Fashion

Forget the protesters versus police clash on the West Coast: this week's fiercest battle of wits is between a Vietnamese fashion critic and the Vice President of the United States. The man running an anonymous X account dedicated to critiquing politicians' attire, Derek Guy, may find himself America's next top deportee. Guy, who has criticized Pete Hegseth's USA socks and Sam Altman's strange trouser bagginess, took to X Sunday evening, to come clean about his own illegal residence and disgust with the Trump administration's deportation agenda. "My family escaped Vietnam after the Tet Offensive and went through an arduous journey that eventually landed them in the Canada," Guy wrote. From Canada, his dad went to the US to work, overstaying the legal timeframe.

Melania Trump’s one-of-a-kind wedding dress is on sale for an asking price of $45,000 on eBay. The ivory duchesse satin dress was worn at the 2005 wedding between the future president and first lady – and also featured on the cover of Vogue magazine, the sole instance of international model Melania appearing on a Vogue cover. Jill Biden, meanwhile, has two to her name. The Christian Dior gown was designed by John Galliano. It took over 500 hours to hand-sew 1,500 Swarovski diamonds onto its 13-foot train. Its reported original manufacturer’s suggested retail price was $210,000, but it will now be sold at a fraction of the price after being worn only a handful of times.

Donatella Versace was never supposed to be a fashion designer. She had no formal fashion education and was happy working on the business and styling of Versace as her brother, Gianni, built his house into Milan’s most opulent. But, in 1997, a madman brutally murdered him — and someone had to keep his legacy and brand alive. And so Donatella did. Over the almost 30 years that followed — struggling through grief, business troubles and addiction — she has released more than 100 collections, grown the brand into a multi-billion-dollar giant and did so aggressively, without selling out its style or quality. Her recent Fall /Winter 2025 collection was an eccentric, fabulous celebration of those decades, pulling exuberantly from the Versace archives.

Most of the people in my feed spent their weekend talking about how ashamed they are of their country. That’s a sentiment I don’t share. But a very specific shame was still very much on my mind because of the Trump-Zelensky press conference: suit shaming.   The suit shaming of President Zelensky started as soon as he arrived at the White House looking like one of the henchmen from Anora. As Zelensky stepped from an SUV, Trump commented on his outfit: “He’s all dressed up today,” a power-player rhetorical cue to make Zelensky appear poor and small.   At the press conference, the media itself got in on the suit-shaming.

Last Friday afternoon, amid the menswear shows for Paris Fashion Week, a crowd of influencers, shoppers, celebrities and fashion journalists waited for Dior’s latest collection. Attendees, however, weren’t chatting about what they expected from the clothes, or the staging, or the state of the brand, or what they were hoping to see. Instead, it was all about the fate of its designer. The show received strikingly positive reviews, with critics raving over Dior Homme’s return to simple form and immaculate craftsmanship. But before, throughout, and after, one question saturated the air: would this be the last show by its men’s creative director, Kim Jones?

On Monday night, celebrities, designers and the highest edges of New York’s upper crust attended the biggest party of the fashion calendar, the Met Gala. Given its supposed importance, you’d think the looks would always be fantastic; that it would be a night for designers to compete for the best, most creative, most glamorous couture. The reality is a lot more disappointing. There are only ever a few truly standout looks, with most being bland at best — and when designers bother to follow the theme, it’s usually in a painfully uncreative manner. The message of the Met Gala should be that the fashion industry is filled with incredible creative talent. But it usually just tells you that money doesn’t buy taste; nor does being employed by Chanel.

It’s summer and very warm on the famed Café Tomaselli terrace in the heart of Salzburg. Nevertheless, I’m sipping a hot coffee and nibbling strudel (mit Schlagobers — whipped cream, of course!) with Melissa (Missy) Baldino. We are talking food, fashion and Rike & Co., the charming entrepreneur’s new business. Missy launched Rike & Co. this past October from her charming Victorian home in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It may seem a bit incongruous in this age of hyperfeminism to be selling aprons and housedresses. But “Rike & Co.,” Missy says, “is all about family and being fashionable while cooking and doing housework and everything else that many of the fairer sex still enjoy doing.

Matthew Williams, the tattooed American fashion designer and creative director at Givenchy, will soon be evicted from the famous house. Givenchy announced on December 1 that Williams would leave his job at the end of the year. Nobody is particularly surprised. His three-year tenure has been controversial and highly disliked by many, and also hasn’t produced any viral products. It was obvious Williams’s publicists knew his time was up too. Late last year, he was profiled by Jessica Testa in the New York Times; an article built around the fact that designer contracts typically only last three years, and that his time at Givenchy wasn't producing hits. Diesel, Vetements, Loewe and Balenciaga have all spun controversy into sales. The best Givenchy achieved was disappointment, if that.

It would have happened on a Thursday, as it does every Thursday. Crowds of young men and teen boys would have lined up outside stores around the globe, in hopes of buying the latest drop from Supreme — the pugnacious streetwear brand which rose from New York skater shop to global multibillion-dollar fashion colossus and sold to fashion conglomerate VF Corporation for $2.1 billion in December 2020. Even if you don’t care about skating or streetwear, you would instantly recognize a white T-shirt slapped with their logo; a red box, with “Supreme” in Futura Heavy Oblique font inside. Celebrities love Supreme, the stylish (Hailey Bieber, A$AP Rocky, Kanye West) and the stylish-wannabes (Justin Bieber, Travis Scott, Jaden Smith).

What happens to a fashion brand when the founder leaves? Or, to be more direct, what is Tom Ford without Tom Ford? That was the question hovering over Milan last month as the brand held its first runway show since the famed designer stepped down in April. The man on the marquee wasn't even in attendance; apparently bad weather left him stuck in London (there was a little thunder the day before, so it's plausible, if unconvincing). The House of Ford arrived with an enormous splash in 2006, creating enormous hype through its hyper limited, hyper expensive apparel, which Ford and business partner Domenico de Sole spun into obscenely lucrative accessories and perfume licensing deals.

It was raining on and off, but that was only fitting, as guests waited for the Summer 2024 show of Burberry, a brand that came to prominence in 1879 through its gabardine water-resistant coats. The Highbury Fields show was in a large tent, emblazoned with its signature check, with a green looping runway carpet inside and various celebrities in attendance. As per the fashion usual, the show was running late. At least it wasn’t pouring. Burberry isn’t just the greatest British luxury house; it’s one of the most compelling fashion houses in the world. No brand has such a rich history of contradictory iconography and speaks so directly to the culture of its home nation. Burberry is classy, trashy, flashy, reserved, functional and oh so unnecessary all at once.