There's a certain kind of runway show that leaves you feeling like you've just sat through a particularly dull lecture. You know the type: lights dim, music swells, and out come the clothes, each one seemingly determined to out-conceptualize the last. You squint, you frown, you desperately search for something – anything – to grab onto. A flash of color, a clever cut, a hint of irony. But no. Just more fabric, draped and folded and twisted into oblivion.
This season, it felt like those shows were everywhere. Maybe it's the lingering effects of the pandemic, a collective desire to make a Big Statement after years of sweatpants and Zoom calls. Or maybe it's just me, jaded after all these years, still waiting for that jolt of excitement, that "Aha!" moment that makes you sit up straight and pay attention.
Don't get me wrong, there were bright spots. I'm thinking of that one collection, the one with the unexpected bursts of neon pink against charcoal gray. A welcome shock to the system. And those beautifully tailored jackets, the kind that make you want to throw out your entire wardrobe and start fresh. But those moments felt fleeting, like finding a twenty-dollar bill in the pocket of an old coat – a pleasant surprise, but not enough to change your life.
What's missing, I think, is a sense of purpose. A point of view. Too many designers seem content to simply create "fashion," as if the word itself were enough to justify the exorbitant prices and the endless parade of Instagrammable moments. But fashion, real fashion, has to be more than just clothes. It has to say something about the world we live in, about who we are and who we want to be.
I remember once, years ago, attending a show in Paris. It was a small affair, held in a dimly lit gallery space. The models didn't walk so much as glide, their movements almost imperceptible beneath the weight of the clothes. The fabrics were heavy, luxurious, the colors muted and rich. It felt like stepping back in time, into a world of whispered conversations and stolen glances.
And yet, there was something undeniably modern about it too. A sense of quiet confidence, a rejection of the flashy and the superficial. It was a show that stayed with me long after the last model had left the runway, a reminder that true style transcends trends and seasons. It's about finding your own voice, your own way of moving through the world.
That's what I'm looking for when I go to these shows. Not just pretty clothes, but a point of view. A story. A reason to believe that fashion, in all its messy, extravagant glory, still has the power to surprise us, to challenge us, to make us feel something real.
Maybe next season.
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