“Fashion is fashion. Art is art.”

— Karl Lagerfeld

The Met Gala just declared that Fashion is Art.

​From Elsa Schiaparelli collaborating with Salvador Dalí, to Alexander McQueen turning runway shows into theatrical performances, many designers argued that fashion belongs alongside art. Yet even Karl Lagerfeld rejected the label while referencing painters like John Singer Sargent in his work, exposing fashion’s permanent tension between artistry and commerce.

​And which parts of fashion are art exactly? Is fashion only art when it appears during Paris Couture Week? If Yves Saint Laurent democratized fashion through ready-to-wear while simultaneously turning Mondrian paintings into dresses, which parts of his work are art? And if fashion is art on the runway, does it cease to be art once it reaches the commercial floor, or does it become more artistic once it starts to move in real people’s lives?

​What happens when we look beyond designers? Does clothing from a luxury house automatically imply artistry, or does it take more to go from vendor to visionary? Is it still art if it comes from J.Crew or Shein? Who is more artistic: Lauren Sanchez clashing Chanel and Balenciaga, Steve Jobs wearing Issey Miyake as a uniform of practicality, or a college student recreating runway-inspired outfits on TikTok using fast fashion pieces?

​And maybe fashion’s artistry was never just about the garment itself, but its myth, its worldbuilding, its cultural impact and the way fashion can transform the body into meaning. In a society where systems reduce everyday fashion into content, trends, status, and mass consumption, how do we preserve the art of fashion in an optimized world?

This May, we read about Alexander McQueen’s No 13, Karl Lagerfeld’s Sargent inspired works, Elsa Schiaparelli’s surrealist influences, Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche and beyond. We met to discuss which Fashion x Art collabs inspired us most, the fashion industry’s incentives and complex relationship between art and commerce.

Fashion Club Discussion Guide

The Met Gala

• How did you interpret the Met’s theme this year?

• What did you think of the way attendees interpreted the theme through clothing and costume? Which looks were your favorite?

Fashion borrows from art

• Karl Lagerfeld famously said that fashion is not art, but that it borrows from artists. Do you agree? Is borrowing from art what makes fashion artistic? If Lagerfeld rejected the label of “artist,” were his creations still art?

• Surrealist fashion emerged during a moment when society itself felt surreal. Elsa Schiaparelli’s work reflected collective anxieties, fantasies, and desires through surrealist imagery and collaboration. To what extent do you consider her work art?

Fashion runways as art

• Alexander McQueen used theatrical performance, philosophy, and storytelling to elevate runway shows into something culturally and intellectually significant. Should his runways be considered art? Is fashion most artistic when it exists on the runway, detached from commercial reality?

Fashion as self expression

• Yves Saint Laurent used his Rive Gauche line to democratize fashion, bringing experimentation and self-expression outside the exclusivity of couture. If Couture can be art, can Ready to Wear be art? Does fashion become more artistic once it moves into everyday life and real self-expression?

• Does mass production diminish artistry? Is someone that is recreating runway inspired looks on TikTok using Shein pieces still participating in fashion artistically?

Fashion’s myth making

• Ralph Toledano argued that corporations need genius designers because consumers need heroes. Nicole Phelps similarly said that editors “need to create stars.” The industry often runs on illusion management: runway spectacle, exclusivity, aspiration, status, and hero-making. Why do you think fashion depends so heavily on mythmaking? Do you think this mythmaking is itself a form of art?

Preserving the art of fashion

• Andy Spade and Adrian Joffe mention that success in fashion comes from respect from peers. Ralph Toledano, Steven Kolb, Jean-Jacques Picart, Nicole Phelps define success as commercial sales. Do you think today’s industry rewards vendors or visionaries? To what extent do the commercial incentives of fashion work against genuine artistic expression?

• Tim Walker said: “There’s been an incredible explosion of money and power in the industry… the impact on true creativity has been damning.” Have you seen this materialize in your own exposure to fashion? Do you think the art of fashion is more under threat today than in previous eras?

• In a world increasingly driven by algorithms, optimization, trends, and content production, how do we preserve the art of fashion?

Read More

• Art is Art Fashion is Fashion, the Met

• How Elsa Schiaparelli Turned Surrealism Into High Fashion, artnet

• Alexander McQueen: The Sublime and Melancholy, The Fashion Studies Journal

• The Yves Saint Laurent Show Where Art and Fashion Collided

• Yves Saint Laurent’s Rive Gauche Revolution, Museum at FIT

• What’s wrong with the fashion industry? Vestoj Magazine

Private Forum is an offline in person club to explore fashion in a meaningful way. We meet in small groups to discuss fashion topics.

Join Us

• June: John Galliano, New York

• July: Paris Couture Week Watch Party, New York

• July: Paris Couture Week Watch Party, Sag Harbor

• July: Paris Couture Week Watch Party, Miami

— Karl Lagerfeld, 1999

Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy went from a vibrant, social and charismatic young woman to one of the most photographed society figures in the world. As paparazzi surveillance and public pressure intensified, she became increasingly private, using her clothing as a way to communicate her identity instead. Through designers like Calvin Klein, Yohji Yamamoto, Ann Demeulemeester and Prada, she developed a disciplined, minimalist uniform that communicated clarity, control, and quiet authority.

90s minimalism emerged as a cultural reset: a “less is more” reaction to 1980s excess, shaped by economic uncertainty and a desire for simplicity and restraint. Clean lines, neutral palettes, and precise tailoring reflected a rejection of spectacle and femininity-as-performance. In Carolyn’s case, minimalism became more than aesthetic, it became a way to use her style as a way to express her identity.

In March, we read about how she used style to project power and define herself on her own terms. We met to examine the roots of minimalism and analyze her recurring silhouettes, biography and influences.

Fashion Club Discussion Guide

Minimalism & Anti-Fashion

1. Why did minimalism take off in the 90s? What was it a response to? What did minimalism reflect about how women felt about themselves at the time?

2. Do you see any parallels between the minimalism of the 90s and today? How is clothing similar or different in response to our environment?

Carolyn Bessette to Kennedy

1. Why do you think Carolyn’s style and presence were so magnetic, even before the spotlight? Do you think there’s something special about her style or was it simply her confidence and charisma? Is it the wearer or the clothes?

2. How did Carolyn’s circumstances change as she moved from private citizen into the role of a “Kennedy wife”?

3. Carolyn could have chosen to lean into PR, do interviews, create an image. Instead, she chose privacy. How do you think that continues to fuel the obsession with her?

Carolyn’s Style

1. What are the key elements of her style? Colors, items, what did she repeat the most?

2. How did her choices of clothing change as she entered the spotlight?

   1. Carolyn could have chosen to dress up in glamorous or foundational labels and instead chose minimalist designers. What wardrobe do you think was expected for a woman like her at the time?

   2. What parallels do you see between Carolyn’s personal style philosophy and the philosophies of the designers she wore?

   3. What did her minimalist choices communicate in contrast to what was expected of her?

   4. Do you see her minimalism as aesthetic, or as a form of control or refusal?

   5. What does her example say about the way we can use clothing to express our identity?

3. Why do you think so many people are constantly drawn to her style?

Read more:

• CBK A Life In Fashion by Sunita Kumar Nair

• Once Upon a Time by Elizabeth Beller

• Our Enduring Fascination With Carolyn Bessette Kennedy from Vogue by Sunita Kumar Nair

Ann Lowe was designing couture-level gowns for high society in New York decades before the American industry formally recognized “American couture.” She built her reputation dressing prominent society families across the United States. Known for her floral appliqué and fitted gowns, she anticipated shapes later popularized by Dior. She designed debutante, wedding and ball gowns, including Jacqueline Kennedy’s wedding dress.

What makes her approach stand out is the relationship Ann Lowe cultivated with women. One former client recalled, “I was no beauty when I was eighteen… but when I put on my Ann Lowe dress, I felt I owned the world.” Lowe dressed women for their most defining moments that shape memory and self-esteem. She designed around her clients’ confidence and presence.

Her designs evolved across decades. In the 1920s she created garçonne silhouettes. In the 1930s and 40s she worked with peplum shapes. In the 1950s she emphasized fitted gowns. In the 1960s she adapted to higher waistlines. She responded to client demands and the changing meaning of beauty over time.

Perhaps the most easily recognizable marker of her work is her floral embellishments. She created hand sewn, dimensional flowers applied onto dresses by hand. Even in childhood, she recalled, “The first thing I can remember is making flowers.”

Ann Lowe was a woman designing for women, prioritizing the wearers’ comfort. Her focus was evident in her obsession with improving the comfort and construction of her garments. One of her innovations was adding built-in bras into her gowns to improve support in a gown. Another was a new type of sleeve, created to allow greater movement than typical in arms for a ball gown.

Despite the delicacy of her design work and strong relationships, Lowe faced systemic barriers because of racism. Not only did she not have the same access as French couturiers, but as a Black woman working in early twentieth century America, she was often denied public credit in the media for her work. She lost money remaking the Kennedy wedding dress after a flood damaged the originals. She shut down and reopened her business multiple times because she struggled to negotiate a profitable price for her work above cost, even while designing for Saks Fifth Avenue.

Her story raises questions about power and recognition. How does society decide who gets funded and who gets remembered? Why are some designers in fashion history labeled as “genius” while others are overlooked? How do institutions shape taste and legacy and the names we wear on our clothes?

Inspired by Lowe, our discussion also focused on craft. We examined the relationship between woman and designer and how it has weakened in mass consumer culture. In contrast to Lowe’s hand-applied flowers and custom construction, fashion today prioritizes speed, scale, and algorithmic trend cycles over intimacy and craft. And if we are the Shein generation, what does it mean to value craft? Are we willing to slow down, scrutinize, and choose more carefully what we wear and who we support with our spending? Do we chase trends, status and Instagram dupes or can we be more thoughtful about supporting designers?

Finally, Lowe’s life is a study in obsession and conviction. Despite financial instability, racism, and personal setbacks, she refused to stop designing. She remade destroyed gowns at her own expense. She left a discouraging marriage to protect her craft. She continued designing even as her eyesight deteriorated. Her persistence inspires a question: what talent in your own life is worth fighting for, no matter what?

There is much more to explore about Ann Lowe’s life and career. Much of it is documented in Elizabeth Way’s research from the book on Ann Lowe HERE, which served as a great source for the reading this month and those interested in learning more.

Read more:

• Vogue

• The Met

• FIT

• American Couturier Book

​The Métiers d’Art 2026 show, presented on December 2, 2025 in the Bowery subway station, touches directly on a big house undergoing identity recalibration. Only Matthieu Blazy’s second show for Chanel, it already raises deep questions about what Chanel is becoming.

​On the one hand, aspirational shoppers and New Yorkers can easily see themselves within Blazy’s Chanel. The references are familiar; the environment is relatable. Anyone can take a selfie in the subway. There is a fun thrill in seeing a heritage house nod to the city we all love.

​But some Chanel loyalists, especially Very Important Clients who drive Chanel’s Ready to Wear revenue, are increasingly vocal about their discomfort. To some, the shift feels too aspirational, too youthful, too symbolic. Some worry the brand is courting cultural momentum at the expense of the women who are loyal to the brand’s prior aesthetic.

​And this is the core paradox every modern luxury house faces. Culture and the internet demand novelty, narrative, engagement. Runways must generate conversation and aspiration, drawing new desire and clients into the brand’s orbit. Yet established clients demand consistency, elegance, and ease. And while Coco Chanel became successful in the 1910s by designing clothes that were relatable because they were functional, Blazy, by contrast, is asked to make clothing that is not only luxurious but sensational as well; clothing that will resonate in feeds, videos, and cultural conversations.

​So how does a modern luxury house balance aspiration vs tradition? What does this tension mean for the modern creative director, who must satisfy two audiences that often want opposite things? How does Matthieu Blazy’s Chanel use relatability and spectacle to recalibrate the brand’s identity? Do we respect Chanel more for its creative directors, the brand legacy, the quality, or the storytelling of its runways? And does fashion need a great reset at all?

Read more:

• AnOther

• BOF

• WSJ

• Chanel

Dupe culture undeniably accelerates a race to the bottom in quality, price, and environmental waste. But dupes aren’t the cause of fashion’s collapse.

They’re a symptom.

So how did fashion become so vulnerable to mass produced copies?

We all know that over the past two decades, manufacturing capabilities have improved dramatically. It’s easier than ever to find factories, and they’ve been optimized for variability: smaller minimums, more styles, more SKUs. Today, almost anyone can produce clothing. The main barrier is no longer production, it’s attention.

At the same time, discovery tools exploded. Shopify made it frictionless to open a store. Instagram shifted from a social app to a shopping app. TikTok became the ultimate haul machine. Affiliate marketing turned consumption itself into a business model, incentivizing influencers to buy, wear, and promote more clothing in a constant competition for engagement.

When everything can be made, the only real differentiator left is visibility. And we’ve never had more options and less clarity.

Mob wife. Demure. Cottagecore. Bubble skirts. Oxblood fall (thanks Sabato de Sarno). Leopard print winter. Each micro-trend competes to stop us from scrolling. Brands chase whatever will spike engagement.

In the race for attention, the definition of what’s “interesting” shifted. Trend cycles replaced standards. Somewhere along the way, we lost sight of the bar.

Not long ago, the decision on what was good or bad sat with curators: department store buyers, boutiques, local stylists. They filtered, edited, and took risks.

As shopping moved online, we traded those human filters for algorithms. We chose Google and Instagram over Barneys and independent boutiques, closing many of them down in the process. But algorithms didn’t replace curation with something more thoughtful. Alphabet and Meta simply took our attention and sold it to the highest bidder anyway.

Meanwhile, malls stopped buying as interesting of selections. They stopped curating their inventory. They stopped being entertaining or fun. Many gave up entirely, went bankrupt, and blamed e-commerce.

We didn’t replace human judgment with something better. We replaced it with ads.

In this environment, quality became nearly impossible to judge.

Cashmere can be long-fiber or short-fiber, and most shoppers wouldn’t know the difference. Silk can be pure, blended, chemically finished, and still look identical on the rack. Material labels imply quality, but there’s always an asterisk. Brands rarely disclose mills, finishing techniques, or actual manufacturing processes. They trademark new material names, obscure blends, and do things like market polyester as “satin” to imply silk.

Even pricing makes no sense. You can find a polyester skirt for $60, $200, or $1,000. That either means there are wild arbitrage opportunities in polyester, or that there are secret quality standards no one is meant to understand.

No wonder Gen Z rejected traditional luxury in favor of secondhand vintage and fast fashion. In a market with no shared quality standard, paying more stops making sense.

In a world where quality is illegible and curation has collapsed, dupes become logical.

In some ways, copying has always existed in fashion. Chanel famously called it the “ransom of success.” Dior licensed his designs to expand his influence. What’s changed isn’t copying itself, but its scale and speed. Image recognition technology, price extensions, and viral distribution now allow identical garments to be found and sold instantly at the lowest possible price.

What fashion needs now isn’t another shopping app, another comparison tool, or more product. It needs integrity.

So what should designers do now?

Should they resist dupes, embrace them, or rethink the value of fashion altogether?
And if everyone is making the same thing, how do we decide what’s actually worth wearing?