti-Semitic insults — again at the La Perle café in Paris, Galliano’s local watering hole The third incident refers to an earlier video that resurfaced around the time of the arrest, in February of 2011, wherein Galliano proclaims his love for Hitler. In the video, Galliano tells a woman at the table next to him: “I love Hitler. People like you would be dead. Your mothers, your forefathers, would all be fucking gassed.” Following these incidents, Galliano was brought to court and convicted of hate crimes in Paris. Now, whether or not justice was served is up for debate. He was fired from his position at Christian Dior and ordered by the Parisian courts to pay a €6,000 fine — although People Magazine reports that the “fine [was] suspended on a conditional term, according to legal sources, that Galliano not be found guilty of any crime in France for five years.” I was unable to find any arrest records for Galliano during that time, so I think it is safe to assume those fines were eventually waived. I feel a great deal of trepidation mentioning his name. But I think it is important, in these times of intense praise for his work, that both these sides of him live in the conversation. Yes, he has a sharp eye for design and a deft ability to realize a fantasy in his head — but he can also be deeply troubled. He can, and has, very publicly, spewed rhetoric that is harmful and alienating to a large population of fashion enjoyers. Archival fashion, like many prisms of history, can be a difficult thing to appreciate through the lens of our current cultural climate. Oftentimes, the appreciation of work made by figures who do not represent the moral ideals of today can be seen as an approval of their immoral behavior. The clothes are pretty, so let’s just sweep all this other nasty stuff under the rug. Usually, this predicament can be easily dismissed, because the offending figure in question is long dead. It feels more comfortable to appreciate their art because you know there is no way your participation in their practice would be supporting them; your clicks aren’t building them a platform or giving them ad dollars. But John Galliano is very much alive. The support we give him and his work directly translates into supporting his lifestyle. I don’t believe that humans are entitled to a life in the public eye. After Louis C.K.’s controversy during the Me Too movement, a common sentiment among those in the comedy scene was: “He served his time, he apologized, and now he can get back to his career.” No — now he can go get a job at Best Buy like the rest of us. If you abuse and exploit the power you are entrusted with in your industry, especially one so deeply connected to public opinion, you have forfeited the right to participate. No one is entitled to a “dream job.” The fashion industry is famously a world mired by exploitation, ladder-stepping, and a willingness to throw colleagues under the bus for even the slightest chance of getting ahead. Chico Felitti, writing for Buzzfeed News about the working conditions in Vogue Brazil, states: “Nearly all described witnessing their colleagues being berated or insulted … sometimes while being asked to work 24 hours or more without leaving the office, and being obliged to take on responsibilities and tasks outside their job description for which they were not compensated. One producer was so afraid of being accused of slacking off that she snuck out at lunchtime to get cancer treatments rather than tell her boss she was sick. This points to a culture wherein workers are so terrified of losing their jobs (read: losing their chance at “living the dream”) that they won’t speak up for themselves — let alone speak out about the poor behavior of a major figurehead in the industry. This causes a chilling effect whenever scandals involving high-powered individuals occur. You don’t know who knows who, who feels what, and how your statement will be received by those in charge. Following Galliano’s controversy in 2011, Natalie Portman was one of the only celebrities who directly condemned the designer’s behavior. She released a statement denouncing her affiliation with Galliano and made a last-minute swap from a Dior gown to a Rodarte dress for the Oscars that year. On the other end of the spectrum, supermodel Kate Moss was one of the only public figures to stand by Galliano’s side, commissioning her wedding dress from the designer only a couple of months following the incident. Additionally, it’s worth mentioning that John Galliano is a Haute Couture designer. Most people will never be able to afford his garments. Galliano designs for celebrities and the 1%, not the general public. As a result, he doesn’t rely on global sales in the same way that, say, De Sarno does at Gucci. This further insulates him from criticism and offers a veil of protection in the fashion world. As long as he operates in a culture that is too afraid to speak out about unacceptable behavior, he will have a long and prosperous career. Of course, there are layers to this shit. Humans are inherently flawed creatures. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone says a weird thing at the wrong time, everyone tends to be selfish — add substance abuse, fame, unchecked power, and an extreme amount of wealth to the situation, and you have a recipe for disaster. But there is a distinct difference between typical human foibles and hate speech, rape, and abuse. So, the question we have to ask ourselves is: what exactly is the tipping point where a career is destroyed? Should Aziz Ansari receive the same level of vitriol as Louis C.K.? Should Galliano be placed on the same level as Alexander Wang? This is the big problem we’re currently grappling with in a post—cancel culture society. As members of a creative culture, we have a responsibility to hold people accountable —to set standards for behavior and uphold them. But it can be tough to enforce these standards when we have to negotiate with the reality that people, especially artists, aren’t paragons of morality. They are often sad, desperate, lonely people prone to destruction, addiction, and greed. Judith Thurman writes for the New Yorker, “Fashion is big business, but it is also an art… Galliano’s story raises the old question of how one should regard the work of artists who have espoused vile or murderous views.” So, at what point can we separate the art from the artist? And who are we harming by doing so? Is the appreciation of that art worth the harm we cause? Ultimately, I hope the Margiela Spring 2024 Couture show sparks a revolution in the aesthetics of Fashion — that it inspires other designers to be bold with the world they create in their collections. I hope this reveals the desperate hunger capital-FL Fashion Lovers have for fantasy. I want to be enveloped in the worlds of J.W. Anderson or Christopher John Rogers or Dilara Findikoglu in the same way that I was with Galliano. We want to buy the dream — we just want to be discerning about who we’re buying it from. 🌀 Kaitlin Owens is a vintage fashion writer, movie buff, lover of good eats, and a women’s size 7.5 (if any shoe brands are reading). She is the Editor-in-Chief of Dilettante Magazine. You can find her on socials @magdilettante.

Why are modern twists on ye-old silhouettes so fascinating to young women? In recent years, we have not only witnessed the establishment of ultra-feminine, romantic corsets off the runway and into mainstream fashion — but also the rebranding and revival of bows and other traditionally feminine accessories. Media such as Bridgerton, adaptations of classic period pieces such as Jane Austen’s Persuasion or Emma, Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette, Suki Waterhouse’s “Nostalgia” music video… the list could go on forever. Even media pieces that are not as recent, like the 1995 BBC Pride & Prejudice, are experiencing a renaissance thanks to our current corset fascination and bow fever. As I watched Apple TV’s The Buccaneers, I could not stop asking myself: Why are we actively choosing historical pieces as a mirror in which to reflect our much more modern ideology? Of course, with corsets’ long history as a symbol of women’s oppression, it makes perfect sense to take these types of stories and turn them into feminist retellings of women’s liberation. But what do these ye-old time periods have that would not allow the story to work in a modern context? In The Buccaneers, we are presented with a group of five free-spirited best friends living during the 1870s. And, much as in Bridgerton, we are presented with a more modern approach to storytelling: 21st-century girls trapped in a gilded cage. They share a certain disdain towards the idea of marriage, a desire for sexual liberation, and a rejection of their contemporary ideals. Twirls of colorful pieces of cloth, wonderful interiors, and stunning costume design are usually the main selling points of this type of modern adaptation, all of them wrapped up in a perfectly curated modern girl playlist. It is precisely aesthetics — costume design in particular — that seem to be the most obvious reason why creators are choosing earlier time periods to set their stories in; heavily accessorized dresses, extravagant balls, and stunning manors are a type of eye candy that very few can resist. But above that, the 19th century seems to be experiencing a process of fairytale-zation, led mostly by our unexamined enjoyment of the quaintness of the past and its consequential romanticization. Much as with the Medieval period—which lives in the general imagination through a mixture of fantasy and history — the Regency and Victorian times have been experiencing their share of fantasy and idealism, most notably through the combination of color and glamour formulated in Bridgerton, that unfailingly leads to a generally inaccurate perception of the society of the time. There is no desire to examine past ideals; instead, there is an exploration of their preconception, as well as the impressions that past works make on modern sensibilities and minds. As for what placing modern convictions in past times does to a narrative, the tighter restrictions and harsher social punishments of the 19th century indeed allow the modern spectator to perceive social mistakes more clearly. After all, contemporary times do have the blessings of modernity, and many of the lessons implied in these types of media would get lost in the context of a modern setting. Additionally, the popularization of trends such as cottagecore and its multiple spin-offs have sparked a 19th-century interest in youth; from its fashion to its ways of living, this type of media piece has become rather attractive and marketable to both a young and a not-so-young audience. The massive interest in fashion’s microaesthetics — which has become a signature aspect of our time — has also allowed us to look at the past and see a place of fantasy and dreams, which inevitably turns it into some kind of fairytale from which we can learn and grow. Driven by the daintiness and apparent fun of the times — traits wholly embodied by rising brands such as Selkie or Miss Sohee — and at a point in time in which being just a girl implies a certain degree of powerlessness, one cannot think of this return as anything but fated. As such, instead of rejecting traditional femininity, we have now embraced all of it — including some of its negative traits. Why deal with modern, seemingly unsolvable problems when we can revel in the ones that have already been tackled? This dismissal of the crushing weight of expectations that cannot be met and responsibilities that cannot be fulfilled are dealt with in the easier-to-control aesthetic realm, in which young women can idly glide around in a Selkie dress instead of girlbossing their way to the top in tight office wear. Then, at the very core of it all, we find the element of romance. Times change, paradigms break, romance dies. The relentless degradation that traditional romance has suffered through time has made women yearn for it: looking back at Medieval ladies, modern girls know better than to envy them, but at the same time, they wish for the kind of love that would lead a knight to challenge someone to a duel over the ownership of their used handkerchief. The type of love that leads a Bridgerton boy to defy every social norm and member of their family, to act against every single one of their principles, just to marry the girl of his dreams. Lords, Dukes, and knights are portrayed to have a solidity and firmness to their feelings and persona that modern men simply lack. We yearn, long, ache for a fairytale romance, which is more and more often taking the shape of a storybook tale instead of one filled with dragons and knights in shining armor. Sir Lancelot was replaced by Mr. Darcy long ago; the Round Table is no more, as we now more than ever march to Jane Austen’s eternal drums. Only time will tell if Medievalism, with its rigid hennins and dreams of honor, can conquer popular media again. In the meantime, let’s enjoy bows, corsets, empire waistlines, and the romantic blur that the 19th-century era has come out to be, but with the dutiful pinch of salt we ought to take when approaching the past in that spirit. 🌀 Paula Luengo is a freelance writer based in Madrid. Her interests draw from music to fashion and media analysis, with special emphasis on all that’s old and battered. You can find her on Instagram at @0030300.

A debriefing on Bode Fall 2024 Ready-To-Wear. In a fashion world where Quiet and Loud Luxury have been at odds, Emily Adams Bode Aujla’s Bode blooms in neither binary: the designer has created a grounded, rich, and nostalgic island of American luxury. She makes us not yearn for the designer decadence of Paris, but rather, for Grey Gardens, your grandfather’s boarding school in the fall, or an antique library. Bode has certainly fallen into the mainstream radar of fashion fanatics and received the recognition she deserves (2022 and 2021 CFDA Menswear Designer of the Year and the 2020 and 2019 CFDA Emerging Designer of the Year, to name only 2). The brand breaks away, however, from the trap of mainstream mechanics through its diversity and integrity of vintage-inspired designs. So many hot brands depend upon a label, accessory, or motif to cultivate their cult — Bode makes clothes for people who love style, and who are more interested in the stories that clothes tell than the affluence they represent. (Bode, if anything, conveys a cultural, intellectual affluence.) The Fall 2024 Ready-to-Wear collection is a new line called Bode Recreation, inspired by American athletic wear from the 1770s through the 1970s, as told to Vogue. A complete collection of menswear and womenswear, the pieces could easily fill a wardrobe for any occasion. One could bundle up in a ski lodge or prance around a monied dinner party in these clothes. This is a collection fit for Jordan Baker; many of the pieces look like what the rich would have worn during playtime in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. The sportswear influence was at times cheeky and delightfully obvious: a dazzling gold sweater set with tennis player embroidery, a delicate men’s cardigan festooned in a baseball print, or a monogrammed football uniform silhouette. Other pieces relied more subtly and brilliantly on America’s past: naval tailoring indicative of a sailor’s uniform, embroidered 1920s slip dresses, and a chunky pearl necklace paired with a rouge cardigan. A bright and deep color palette, rich reds star alongside kelly greens and royal blues, to name a few. Outerwear certainly defines lots of the looks (jackets are an item Bode has mastered). Throw on a loud fringe American flag coat if you’re visiting a ranch out west, or reach into your uncle’s closet and grab an oversized black quilted jacket for a brisk walk on Thanksgiving Day. And where there is the function of outerwear there is also the frivolity of undergarments. Many of the women’s looks shine with the chic sleekness of upscale underpinnings, almost undetectable as lingerie and more like underwear as outerwear for stellar parties. There is, for instance, a three-piece, slinky black short and bra top set, finished with a bedazzled top coat. Stockings worn with ballet pink silk sleeping shorts and a nipple-revealing lace top are a study in vintage femininity, renewed and reimagined, and made fun. At Bode Recreation’s core is the suggestion of play, leisure, and putting one’s body to good use (for the sake of activity and to also maybe just show off one’s long legs and great taste). There is nothing more fabulous and indicative of a well-rounded, indulgent — American! — life than to have time for sport. We all just want to summer and to winter on America’s coasts, and to do so dressed in Bode. 🌀 Maren Beverly works in the beauty industry in NYC and loves to spend her free time reading, writing (for Haloscope!), vintage shopping, and seeking out cool cocktail bars in Brooklyn.