Kerr-iers of Commerce: Can Influencers Deliver Fashion's Future?

The other day, I found myself scrolling – doomscrolling, some might say – through an endless feed of perfectly lit selfies, each one hawking some new must-have. A handbag shaped like a croissant. A pair of sweatpants that cost more than my rent. And then, there she was: Miranda Kerr, luminous as ever, draped in what looked like liquid gold, whispering about the transformative power of…vitamin C serum.

Don't get me wrong, Kerr is undeniably gorgeous. But as I clicked through to the brand's website (a slick, millennial-pink affair), a familiar feeling of unease crept in. This wasn't fashion. This was marketing, pure and simple. And yet, here it was, blurring the lines, blurring my senses, blurring the very definition of what we consider stylish.

This, my friends, is the age of the influencer. A strange breed, these creatures of the algorithm, wielding more power than any editor or critic ever could. They are the new gatekeepers, the tastemakers, the Kerr-iers of commerce, if you will. But can they carry the weight of fashion's future?

I remember a time – and yes, I realize I sound ancient – when fashion was a closed world. A world of ateliers and runways, of whispered pronouncements and carefully guarded secrets. You had to earn your place at the table, pay your dues, endure years of Anna Wintour's icy stare.

Now, anyone with a smartphone and a decent ring light can declare themselves an arbiter of style. And people listen. They buy. They emulate. The barrier to entry has crumbled, leaving a landscape littered with sponsored posts and discount codes.

There's a certain irony to it all, isn't there? Fashion, once the ultimate symbol of aspiration, has become democratized, accessible. But at what cost? The relentless churn of the influencer machine leaves little room for nuance, for craftsmanship, for the kind of quiet beauty that whispers instead of shouts.

I recently attended a runway show – a young designer, fresh out of Central Saint Martins. The clothes were exquisite: deconstructed tailoring, unexpected textures, a raw energy that crackled in the air. And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. The usual frenzy, the clamor for street style shots, the influencers jostling for the perfect angle – it felt muted, almost reverent.

Afterwards, I overheard a conversation. "Beautiful collection," someone sighed, "but who's going to wear it? It's not very…Instagrammable."

And there it was. The crux of the matter. In a world ruled by likes and shares, has true originality become a liability?

I don't pretend to have the answers. Perhaps I'm just a relic, clinging to a bygone era. But I can't help but wonder if, in our rush to embrace the new, we're sacrificing something essential. The soul of fashion, the art of it, the sheer audacity of creating something truly unique, something that defies categorization, something that makes you feel… something.

So, can influencers deliver fashion's future? Maybe. They certainly have the reach, the power to connect with a generation that consumes information in 15-second increments. But if fashion is to be more than just a fleeting trend cycle, a series of perfectly curated moments, it needs substance. It needs a point of view. It needs, dare I say it, a soul.

And that, my friends, is something no amount of likes or followers can buy.

Shop the must-have Taylor Swift outfits- https://www.cusuti.com/category/taylor-swift

Taylor Swift Jeans, Inspired by AREA Black Crystal Embellished Slit Jeans, Y2K

Buy Now