New York City is home to 8 million people, hundreds of big-name designers, and millions of people aspiring to become recognizable names rather than just passing by. Willy Chavarria was born in Huron, California. Huron is a small, agricultural town in the San Joaquin Valley. Subsequently, this is not a town where people are walking down the street in designer fashion. Chavarria knew he was destined for greatness, to reach beyond Huron. From Huron, to New York, to Paris. Willy Chavarria is becoming a recognizable name in the fashion industry. He is taking up space, bringing Mexican culture into the spotlight of global influence- our clothes. Chavarria’s namesake brand is currently being sold both online and in stores at Dover Street Market here in New York. To me, a significant part of Latin Luxury is finding our grounding in places we once only dreamed of, and in the power of taking up space.

Dover Street Market is a multi-brand retail concept store founded by Rei Kawakubo that blends high fashion, streetwear, and art installations into a single space. Willy Chvarria is located on the seventh floor, right next to big names like Maison Margiela, Marc Jacobs, and Supreme. Brands that all hold established influence within both luxury and streetwear markets. The section dedicated to Chavarria foregrounds the core elements of his practice: elevated Chicano aesthetics, queer narratives, and a visual language shaped by working-class identity. Within this context, his work operates as both inclusion and disruption. The structured tailoring, oversized silhouettes, and restrained palette resist full assimilation into the dominant codes of luxury retail, even as they are framed by it. This positioning produces a clear tension between representation and accessibility, as garments rooted in brown, working-class, and queer experiences are mediated through an elite commercial environment. Rather than resolving this contradiction, the display makes it visible, demonstrating how Latinidad is not simply incorporated into luxury but reshaped through processes of branding, spatial arrangement, and consumer interaction.

Luxury at Dover Street Market New York operates not only through price and exclusivity, but through performance, aspiration, and the careful staging of identity, a dynamic that becomes especially visible in the presentation of Willy Chavarria. As Keyla Marquez and Thalía Gochez suggest, proximity to wealth and luxury often produces an aspirational relationship in which marginalized communities engage these spaces as both spectators and participants, negotiating belonging through visibility. Gochez shares in the interview, “A big part of my artistic practice is honoring lineage and honoring story through style. It’s always been important for me to go beyond fashion to create a story and highlight identity, (Gochez, pg.8).” Here, Gochez highlights how important it is for Latinos in the industry to never shy away from their culture. They are the changemakers, bringing Latinidad into the mainstream. Chavarria’s designs complicate this dynamic by mobilizing what Jillian Hernandez theorizes as “chongivity,” where hypervisibility and stylization function as practices of belonging rather than excess. Hernandez writes, “Despite the numerous ways that chongas are policed for their transgressions of gender, ethnic performance, and fashion, their bodies nevertheless signal ethnic belonging…performances of Latinidad, (Hernandez, pg. 1).” Chavarria uses exaggerated silhouettes, emphasis on uniformity, and references to Chicano and working-class aesthetics do not quietly integrate into luxury but instead assert a deliberately legible presence. In this sense, simply occupying space within an elite retail environment becomes a form of resistance; visibility itself carries political weight. The act of taking up space where Latinx bodies and aesthetics have historically been excluded reframes existence as defiance, insisting on recognition even within systems that attempt to contain or commodify it. At the same time, this visibility is mediated by the conventions of high-fashion retail, where Latinidad is curated, aestheticized, and circulated within an elite consumer framework. The result is a layered tension: Chavarria’s work creates space for recognition and cultural affirmation while also exposing how that recognition is conditioned by systems of aspiration, commodification, and selective access.

Willy Chavarria has built his brand through a deliberate fusion of political messaging, community-centered storytelling, and strategic partnerships that extend his influence within global fashion. An article by Forbes, “Partners And Politics Fuel Willy Chavarria’s Growing Brand At PFW” by Roxanne Robinson following Chavarria’s second Paris Fashion Week show, titled “Huron,” and how he positioned his work at the intersection of cultural representation and global luxury markets. In the interview, Chavarria says “I wanted to show luxury in a new way, worn by people who feel no one needs to tell us who can wear luxury.” Here, Chavarria is challenging the narrative of “who deserves designer.” As the proud owner of my very own “Willy Chavarria” shirt from his most recent PFW show “Eterno,” that I purchased as a Mexican-Colombian American woman, a first-generation daughter, and with my own hard earned money, it’s my most prized possession. Sure, it’s “just a t-shirt” but it stands for so much more than a simple cut and sitch of fabric, it’s part of my past, present and future. Chavarria’s work positions branding as a site of meaning-making, where garments carry narratives of immigration, queerness, and working-class Latinx life rather than functioning solely as commercial objects. They are telling a story with every single sitch. When we travel from the streets of Paris, back inside to Dover Steet Market, the same story is unfolding. Chavarria’s presence ultimately demonstrates that Latinx luxury is defined by control over representation and the ability to assert cultural authorship within historically exclusionary spaces, even as that assertion remains entangled in the contradictions of consumption.

Latinx luxury fashion, as embodied by Willy Chavarria at Dover Street Market New York, is defined by its power to occupy space, assert visibility, and reclaim authorship within systems that have historically excluded Latinx communities. It exists in tension, between representation and commodification, belonging and aspiration, and yet it is precisely within that tension that its meaning is made. Luxury here is not only material or aesthetic, but cultural and political, grounded in the stories, labor, and identities that shape it. Right now it’s Chavarria’s turn, hopefully one day it will be mine.

**all photos are my own

Works Cited

Hernandez , Jillian . “Chongivity Activity: Latinx Hyperfemininity as Iconography, Performance, and Praxis of Belonging” in Critical Dialogues in Latinx Studies: A Reader. 2021.

Marquez, Keyla , and Thalía Gochez. “Mi Familia in Beverly Hills.” Los Angeles Times, 13 Aug. 2024, www.latimes.com/lifestyle/image/story/2024-08-13/recreating-family-photos-in-beverly-hills.

Robinson, Roxanne. “Partners and Politics Fuel Willy Chavarria’s Growing Brand at PFW.” Forbes, 29 June 2025, www.forbes.com/sites/roxannerobinson/2025/06/29/partners-and-politics-fuel-willy-chavarrias-growing-brand-at-pfw/.

I want to see you strut. The flaming hot pink runway thumps underneath me. Made by my Papá and mi hermano Jonathan. Wood from Home Depot and a roll of fabric from Joann Fabric make me feel like I’m at Paris Fashion Week. What you can’t see is the hours of love and labor my family put in. Mamí had a vision and did everything within our means to make it a reality. Behind me is a framed print of the Eiffel Tower, with hot-pink mesh fabric draping around it. My amigas and primas wait their turn on the side of the runway. Precisely eight balloons line the runway, no more, no less. Mamí dressed me in the best black ballet flats Payless could offer, my Tío Alex did my hair, and snuck a little makeup when Mamí wasn’t looking. My tiara is metal- not one of the plastic ones I play dress up with. It kind of hurts my head, but I don’t take it off because it feels real. I wear a ribbon that says “Birthday Girl.” I probably begged my mom to let me get it while at Party City. My dress, a black empire waist shift dress, with the hot pink ribbon, and all the major landmarks of Paris adorn the lower half. Couples in love on the River Seine, the cathedral of Notre Dame, the Arc de Triomphe, the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur, and the Eiffel Tower- naturally. Despite being in my backyard at my home in Los Angeles, Paris never felt so close.

If you brought 5-year-old me to this house now, it would be unrecognizable. The house is no longer a dirty white but a warm tan. The backyard ground is no longer concrete, but a stamped pattern of new concrete meant to look like stone. The garage door now matches the style of the front door. Mamí still hates the side where the trash cans go, so do I, but for different reasons. As a child, taking out the trash was always scary. I hated how dark the side of the house got, how many bugs would crawl there without me knowing. It felt like one wrong move, or lingering a second too long, would lead to my demise. Mamí hated it because she thought it didn’t look nice, which is why she hung a tablecloth to cover it. I don’t know the house in the picture; 5-year-old me doesn’t know the house I go back to over summer and winter break. 5-year-old me doesn’t know I live in New York now. 5-year-old me doesn’t know that we’ve been to Paris. 5-year-old me doesn’t know we’ve actually been to Paris twice.

The mere thought of Paris felt like a distant dream. One where I’d wear a red beret, ride a bike across the River Seine with a fresh baguette and berries in the front basket. But why wasn’t I dreaming of la Ciudad de México? Medellín? Buenos Aires? Why was I dreaming of Europe when I am so undoubtedly Latina? Why did my birthday parties center around people who didn’t look like me or know my culture? Well, I don’t blame myself for my “eurocentric” tendencies- it’s all I knew, all that was offered to me. Disney’s “Coco” didn’t come out until 2017- I was eleven. “Encanto” didn’t come out until 2021- I was fifteen. I didn’t feel represented until then. I went fifteen years thinking my story and the story of my culture were deemed “not interesting enough” for the world.

Now I’m nearly 20, and more Latina than ever. I still know the little girl in the picture. I still love the color pink. I have beautiful memories at that house and in that backyard. Things have changed. My constant throughout my life has been my love for fashion. Years and years of trial and error have brought me to this moment right now. I was constantly trying to be something I was not- dress like someone I didn’t even know. I felt guilty for not dressing as fun or exciting as other people. I felt like I was always chasing something that wasn’t made for me. Something that didn’t accept me.

I moved to New York for college, and things began to change. Luar by Raul Lopez, Farm Rio by Kátia Barros, Willy Chavarria by Willy Chavarria. I started to see people who looked like me, spoke my language,and knew my culture rise into fashion. So why couldn’t I? I knew in my heart that I had not only a passion for it, but an eye for fashion. My knowledge rested in my heart and brain. I find stability in my chest that tells me my ancestors believe in me, too. I am a composition of everyone I have ever loved and who has loved me. So, despite my favorite outfit being white straight leg jeans, a denim workwear jacket, and suede boots (I bought in Paris)- something that feels deeply “colonized style,” it’s really not. My boots have a similar toe shape to those boots worn by vaqueros, my gold nameplate necklace rests delicately on my neck, my curls shoot from every which way, my face is the product of a Colombian woman and a Mexican man who love each other so deeply they wished to bring new life to this world. Mi sangre es latina, cien por cien.

So my favorite city in the world might not be one where my ancestors walk on, but it is somewhere I will make a name for myself. Martínez. The runway in my backyard was never pretend; it was practice.

From the flip flop, birkenstocks and espadrilles of the warm summer months were followed with boots and shearling lined Uggs to warm the winter weather.

Spring is just around the corner (which is what I’m telling myself to combat my hatred for the cold and snow). With the rapid release of new collections and Fashion Week feeling more like Fashion Month, it can feel so overwhelming to try to find where we fit in the world of Fashion.

My personal vice- shoes. I love shoes.

Shoes during collections can sometimes feel like such a minor part of the bigger collection, but in reality- shoes are usually the easiest way to replicate a runway look in our “mundane” everyday life.

It began with Prada F/W ‘25 by Muccia Prada and Raf Simons.

The Cowboy Mary Jane.

I personally immediately fell in love. I find there to be something so elegant when blurring the lines between masculine and feminine dress.

A simple silhouette will inspire the minds of many.

Which brings me to nearly a year later- things like this take time. Change in any form is never overnight.

Everyone’s favorite Papasote and this year’s SuperBowl Halftime performer- Bad Bunny. From 2017 to now, Benito’s style has changed dramatically. From monochromatic tailored suits, a buzz cut, and tiny frameless colored glasses to becoming the first EVER to wear custom Schiaparelli Haute Couture Menswear by Daniel Roseberry to the 2026 Grammys (oh and also won 3 Grammys including being the first Spanish language album to win Album of the Year.)

Back in August, Benito was spotted hanging out with Austin Butler during his residency in Puerto Rico at El Choliseo. What was also spotted were the same Cowboy Mary Janes Prada had debuted nearly a year ago.

Bad Bunny has always been an Artist both in performance and presentation- and this leisurely look was no exception. These shoes are a hallmark of the effortless elegance in bringing masculine and feminine together in style.

In his everyday life, he found a way to bring the runway to his home.

Here are some affordable recommendations to bring elements of high fashion into your everyday life.

To begin, we have the New Balance 1906L initially released in September of 2024 and tie in elements of a classic Penny Loafer with the sporty spice of a classic New Balance 1906 which had its first release in 2009.

New Balance 1906L retail for $159.99

My personal favorites are the Salomon RX MARIE-JEANNE which was released April 2024, although I had not seen them in store until January of this year. Mixing the mesh Gore-tex Gorpcore style with the chic touches of a Mary Jane.

Salomon RX MARIE-REANNE retail for $130.

If you’re looking for something more simple and tipping more to the feminine side. Both Adidas and Puma have their own variation of a Mary Jane style sneaker.

Adidas released their Samba Jane sneaker in April of 2025, bringing in their classic Samba style which saw a rapid resurgence in previous years to the realm of blurred gender-lines with the Mary Jane silhouette.

Adidas Samba Jane retail for $100

Puma saw a rise in popularity with the Speedcat sneakers which are worn by F1 drivers on the Paddock. Why not take it one step further and make them a Mary Jane Ballet Flat? The Puma Speedcat Ballet was born April 2025.

Puma Speedcat Ballet retail starting at $90 and come in suede or leather.

Happy Shopping :)

In 2016, I was 10. Yeah. Just 10, yet I feel like I’m yearning for something I never had. Mourning a life that I will never get to live.

In a time of cut crease eyeshadow, skinny jeans, and house parties, I was in 5th grade. When the most frightening thing in the world was starting a new school in the fall, a school that was less than a mile from both my house and elementary school.

I, obviously, do not remember a lot of things from that year, yet the recent influx of “2026 is the new 2016,” everything feels so familiar.

I know the feel of the obnoxiously skinny, skinny jeans gripping to my ankle, the way the morning fog felt on the way to school.

I remember all the things I wanted, a Kylie Lip Kit and an iPhone 7 in rose gold.

When I decided to take a dip into the archive to find my own, 2016 throwback picture, all I found was a picture of me the day I got my braces on, and of myself leaving for camp with Girl Scouts.

There was nothing “cool” about any of it.

So why did I so desperately crave to fit in, during a time where if I did “fit in” and look “cool,” it would be nothing short of concerning, and allocate it to bad parenting.

I was a kid in 2016, a child.

I didn’t have the slightest clue of who I was, what I liked, what my goals for the future were.

I think my biggest concern at the time was trying to convince my mom to let me watch “Stranger Things,” and buy me a Lokai bracelet- “for balance,” of course.

So a decade later, in the creeping shadows of my 20th birthday. In a month and a half, or 41 days to be exact, I will be 20. Twenty.

Goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. I’ve changed a lot. I even moved across the country. Which, if you ask my parents, was not what I had promised at 10 years old. No, no- I was going to go to Stanford, UCLA, or Biola University- which was literally two streets from my house.

Twenty. T.W.E.N.T.Y.

20.

Two-Zero.

I no longer carry that same “1” in my age like I did in 2016.

I don’t want to live in a time where the past seems like the best part of my life. I want to keep getting better with every day, every breath, every step, every word spoken.

Because what is life without a driving purpose, something that leads us forward.

I never want to be someone who sits around waiting for something great to happen, I want to work towards greatness. I’m so hungry for it. To be something, to be more than what is handed to me, but to take that and say “what else can I do, for more.”

Nothing changes if nothing changes.

My dad always tells me “you’re living someone’s dream.” And although at moments, I wonder, who would want to be taking 19 units, working part-time, and have an internship. That’s so much for one person to handle.

But then I think again, of how lucky I am, and how right my dad is. I am living someone’s dream- mine. I get to study two things I’m passionate about, Journalism and Fashion. I have a job that gives me flexible hours and steady pay. I have an internship- that hasn’t started yet- but I can only feel like fire grows within me.

I don’t think your 20s should be easy. Something that just passes by and suddenly you turn 30 and you’re given a six-figure job, a beautiful one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn Heights and perfect fulfillment in life.

Yes my google calendar is this looming, ominous thing that haunts me whenever I open any device. But it’s full- because I decided to fill it. So is it my fault that I rarely have free time? Yeah sure, in a way.

Yet in all the “No, I’m sorry I have [fill in responsibility here] that day,” came the lesson of finding the people I want to make time for. The people that I can say “I’m free this day, this day, and this day from 5:00 to about 8:30, lets try to do dinner.” or “I have class until 5:15 on Wednesday but if you want to catch a movie at 6:30…” or even the people I see in passing and with a simple hello, and a quick hug- is enough to say “Me too girl, let’s try to get together when life isn’t so crazy.”

Which of course, is my long winded way of saying- thank god I didn’t experience 2016 in the way that would’ve given me some crazy mom lore, or classified me as “cool.”

Especially growing up just outside of LA during 2016, I think it’s very easy for me to hold on to that “What if,” what if I was born just a few years earlier? What if I had all the things I wanted?

But I am tired of “what if,” I think now is a lot more powerful.

I don’t have a time where I would give anything to relive a few great moments. I firmly think that the best, most rewarding times in my life are coming. Not past.

Some may call it cocky, or conceited, but I think I deserve nothing short of a great life.

I can’t remember who I was talking to exactly, but I remember once sharing that I wouldn’t have studied journalism and fashion, if I didn’t think it was something I could succeed in. That passion that burns deep within. That hunger in your throat that craves something. Something more than an office job. Something more than Sweetgreen in Midtown on your lunch break.

Something more like traveling to Paris for fashion week.

I want to be able to say that I did it. That’s why my google calendar is full, and I try not to let nostalgia or limerence get the best of me. That’s why I promise myself everyday to never forget what I’m working towards.

Does turning 20 feel like the end of the world? A little sure, but I know I’m being dramatic.

But turning 20 also means there is still so much life for me to live. So many cultures to experience. Cities to fall in love with. And 24 hours everyday that I get to fill with meaning.

I think a lot about who I used to be- not that I’ve fundamentally changed but rather how I carry myself.

I’m far more confident and comfortable in my skin than I’ve ever been.

I think that attributes to the changes and challenges I’ve gone through within a short 19 years. I find it really exciting-now, before it used to scare me to death. That feeling of uncertainty. Not going according to plan.

But, my biggest heartache turned into my biggest blessing.

For nearly four years, my plan was always to go to NYU. It wasn’t even a question- I was going. Everyone in my life could concur. I, Alexa Nicole Martinez, was going to go to NYU.

This school meant everything to me. Everything I worked for during high school was to ensure my chances of acceptance.

So when the time came, and I opened the application- it all made sense. It was so serious that even my high school teachers would encourage me.

But that’s the danger of an echo chamber, I was filled with this undying delusion.

I applied Early Decision. Binding. Meaning if I was accepted, I was contractually obligated to accept.

I remember that day so vividly, it was December and a brisk chill flowed through my small Southern California town. It was Wednesday, a late start day. My Mom drove me to school when I saw the NYU instagram account had posted that the result came out today, December 14th- not the promised December 15th. Suddenly, I realized that my future was merely hours away, the decision was already made.

My parents signed me out of school- yes it was that serious. I remember leaving my AP Lit. class, my stomach in knots, my classmates, friends, and teacher all reassuring me that everything will be okay and that there is “no way” I would get rejected.

I got home, my entire body sheen with sweat. I sat with my mom and dad, patiently waiting and refreshing. Then- “see updated application decision.”

I set up my phone to record my big moment. Something my mom could send to family, post on her Facebook.

When I opened the application portal, I didn’t see any confetti. Instead I was met with the shortest, coldest email known to man.

“After an overwhelming number of applications this year, we regret to inform you that we cannot offer a place as part of the Class of 2028. As an Early Decision applicant you cannot reapply until Fall 2024.”

Oh.

I have never cried like that in my entire life. It felt like someone had ripped out my heart, spit on it, stepped on it, and threw it in the trash. I cannot even begin to describe the terror that came out of my mouth that day.

It wasn’t just the rejection- it was having to tell everyone in my life that I couldn’t do the one thing that we were all so sure about.

Teachers, coworkers, family, friends, my parents and worst of all- myself.

I let myself down. What could I have done differently? Where did I go wrong? Why am I not good enough?

It was a long and winding road to acceptance. (ironic)

I cried and cried, sulked and suffered silently.

And, miraculously, day by day the weight would get lighter.

Other acceptance letters rolled in- more rejection too but the worst of it was over with.

My “worst case scenario” came true. It felt like the end of the world. Like suddenly my plan for the future was no longer possible.

But then I got a little email from a smaller school just uptown from NYU. And the promise of scholarship that would ease the burden. And most importantly- my ticket to New York.

I could breathe again. There was no weight on my chest. My lungs filled with hope again.

I had been accepted to other schools in the city. Parsons, Pratt, Marymount Manhattan, etc. But Fordham had the promise of being able to fulfill that NYU shaped hole in my heart.

So, I let go of the compressing nature that comes with failure.

My parents always tell me that I can have a plan, there are going to be bumps and curves, but the most important part is how I react, and stay on track to accomplish my goals.

Now- everyday I am thankful for that rejection letter, it is the best thing that ever happened to me.

Truth be told, I think I would’ve been miserable at NYU. I come from a middle class immigrant family- while an overwhelming majority of NYU students come from an affluent background. (fordham too but for the sake of this piece I will choose to ignore) My largest class is 35 students. I’m able to know my professors and let them know me.

The People.

I’ve met the most incredible people here. Who has then introduced me to even more wonderful people. That whole butterfly effect, invisible string, snowballing, cascading, chain reaction has brought me to where I am today.

It’s made me stronger- having to essentially move out of my hometown at 18. Take care of myself in all aspects. Slowly mastering that.

I always carry one saying my Dad essentially engraved into my mind with me.

“Show me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you who you are.”

I think- if you brought all my closest friends into a room, you could see a reflection of who I am.

I’ve changed a lot, but I’m so proud of it.

I let go of what no longer serves me. I’ve allowed people to love me and I love them.

I let myself struggle, I think that is so deeply important to growing.

While I still have a strong plan for my future, and one that I will accomplish.

I want to let life take me where it needs me. I want to let myself experience every single moment.

Every generation has that model. The one who captures the mood, the chaos, the beauty of the moment. For the ’90s, it was Kate. The 2000s had Gisele. And with an apparent, almost seismic shift currently happening in the industry- we (as in Gen Z) have had our hearts set on Alex Consani for years. I remember during COVID, stuck in my room, naive and fifteen, scrolling for hours and hours on TikTok. I think a lot of Gen Z can connect their first parasocial memories to Alex Consani when she was still living in the Bay Area, showing us her Sushirrito order.

The special thing about Alex, is she is so authentically herself. She’s a true self made model in a time where nepo babies rage like wild fires. There’s something comforting about how she carries herself- ike she knows the industry’s ridiculous, but she loves it anyway. She plays into the fantasy, but she also calls it out. She’s proof that authenticity and high fashion aren’t mutually exclusive. With this she embodies the nature of a generation: to be taken seriously without taking ourselves that seriously. Because it’s a dichotomy of “it isn’t that deep” but it also “is that deep.”

This year, her career reached another peak when she was named Model of the Year, a title that felt less like a crowning moment and more like a collective exhale- finally, recognition catching up to reality. It was like seeing your friend win an award, like having that connection of knowing in your own heart that they were always talented, and finally others were starting to catch on to that too.

Her rise also represents something larger about where fashion is headed. In an era that demands inclusivity, Consani’s presence as a trans woman walking the biggest runways in the world isn’t just symbolic- it’s revolutionary. But what’s most refreshing is that she isn’t defined by that fac

t alone. She’s a model who commands respect for her work, her artistry, and her undeniable talent. The industry is finally learning that diversity isn’t a statement- it’s a standard.

She doesn’t post for optics or applause; her activism feels lived-in, natural, like an extension of who she is. In an industry that still struggles to separate sincerity from spectacle, Alex doesn’t perform her values- she embodies them. That balance between visibility and vulnerability, between voice and vision, is what makes her so magnetic.Consani has been very outspoken on a range of political movements, advocating for LGBT+ rights, voting rights, and the genocide in Palestine. Not for trend or moral obligation, there is no overhang of kantian ethics but rather, this is her truth.

She’s proof that being yourself- really, truly yourself- is the most glamorous thing you can do.

During a tumultuous time in the fashion industry, the changing of rhetoric, the departing of creative directors to new houses, and the challenge of creating something to provoke not only discussion but emotion. Where can we draw the line between creating something new and keeping the history of a brand preserved? Should we even concern ourselves with the preservation of something, dare I say, outdated?

Anderson is aware that all eyes are on him, and he carries it with such a pose. He brings in the reaffirmation of Dior’s atelier excellence, while simultaneously making a clear parade of his creative touch.

On the 2nd of October, in the height of Paris Fashion Week- the fashion world stood still as Anderson presented his first collection of Women’s Read-to-wear. Seventy-four looks on view for the world to see, and judge. Brutally judge. Not only does everyone have an opinion, everyone wants to share their opinion.

“You can always tell when a designer loves women” is a quote consistently connected to the Dior name. Anderson not only loves women, but respects them. The silhouettes in this collection are perfectly feminine and powerful. Giving the women autonomy, to be chic, to be dynamic, to be whatever they choose. The craftsmanship of these pieces, these looks, reflect the internal perception of what a woman is in relation to the Dior name. It is seductively elegant.

Anderson displayed a collection that both respects the legacy of the Dior name and brings a fresh, and ripe energy to the house. He did not simply step delicately into the role, but charged into it. It’s confident, it’s both timeless and excitingly new.

Fashion is more accessible than ever, word travels faster than the gliding scissor cut through muslin. With fashion influencers like Lyas and his iconic red bouche mordue*, hosting live-streaming events from his view in the front row- there is an immediate connection to the curation that was once kept hushed from the world. There is no longer a secret society among the fashion elite- or at least a more boiled down version of it.

*French term for “just bitten/kissed lips”

Recently, I’ve gotten an increase in questions about my love life- from my coworkers mostly. Fair. I haven’t seen these people in about four months, that’s plenty of time to fall in love? Right?

Only I didn’t fall in love with someone’s son. I fell in love with myself- again.

I remember one day in my sophomore year of high school (funny enough), being in my mom’s car and coming to the realization that my aesthetic, my “vibe”, and more consequently my instagram feed is inherently cool as long as I think it’s cool. In turn, I posted more and more, making a grid that I continue to consider my child. I birthed it.

I think that was the first time I truly felt authentic, I became more confident in myself.

And just like all things in my life, it circles back to New York.

That summer, I spent 6-weeks here at 16- meeting girls I still would do the unthinkable for, like commute from the Upper West Side to the Upper East Side. Real love. Girls that would fly across the country just to be at your High School graduation.

I think the age of 16 is when I fell in love with myself for the first time.

And, no, not in a narcissistic way. But who I am, what I stand for, how I carry myself.

I fell out of love with myself at 18. Not only did I go through a real break-up, but I knew a lot of things in my life were changing and that scared the hell out of me. I had lived in the same city my whole life, had the same friends, same room, same commute. It was routine. I was always safe. There was this timer in the back of my mind, like a bomb about to go off. Only it wasn’t a bomb. It was a one way plane ticket. LAX to JFK.

My first year of college was the best and worst time. I hated how busy I was, I was either doing homework or at work- dealing with the unruly underbelly that is the snobby residents of the Upper West Side. “No I’m sorry ma’am, we’re out of that today.”

Getting out of work at 11:00 pm just to wake up at 7:15 am for my 8:30 am philosophy lecture. Which I managed to always look unkept and puffy for, even though there was a classmate I knew in the class, beautiful might I add, and he had this special gift of only showing up to class the days I looked EXTRA sluggish.

It was hell, but I needed it.

The year progressed, I persevered, all those cliche things that your parents send Instagram Reels about.

It wasn’t all bad- obviously. I met incredible people. Those I now spend holidays with, happy hour, apartment hunting, and trips that will likely never make it out of the group chat until post-grad. The people made it all worth it. (and the grades too)

I dreaded going back to California for the summer. It felt like I had to face a version of myself I no longer knew.

Yet it managed to be anything but that. In fact, I really spent only half of my summer at home. Cut between working (a lot) and traveling (a lot). The lunch breaks in my car, the long flights, acted as moments of reflection.

I started taking better care of myself- filling my own cup.

I ate healthy- with the exception of a few late nights with my girls. I felt it, I noticed it. I felt the most confident in my own skin. A feeling that I had been reaching for a long time, what feels like my whole life.

I traveled. My biggest blessing this summer. Nothing matches what you learn about yourself and the world when you step outside the comfort of the city you know.

Days turned into nights, and those days creeped closer and closer to my return to the city.

Only it was far different from the last time. My freshman year- I couldn’t wait. My sophomore year- I wanted to slow down. There was still so much I hadn’t done, so much I had planned, so much to miss.

And I do miss California. Which if you told 16-year-old me that, she would pass out due to pure shock.

I miss my mom. I miss my dad. I miss my dog. I miss my cousin who is more like my sister. I miss my car. I miss my family. I miss my nephew. I miss Madi, Maddie, Lilly, Esther and so many more.

But I eventually boarded that plane.

Moved back in.

Started classes.

Started work.

I continued filling my own cup. I fell back in love with myself. Who I’ve become and who I’m becoming.

So to make a short story long. No- I’m not in a relationship. In fact, I haven’t been on a date in well over a year.

But I am enough for myself. There is no missing piece to my heart.

So here I sit at my dining room table, doing what I think I do best- write. Claddagh ring on my right hand, facing down- single. Yet I don’t feel unfulfilled in the slightest. Because! I fill my own cup and it feels like it’s overflowing.

In my classes I can comfortably say I enjoy them all to a degree. Writing I do for myself and the school- my name in print. My friends who have become more like family. Work, although daunting sometimes, pays off- literally.

This week alone. I was a background actor in my first short film with my best friend. I received academic validation- which is like a high from the strongest drug in my opinion. I have one of my closest, best, literally incredible friends coming to visit this weekend. I’m forming new friendships too. I called my mom and my dad. I spent time outside. I watched The Sound Of Music for the first time with my roommates. And it’s only Wednesday. This year feels like the beginning of a lifetime of love.

I never really know how to end pieces like this- but just know I love you all.

Two texts live in this tension: Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s “How Do I Love Thee?” and Joan Didion’s “Goodbye to All That.” The first is a sonnet - rich, unflinching, filled with a woman’s vow to love beyond time, beyond breath. The second is an essay- spare, haunting, written like someone setting down an object too heavy to carry anymore. One explores the ways which love can consume, swallowing us whole. A plate empty. While the other dominates the idea that sometimes real love is letting go of what no longer serves you.

In Browning’s poem, the speaker begins with a question: “How do I love thee?” and then proceeds to answer with an intensity that shatters the perfect little box we think of when someone mentions love. She loves “to the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach.” She loves with the purity of saints and the passion of loss. This is love as devotion, undying devotion. And still, something feels fragile beneath the surface. The language is beautiful, yes — but also relentless. There is no room for silence or space or self. When someone says they love you “with the breath, / Smiles, tears, of all my life,” you want to ask what’s left for them.

This is where the fissure begins — not in the relationship, perhaps, but in the speaker. In the total surrender of boundaries. That feeling of all consuming love. You can’t breathe, you can’t sleep, because all you can think about is how desperately you want someone in your life. In the quiet pressure of loving so much that there is no room to exhale. It isn’t that anything is broken. Not yet. But you feel it — a strain, a hairline crack running through the architecture of the soul. That’s what a fissure is. Not a collapse. Just the possibility of one.

Didion’s “Goodbye to All That” doesn’t suggest possibility. It declares an ending. It’s the story of a young woman who comes to New York City with the usual illusions — that things will happen there, that life will begin there. And for a while, it does. “There was a certain element of the City,” she writes, “that seemed to have to do with magic.” But eventually, the magic wears off. You realize the man who tried to sell you bootleg CDs is not your friend. The late nights become empty. The noise becomes too much. And you eventually wake up from the dream.

What makes this a fracture is not just that she leaves New York — it’s that she leaves a version of herself behind. The same way I left a version of myself behind in Los Angeles. The girl who once believed in infinite possibility doesn’t survive. The break is clean, maybe even necessary. “I no longer live in New York,” Didion says, with finality. There’s no trying again, no repairing what’s been undone.

Reading these two pieces together is like watching the slow arc of emotional erosion. Browning shows us love at its fullest, but also at its most dangerous — when it threatens to consume. Didion shows us what happens when the weight becomes too much, when something beautiful has run its course.

I feel like their tie to each other can be found in another form of media. Jeff Buckley’s song from his 1994 studio album “Grace” titled “I Want Someone Badly.” It’s that dire need to love, be loved, and love something. I want to find the strength to love myself, love someone else, and love the things in my life. I want someone badly to love me, I want to love myself badly, I want to love the things in my life badly. Love is something so beautiful but so dangerous. The fissures in a relationship that lead to fractures and ultimately the end. The fissure whispers. The fracture doesn’t ask. It ends.

There’s something strangely comforting in learning the difference. It means we don’t have to wait for something to shatter to know it’s hurting us. It means we can see the signs — the subtle shifts, the exhaustion creeping in, the love that feels like drowning. And it means we know when it’s time to leave.

Browning teaches us how far love can stretch. Didion teaches us how far we can go before it snaps.

Both are acts of survival.

But what does this mean in regard to the current state of the fashion industry? It’s tricky to know completely.

Galiano left Margiela and is now left “house-less.” Jonathan Anderson left Loewe, now fathering creative direction at Dior. Matthieu Blazy left Bottega Veneta and is now with Chanel, (and flaunted a neither overwhelmingly impressive nor underwhelming couture collection)

Needless to say- everything is confusing, nothing makes perfect sense, artistry is both lost and returning at the same time, and skinny jeans are still not in style (please).

In the consistently stressful state of the world, everything is slowly feeling more and more like 2008 again- and not in a good way.

Nostalgia sells.

Reboots and revamps like DWP 2, The Fantastic Four, Superman, give the people what they want, what they know, what they’re comfortable with.

In a world so uncertain, stepping into the theater and seeing Superman save the day gives movie goers a sense of serenity when there is a war of worlds raging just outside the doors.

In terms of other films- those new, but with a lingering sense of what once was haven’t been so lucky.

The Materialist promised a rom-com fit for the modern day. Against my better judgement as a journalist I offer you something taboo- my opinion. I didn’t like it- at all. The sentiment is there- you should always marry the person you love unconditionally.

However, if he’s a 30 something almost 40 year old failed actor living in god knows where Brooklyn with three roommates- hard pass, I’m picking Pedro Pascal.

The Devil Wears Prada is a cult classic, for many, including myself- it shaped our love for fashion, the delicate artistry behind every cerulean sweater, every department store find.

High fashion in recent years, rather the last decade or so has become increasingly more accessible to the everyday person. Whether it’s counterfeit Goyard from Canal Street or Miu Miu fresh off the runway.

I remember once having a conversation with a customer at work. An older woman, maybe mid 30s, huge rock on her left hand, head to toe Alo, fresh out of pilates- a real modern Upper West Side woman. She asked me what I was studying- I told her Journalism with an interest in Fashion to keep it short and sweet. She stepped back- took a good look at me and said “It doesn’t look like you know fashion.” Right. I thought this was funny considering it was around 8:30pm on a tuesday- I’ve had a full day of classes, am currently three hours into a five hour long shift- I’m exhausted. So I’m sorry that my company provided crewneck, jeans, and uggs that do not meet the level of chic that I must meet to be taken seriously. It made me feel like all the hours spent reading Vogue, the time spent looking at archival pieces, the networking I’ve done to get my foot in the door, understanding the brand of each House, each designer- living and dead, like all that I’ve poured into knowing the difference between organza and chiffon had suddenly left my body.

Like this woman in the Alo set was Andy, who had just taken my place as Miranda’s plus one to Paris Fashion Week. Ouch.

In my hopes- I wish for this sequel to dive into the complex world of high fashion; advocating for inclusivity, a critique on microtrends and overconsumption in opposition to one true and authentic sense of style. A discussion on unethical production- especially in wake of the Loro Piana- the high end “quiet luxury” of LVMH currently facing charges of worker abuse and neglect. I hope it’s only nostalgic piece is the actors. I hope it challenges individuals and those in the industry.

That’s all.

This passage within his work, it's not just his observation but rather a confrontation with the alarming idea of moral collapse. Augustine is telling us, not a suggestion, that sin doesn’t annihilate the soul- it stains it, weighs it down, but it never is a complete destruction of the whole soul. There is a clear difference between annihilation of the soul and bruising the soul. He doesn’t believe that one wrong step obliterates our very essence of living. He brings on the idea that we carry our humanity- our soul, with us through every mistake, every selfish act, every fall from grace. Similar to the idea that nothing is a mistake or failure if you learn from it, re-patch the holes left in your soul from wrongdoings.

It is clear that Augstine’s ideas are shaped through his admiration with Neoplatonism- the idea that spiritual reality holds primacy over our material existence. When we sin, something that is inevitable, it is not a literal transformation but rather a metaphorical plummet. We lose our way, but we don't lose our core.

Growing up Catholic, the thought that sin does not diminish a person is a concept that can only be obtained through constant prayer, and confession. Which in my personal opinion is the modern day equivalent of public humiliation. I’m talking about placing people in stocks and letting the townsfolk throw rotten tomatoes at them as they shout “She is a sinner! May God forgive her!” You sit there, facing the Priest you see every sunday morning, and tell him all the awful things you’ve done, how you betrayed your very creator. “Forgive me Father for I have sinned.” You don’t leave feeling free from sin, but shameful- having to face the same Priest for communion when he knows all of your sins. Therefore, the idea that your soul is not destroyed through wrong doings and sin, heals the Catholic guilt within me. At the end of the day, I know I’m not a bad person- it is my first time on earth, my first time with this soul, I won’t shatter her but she will get bruises and scars like the ones I have on my skin- it does not make us ugly.

It can be argued that since our soul’s essence never changes, no matter the severity of the sin we commit, is this idea almost too merciful? But Augustine is not looking to argue for leniency- he is chasing something deeper, something more painfully true. Our soul’s unchanging nature is not a “Get out of jail free” card, but rather no matter how lost we feel, how corrupt we become, we still will carry a piece that is worth saving. It is grace that doesn’t erase consequences but insists on possibility.

Through this work, we can understand that Augustine is daring us to believe in second chances without surrendering to complacency. Our soul- stubbornly spiritual, inherently dignified, it carries the everlasting chance of redemption. He wants us to realize that our core is something that is consistent, it doesn’t bend on whims of weakness- when our body is consumed by hatred, anger, and stress.

In the end, Augustine wants us to wrestle with the idea of the tension lying between despair and hope. Accepting the fact that we are never so broken that we are beyond repair. Augustine finds the perfect balance of not letting us off the hook while not giving up on ourselves. He demands that we allow our soul to be stubborn, unyielding in its persistence- the kind that refuses to collapse under the weight of our worst choices. Through our faults, we still have our soul, it stays put while the rest of our body feels like an unraveling ball of yarn- the world around us, the naive kitten playing with it, not realizing the consequences, but we can always reroll the yarn into a ball.

Enough of everything formal, no upside down pyramid structure style writing- it's just me

I haven’t written like this in so long.

But I truly think love is everywhere, every crack of life has something to love. Even the most difficult parts, the wounds that never really heal, the scars that stick around forever.

The scars I have on my knees, and elbows remind me of my childhood. Growing up in California, my first home. Although I never see myself returning for good, I’m happy to say that I do love it. No more gritty angst Lady Bird “I hate California” core. I love it, I love the streets that I learned to ride my bike, then drive a car. I love the classrooms and dance studios where I met some of my favorite people- people I can come back to after months and it's not awkward. I love my family, and how through this distance I can wake up everyday knowing they love me and I love them. I love California and I love Los Angeles.

I’ve been in New York for almost half a year. Which is so crazy, if you knew me before I moved you know how annoying I was about this city. Everything I did was for this city. And even though the cold is harsh and sometimes I just want to be in my old bedroom. I can’t sit here and write this like some days aren’t hard. But I really do love this city, CLICHE I know but I really think this city is my first love.

I think New York has taught me a lot about love, where it is around me and within me. I never been the most confident person in the room but I think in the 164 days give or take since being here I’ve really learned to love myself. I won’t get into too much detail but I love myself a little more each passing day.

I love everything this city has given me so far. I came here with no friends, no family, just 4 very full suitcases. But I’ve found what I like to think of my little family. The people that make me feel safe and loved. The people I could immediately be myself around, people I feel like I’ve known my whole life.

That whole “to be loved is to be known.” Wowwww. It's true, which is disgusting. What’s my favorite color? What’s my middle name? What's my major? What’s my favorite art style?

I think love is everywhere.

Or rather I know it is.

Well I know love exists because I am here and I AM FULL OF IT!

Yes I feel everything so deeply and that is okay! With every meaningful interaction, every laugh shared, a piece of you is carried in my heart forever.

Love is accidentally running into friends

Love is the shared space of being known and understood

Love is remembering

Love is everything and everywhere

Love is patient

Love is kind

Love Never Fails

Miuccia Prada’s influence from her stewardship of Miu Miu flows seamlessly into this collection, bringing a playful yet refined narrative to the forefront. The runway pulsated with bold choices and reimagined classics, signaling a definitive moment in menswear.

Plaid and boots are dominant—if you’re frequenting thrift stores, it’s time to hunt down these staples. Men’s baby tees with U-necklines make a daring appearance, offering a silhouette that may not work for everyone but demands consideration for its audacity and edge.

Among the standout footwear, Prada introduces a cowboy Mary Jane, a shoe that could only be born from the combined genius of Raf Simons and Miuccia Prada. Imagine the rugged profile of a pointed-toe cowboy boot reinterpreted with the cutout elegance of a Mary Jane—daring yet timeless, modern yet steeped in classic design language.

Outerwear, shoes, and bags stole the show, with each look showcasing boots or loafers that perfectly complemented the models’ tailored silhouettes. Look 24, for instance, epitomizes the collection’s ethos: navy dress pants paired with a light blue Detroit jacket, layered under a fur-lined coat. A shirtless aesthetic adds a dash of tasteful rebellion, tying together Prada’s signature sophistication with a contemporary flair that many other fashion houses aspire to but rarely achieve.

Bags played a key role, with oversized pieces dominating the collection. Bowling-style bags reminiscent of the Balenciaga City Bag—revitalized during Winter Ready-to-Wear 2024—were reimagined through Prada’s lens, balancing functionality with a high-fashion edge.

Prada’s pandemic-era rebranding has successfully infused its collections with renewed energy, creativity, and accessibility. In an industry often resistant to evolution, this shift has brought high fashion back into dialogue with the zeitgeist, listening to critiques and redefining the runway as a space for innovation and inclusion.

By bridging accessibility with artistry, Miuccia and Raf have not only kept Prada relevant but have redefined what modern menswear can be.

For those unaware, the UEFA Champions League is one of the most prestigious football tournaments in the world. Put together annually by the Union of European Football Association, the top teams from the European Leagues are placed in a draw, competing for the ultimate addition to the trophy case.

This time last year, reigning champions Manchester City FC had won 3-1 against heavyweight FC Bayern Munich, ending in the second round with a tie. Thus pushing them into the Semi-Final with previous title holder and 14-time Champions League winners Real Madrid CF. Man. City with lead coach Pep Guardiola managed to push past Madrid in an incredible 5-1 total at the end of the Semi-Finals, with a starting line-up of Erling Haaland, Phil Foden, Kevin De Bruyne, Jack Grealish, and so many more. Madrid could not simply rely on the power of Vinicius Junior. Man. City then met Inter Milan in the final, after an astonishing season in Serie A, but they were simply no match for the power of Man. City in their 22/23 season. Playing like their lives depended on it, bringing them their first Champions League title in the club’s history, and their missing piece to the English Treble.

Now, the first leg of the Quarter-Finals was anything but uneventful. Meeting in the first leg, Arsenal who stayed strong for a great while at the top of the Premier League during the season so far faced Bayern Munich. Bukayo Saka, only 22 years old in his first Champions League since joining Arsenal’s first team in 2018, scored in minute 12 giving Arsenal the early lead that shocked everyone. Bayern followed suit twice within the first half giving them the lead. However, in minute 78 Leonardo Trossard saved the Gunners tying up the score leaving the stadium in a 2-2 tie. The teams met again on April 17th in Allianz Arena in Munich…

Madrid and Man. City met in a rematch of sorts, a seeming redemption arch for Madrid and Carlo Ancelotti. With youngster Jude Bellingham proving to be well worth his 110 million pound transfer from Borussia Dortmund, it was predicted that Madrid quickly would place Man. City “back in their place.” Yet, if it wasn’t for Ruben Dias’ own goal, Man. City would’ve left the Bernabeu with a fantastic win but found yet another tie. With the result of their April 17th match back at the Etihad Stadium…

April 10th brought the meeting of Atletico Madrid and Borussia Dortmund, a seemingly interesting game as both Atletico and Dortmund fall within the shadows of the bigger clubs of their respective leagues. Argentinian, often joked about to be “Messi’s Body Guard” Rodrigo De Paul pushed Atletico into an early lead within only the 4th minute. Samuel Lino brought a second point for Atletico at minute 32. Half-time became a graceful period for Atletico with a 2-0 lead until Sebastian Haller of Dortmund closed the gap to 2-1. There simply is not enough time for Dortmund to tie. The continuing match on April 16th, with a home pitch advantage to Dortmund, Atletico was no match for the Yellow Wall. Despite their loss the week prior, Dortmund beat Atleti. squeezing by with an overall 5-4 lead. Dortmund put on a spectacle and truly embodied the power that a home pitch can give you. Unless you’re FC Barcelona on April 16th.

FC Barcelona traveled to face off with Kylian Mbappe, and his 10 backup dancers. Ligue 1 could only be compared to something of a Sunday League as Paris Saint-Germain never find it difficult to reach the top of their League time and time again. Head coach of Barcelona, Xavi Hernandez, after announcing his departure from Barcelona at the end of the 23/24 season, continues to tie the team to their greatest and bring up youngsters from La Masia. Flowing into the second half, Barcelona had secured a 1-0 lead. Dembele, who couldn’t seem to get the ball in the net while at Barcelona, found it to come naturally in the 48th minute. PSG took the lead two minutes later, with a goal from Vitinha- leaving Barcelona stunned. Xavi, frantic- swapped out Sergi Roberto for Pedri in the 61st minute. Minute 62’ brought the game back to a tie with an assist by Pedri for Raphina’s second goal of the match. The exit of Frenkie De Jong, bringing Andreas Christensen onto the pitch, and in minute 75 gave Barcelona the lead they were looking for. PSG, and French superstar Kylian Mbappe, who has played more aggressively in Friendly Match very clearly sent the message to all that he is very ready to leave the club at the end of the season. After 90 minutes of scrambling around the pitch and losing a battle with Barca’s 07’ star Pau Cubarsi- Mbappe left the pitch with what he brought into the game- nothing.

The April 16th match between PSG and Barcelona continued to show just how quickly a team could lose it all. A controversial and arguably undeserved red card fell upon Ronald Araujo in minute 29

Rumors of Mbappe joining Real Madrid, although appealing to Madridistas, could bring a repeat of PSG’s front line of Mbappe, Messi, and Neymar Jr. Too much ego for too small of a pitch. The Bernabeu would not be able to contain Vinicius Jr. Bellingham, Mbappe, and all their combined talent.

Manchester City could very much see yet another silver in their collections by the end of June- Dortmund, Atletico, Barcelona, or PSG would be no trouble. Yet it can’t be denied that Real Madrid find their players to become superhuman when it comes to the Champions League.

WRITERS UPDATE: As of June 1st 2024, Real Madrid won the Champions League

Punk isn’t obscenity and moshing; it's a lifestyle, a community, a place for anyone to be who they are; it’s a spectrum.

It’s all about rebelling for a good cause.

In its earliest form, punk began in London in the 1970s with bands like the Sex Pistols, The Stooges, and The Clash. From then on, the punk rock movement grew more and more with each song, each glass-shattering lyric.

The Sex Pistols were the poster band for punks. Sid Vicious, the lead singer of the band, formed the punk act and style. He was loud and obscene and would do insane things for more attention. Baggy pants, spiked-up hair, leather, and, of course, plenty of Vivienne Westwood

Many tried to discredit the Sex Pistols for their use of Vivienne Westwood as a catalyst for making it into the mainstream media so early on. Yet the truth of the matter is that they simply found the resources. Historically, public figures and celebrities were just average people who knew how to get attention, and the beginning of the punk movement was no exception to that.

Punk is a way of life, something to live by. Punk is so powerful that it crossed from London to Detroit to Los Angeles and found its way into the cracks of LMHS.

The punk scene has rapidly grown in and around La Mirada. The students roaming these halls are the face of the next generation of punk.

Kendra and Megan Dewey grew up around punk. For them both, punk is their community, like a second family. To put it beautifully, Kendra shared, “Understand that the whole point is to not judge; you decide what punk means to you; there isn't something you have to fit into.” Megan added on, emphasizing how the punk community is a family, free of judgment and accepting of all. Punk isn’t violent; it’s a welcoming space for those who find it.

Punk is a spectrum; just like a multitude of subgenres and bands, punk changes what you resonate with.

Tyler Rivera, a senior growing into his punk life, explained that his friends were the main influence in his journey into the community. He found another family within his chosen family, growing in love and unity.

Alyssa Montoya realized that punk was always around her, and everyone likes punk, even if they didn’t realize it. Pop punk, grunge, street punk, post-punk—it's everywhere. For Alyssa, punk tells a story through the composition of music: “Punk is an art form that is a feeling, an outlet, coming out of their shell."

Punk is different for everyone.

Shane Murphy explains punk as “not scary, but a spectrum. You don’t have to dress punk to be punk.” Punk is what you make of it; it’s music, it’s attitude, and it's the culture all around it that makes up the community. Yes, there is spikey hair, lots of leather, and dark colors, but it’s about your mind and how the music makes you feel.

It’s not a punk revival. It was always there.

From The Stooges to the Sex Pistols, to Social Distortion, to Bikini Kill, to Blink-182, to Rage Against the Machine, Punk is everywhere, whether you like it or not.

The collection seamlessly blended the historical and the futuristic, with garments that appeared as if they were artifacts from a distant, yet-to-be-discovered era. Galliano's masterful use of layering, intricate detailing, and unexpected fabric combinations created a surreal and ethereal aesthetic that left the audience in awe.

One of the standout elements of the Maison Margiela Couture show was the innovative use of recycled and upcycled materials, reinforcing the brand's commitment to sustainability. Garments adorned with repurposed fabrics, reclaimed embellishments, and eco-friendly textiles showcased a thoughtful and responsible approach to haute couture, reflecting the growing importance of environmental consciousness in the fashion industry.

The runway itself became a stage for storytelling, as models walked with otherworldly grace, wearing garments that seemed to evolve and transform as they moved. Galliano's ability to manipulate fabrics and challenge conventional garment construction was on full display, creating a sense of mystery and intrigue that captivated the audience.

The color palette was a harmonious blend of muted tones and bold accents, further emphasizing the dreamlike quality of the collection. Intricate embroidery, asymmetrical silhouettes, and unexpected proportions added a theatrical flair to each piece, reinforcing Maison Margiela's reputation for creating wearable art. To create an emporium of new age fashion that transcends what it deemed “acceptable” for couture. Many are used to classics like Chanel, keeping the same silhouette since the beginning. John Galliano takes risk

In conclusion, Maison Margiela's Couture presentation at Paris Fashion Week 2024 was a triumph of imagination and innovation. John Galliano's ability to merge the past and the future, coupled with a commitment to sustainability, solidified the brand's position as a trailblazer in the ever-evolving world of haute couture. The show left an indelible mark on the fashion landscape, inspiring both designers and fashion enthusiasts alike to embrace creativity and push the boundaries of what is considered possible in the realm of high fashion.

My toys on my bedroom floor and stepping around them to get to bed. Sleepaway camps and all the hair that is braided and all the boys we fall in love with. Trying on my first bra and feeling like I did something wrong to end up there. Believing that a perfect outfit will create a perfect life. Trying to find the right people to be your chosen family. Trying to compare yourself to others around you. To finding your own definition of love.

No one will understand what it is like to experience girlhood as you do—every story is layered in different embarrassments and moments of freedom. But there’s an essence behind all of it. The same way you can pick up anything made of glass and know it’s fragile.

That’s why we love the movies about it, even if we never got the experiences that they promise. We still see our dreams in them.

The realness in Kat Stratford in 10 Things I Hate About You.

The caged feeling of the Lisbon Sisters in The Virgin Suicides.

The dream of being Summer (when you’re actually Tom) in (500) Days of Summer.

The authenticity of Christine McPherson in Lady Bird.

There is a thread that connects us, and I think it’s about who we all wish we could be. This ideal of being a girl and our constant failure to reach it. We’re all failing because it’s an impossible standard. Shopping for identities like our mothers taught us to shop for bras. When we learn that, we give away the clothes that don’t fit us, we stop being polite when we should be stern, we become okay with being in an empty room because empty people are worse.

It’s this coming-of-age that connects us, however we get there.

Love it, embrace it, treasure it.