By Sara Bright
New York Fashion Week’s latest iteration was less a parade of hemlines than a Rorschach test for a society in flux. As designers grappled with post-pandemic nostalgia, AI’s creep into creativity, and the politicisation of aesthetics, the Autumn-Winter 2025 collections became a battleground for conflicting ideologies. Here, we dissect the moments that redefined luxury, legacy, and the very notion of “wearable.”
Kendrick Lamar’s Merch as Cultural Trojan Horse
When Kendrick Lamar’s pgLang label dropped NFL-collaborated merch hours before his Super Bowl halftime show, it wasn’t just savvy marketing – it was a masterclass in cultural alchemy. The capsule, featuring dystopian slogans like Foot Up On The Gas But Somebody Gotta Do It, transformed stadium jerseys into protest artefacts. Lamar’s choice to pair $1,200 Martine Rose jackets with Celine denim onstage blurred streetwear and haute couture, mirroring his lyrical dismantling of hip-hop’s class hierarchies.
Yet the true innovation lay offline: pop-up clinics in Brooklyn and Compton offered free diabetes screenings alongside hoodie giveaways. In an industry obsessed with “disruption,” Lamar redefined it: fashion as communal care, merch as mutual aid.
Veronica Leoni’s Calvin Klein: Erasing Raf’s Shadow
Veronica Leoni’s debut for Calvin Klein hinged on a delicate exorcism. Tasked with distancing the brand from Raf Simons’ stark 2016-2019 tenure, Leoni delved into archives predating minimalism’s 90s chokehold. Her collection resurrected the sensual pragmatism of Klein’s 1980s cocaine-glam era – think belted trench coats with corset detailing and jersey dresses cut like second skins.
The pièce de résistance? Handbags moulded as oversized CK One perfume bottles – a nod to Klein’s fragrance empire that doubled as meta-commentary on beauty’s commodification. Leoni’s triumph wasn’t in rejecting Simons, but in proving Calvin Klein could again be a chameleon, not a monument.
Marc Jacobs’ Clowncore: Fear as Muse
Jacobs’ post-show notes called his collection “a love letter to terror” – a fitting epithet for looks that merged Victoriana mourning with circus grotesquerie. Velvet balloon dresses threatened to lift models skyward, while duck-billed satin pumps (dubbed “Quack Chic” by Vogue Runway) challenged Podiatry Associations worldwide.
Yet beneath the camp lay razor-sharp critique. The show’s venue – a dollhouse-scale replica of the New York Public Library – mirrored fashion’s infantilisation of femininity. Jacobs’ models, faces powdered chalk-white, evoked AI-generated influencers, their exaggerated silhouettes mocking algorithm-driven trend cycles. When asked backstage about commercial viability, he smirked: “Since when has sanity sold dreams?”
Sandy Liang’s Dollhouse Diaspora
Liang’s collection, inspired by her daughter’s Fisher-Price toys and 90s Tamagotchi angst, weaponised nostalgia. Miniature replicas of Liang’s childhood dresses were stitched onto adult garments – a literalisation of Gen Z’s eternal adolescence. Pearls the size of ping-pong balls swung from knit balaclavas, transforming models into pampered anarchists.
The subtext? A indictment of “girlboss” feminism. By juxtaposing toddler-tier pastels with corporate suiting, Liang highlighted the absurdity of power-dressing in an era where C-suite roles demand performative juvenility. Her finale look – a pink satin skirt suit with a detachable plush bear – asked: When maturity is penalised, why grow up?
Altuzarra vs. The Row: Minimalism’s Identity Crisis
The season’s quiet crisis unfolded in a dozen shows accused of The Row plagiarism. Altuzarra’s liquid wool trenches and Khaite’s asymmetric knits drew ire for echoing the Olsen twins’ monastic luxe. Critics cried derivative; designers retorted that quiet tailoring is now a public domain.
Yet the real story was in the margins. Michael Kors’ cashmere burnout dresses – so sheer they verged on spectral – and Brandon Maxwell’s LED-lined trenches proved minimalism isn’t dead, just democratised. As hemlines rose and seams vanished, a question lingered: in a world of AI-designed basics, does originality lie in absence?
Christopher John Rogers’ Phoenix Moment
Rogers’ comeback – 38 looks after a two-year hiatus – was a masterclass in radical restraint. Gone were the kaleidoscopic ruffles; in their place, matte jacquard sheaths and hobble skirts in Pantone’s 2025 “Winter Berries” and “Molten Chocolate.” The collection’s title, Exhale, mirrored Rogers’ own pandemic-era pivot: from maximalist wunderkind to craftsman-philosopher.
A floor-length coat in upcycled NASA foil (a nod to his Louisiana roots’ aerospace hubs) symbolised resilience. Yet the true revelation was his models: ages 18 to 72, each a survivor of industry ageism. Rogers didn’t just design clothes; he curated a manifesto on beauty’s expiry dates.
Thom Browne’s Avian Allegory
Browne’s finale – a Hitchcockian swirl of 2,000 paper cranes and tweed-clad models – was NYFW’s most literal metaphor. Jackets nipped like sparrow chests, gowns trailing feather-hemmed trains, and a diorama of Browne’s miniature double caged in gilt whispered of fashion’s gilded traps.
The designer’s post-show quip, “Canaries navigate hurricanes,” felt pointed. With conglomerates swallowing independents, Browne’s birds questioned creativity’s survival in an era of algorithmic trend forecasting. That the cages were left unlocked? A rare note of hope.
BDSM and Bare Skin: Power’s New Uniform
The season’s shock tactics – Guvanach’s latex harnesses, Elena Velez’s mud-crawling models – were less provocation than policy critique. As Roe v. Wade’s shadow loomed, Velez’s chainmail mini-dresses and Collina Strada’s Fempire slogan-tees framed the female body as battleground.
Even the much-mocked chewing-gum dresses (Christian Cowan’s silicone concoctions) carried weight. Their “bite marks” mirrored the teeth-gritting resilience of marginalised designers in a risk-averse industry. Nudity here wasn’t erotic; it was armour.
Nostalgia’s Double-Edged Seam Ripper
Childhood references – from Care Bears collabs to dinosaur-shaped handbags – revealed a generational rift. For Gen X designers, toys symbolised pre-digital innocence; Millennials weaponised them as critiques of capitalism (see: Sandy Liang’s Furby-fur skirts). Gen Z? They’re busy reselling their childhoods on Depop.
Luar’s Raul Lopez summed it up best: “My grandma’s Bronx tenement and Marc Jacobs’ dollhouse aren’t opposites. Both are prisons – just one’s rent-controlled.”
AI’s Quiet Infiltration
Unspoken but omnipresent, generative design haunted collections. Chromat’s algorithm-coded knits and Proenza Schouler’s CRISPR-dyed silks (grown from AI-mapped bacteria) hinted at a future where designers curate, not create. The true disruption? A anonymous showroom in Chelsea, where an AI-generated “brand” presented via deepfake models. Its name? Nostalgia.exe.
Fashion’s identity crisis has never been more exhilarating – or terrifying. As NYFW’s tents fold, one truth remains: in 2025, clothing isn’t just what we wear. It’s where we hide, resist, and occasionally, soar.
