Haven’t We Seen This All Before?
“Fashion’s problem isn’t the algorithm 'slop'. It’s us.”
In a $1.8 trillion industry built on image and aspiration, fashion today has begun to blur into a beige-colored fog.
Everything looks the same.
Not because the world has run out of ideas, but because the industry has run out of incentives to try anything different. Oversized silhouettes. Neutral palettes. Moody lighting. Campaigns that feature a model who looks like she’s just realized she signed a five-year exclusivity clause without an exit. The backdrops? A field, a stairwell, or a brutalist playground nobody’s ever played in.
You could be looking at Zara. Or Loro Piana. The distinctions are now just aesthetic illusions.
We’re deep in the era of Template Chic—a global style consensus built on recycling the last thing that worked. Not because consumers don’t care, but because the industry has stopped asking them to.
This isn’t some cynical outsider’s critique. I’ve been in the rooms. I’ve sat at the long tables, worn the free samples, flown out for the exclusives, been briefed on the “evolution of the brand.” I’ve smiled through every euphemism:
“We’re refining the DNA,”
“Elevating the proposition,”
“Tapping into the new wardrobe for the modern woman.”
Most of the time, no one actually knows what these phrases mean. And the few who do? Their vision is diluted until it’s indistinguishable from every other collection on the Paris calendar.
And yet—some brands resist. Quietly. Conviction over consensus. They speak softly but clearly. They’re not chasing trend graphs; they’re building something for the people who’ll catch up—or won’t. And that’s the point.
The System Is the Problem
If fashion’s aesthetics feel flat, it’s because the structure is hollow.
The sameness we’re seeing isn’t just the fault of lazy brands or uninspired creatives. It’s the consequence of a system that worships speed, scale, and surface over originality, depth, and time.
The old fashion calendar is now a relentless content treadmill. The schedule that once defined deliberate luxury now mimics ultra-fast fashion. Designers are no longer auteurs—they’re output machines. It’s rumored that Jonathan Anderson, now at Dior, may produce ten collections a year—plus six for his own label, and two more for Uniqlo. That’s not creative direction. That’s creative burnout.
Wholesale has collapsed into caution. Retail is theatre. Emerging designers are expected to launch full-blown ecosystems from a laptop in a coworking space. The system doesn't protect creativity—it extracts it.
Still, there are independents who persist. They make real clothes. With real thought. Clothes that argue, collections that question. They're not here to chase profit, though they may have to for survival.
As Eugene Rabkin of StyleZeitgeist puts it:
“The flatness we’re seeing is because fashion is now a mass market phenomenon. Big luxury brands no longer make fashion for fashion enthusiasts. That’s the biggest misconception.”
PRs, Please Evolve
The PR ecosystem is more about power than culture.
It's hard to know where the work ends and the performance begins. Everyone’s a “friend,” a “creative collaborator,” or someone’s “client.” The same five stylists, the same twelve influencers. The same emails with “URGENT” in the subject line about an embargo you never agreed to.
Coverage is distributed like rationed favors. Print publications beg for ads in exchange for irrelevant coverage nobody reads. Speak out—and you’re cut off. (It happened to me at Bottega Veneta. Look it up.)
It’s not community. It’s access disguised as community.
Still, the best PRs do their job well. They advocate, not just amplify. They push editors to think, not just repost. They protect the work, not just the brand. And above all, they earn trust.
The Myth of the Blueprint
Fashion doesn’t make culture. It reacts to it.
It waits to see what worked, then clones it with a different serif font. Jacquemus releases a charming film campaign, and suddenly everyone’s booking drones and planting pink flowers. Everyone wants “that casting director.” Everyone still wants to work with Vogue.
Meanwhile, teams are understaffed, roles are undefined, but budgets are blown on fashion week theatrics in hopes of landing a luxury house gig—without ever understanding how a business works.
The press isn’t helping. The media model is broken. We all know the 70/20/10 rule:
70% of product featured is from advertisers
20% from clients and friends
10% editorial freedom (if that)
Shoots are shaped by placements, not taste. Features are cleared by marketing, not editors. And yet we’re still calling this “earned coverage.”
So yes—everything looks the same because the incentives are the same.
Slop Is Not a Glitch. It Is the Culture.
Kyle Chayka’s essay Airspace Redux described how urban and interior design have been overtaken by a globally identical aesthetic—Scandi chairs, Edison bulbs, reclaimed wood. Fashion now lives in its own version of this: a seamless loop of curated sameness, globally deployed, algorithmically reinforced.
The visual language doesn’t express. It optimizes.
The New York Times recently called it “slop”—a term for the glut of low-effort, high-volume content we scroll through daily. From “slop bowls” to “slop fits,” it’s not a trend. It’s the cultural baseline.
“Slop is not a glitch. It’s the culture.”
Eugene Rabkin again:
“We live not in any real, tangible reality—but in an image-driven simulacrum. Slop isn’t new. It’s just what we call ‘culture’ now.”
Brand thinker Ana Andjelic goes further:
“Blaming slop is naive. The real problem is our obsession with popularity. We assess creativity by how many people already liked it. And so everything is made to be liked by everyone—before it’s even made.”
She’s right. What we’re calling “taste” is now just algorithmic mimicry. It’s fast food for the eyes.
It feels good, even if it’s empty.
Where This Is Going
Fashion won’t collapse.
It’ll evaporate—into sameness, into content, into irrelevance.
There are too many people talking, and not enough people saying anything.
The press repeats PR lines.
Buyers follow spreadsheets.
Creatives are exhausted.
Brands are scared to go first.
Everyone wants to be early. No one wants to lead.
But the next era won’t be about moodboards. It’ll be about meaning.
The smartest brands already know this.
They speak with you, not at you.
They build culture at their own pace.
They don’t need “BTS explanation posts.” The work speaks for itself.
Fashion needs more conviction. Read that again.
What We Still Believe In
We’re not cynical. We’re just tired of pretending this is working.
We believe in:
Rick Owens for building a Brand Universe, not just product.
Ralph Lauren, Issey Miyake, Yohji Yamamoto, Miuccia Prada—for making fashion part of a broader cultural reality.
UVU, District Vision, Satisfy—for staying precise, slow, and close to their source.
Auralee, Lemaire, Comme des Garçons—for proving that restraint is a radical act.
We believe in magazines that still have a point of view: Holiday Magazine, Fantastic Man, Outlander.
We believe in Jonathan Anderson, Louise Trotter, Giorgio Armani—for taking risks and holding the line.
We believe in fashion that thinks without pandering, listens without mirroring.
Fashion that says something, even if it’s quiet.