When fashion people are asked what they love most about their profession, they traditionally answer with a vocabulary of love; they’ll mention the passionate co-workers, the beautiful locations, and the exciting events. Yet passion and excitement aren’t the focus at the industry’s most important social gathering: fashion week. In general, the atmosphere is awkward, rushed, and strained. Visitors are either hurrying through the drill or nervously trying to figure out how to act. Colleagues who usually share anecdotes of their therapy sessions and Grindr dates are now seen avoiding each other, anxiously looking for their seat or a more important person to talk to. “People don’t talk to each other which I always find strange as you are sitting so close together!” shares Frances Armstrong Jones, co-founder of Luncheon Magazine.
What is it about fashion week events that can make social contact so uncomfortable – and has it always been this way?
If fashion week is “a celebration of creativity and innovation” (as the press release of the British Fashion Council announced) then why do interactions between visitors feel so stale? What is it about fashion week events that can make social contact so uncomfortable – and has it always been this way?
Speak to anyone willing to admit they were working in fashion in the 80s and you’ll conclude that our discomfort must be a Millennial invention. Fashion week, at its origin, was an extension of the club scene. In some cases, a literal party. “At the time, fashion was very club related, especially when it came to the designers I was interested in, like Vivienne Westwood and Body Map,” says Simon Ungless, former fashion director of the Academy in San Francisco and close collaborator of Alexander McQueen. “I moved to London in 1984 to study design and our teachers really encouraged us to be curious, to discover fashion through social events.”
The designer and educator describes a bubbling creative scene that feels lightyears away from the brand-sponsored cocktail evenings that populate the schedule now. But it’s more than a desire for a good time that drove young designers to fashion week. “We didn’t have handheld devices, no Google, no internet,” explains Simon. “My access to the world of fashion was through the dance floor. I didn’t meet John [Galliano] at a job interview, I met him at a party – that is how it worked.”
“The shows were mainly inspiration for us. It was very intense, we would try to see every show and exhibition while staying in the dodgiest hotel in Pigalle. At night, we would get drunk and exchange what we saw, finding inspiration for our own work.” – Elisa Palomino, designer and former head of print at Central Saint Martins
You had to be physically present to experience fashion, which naturally only sparked a burning curiosity and a fond connection between those with similar interests. “You would go to see and meet other eccentric people, and if you didn’t have a ticket to a show, you would do anything you could to get in,” says Elisa Palomino, designer and former head of print at Central Saint Martins, about the first years of her fashion career.
“During our MA, we would go to Paris for fashion week. I was always dressed outrageously in fishnets and hot pants, so it was very easy to get into shows. The shows were mainly inspiration for us. It was very intense, we would try to see every show and exhibition while staying in the dodgiest hotel in Pigalle. At night, we would get drunk and exchange what we saw, finding inspiration for our own work.”
“Part of my disillusionment with teaching came from this gradual change of the students, for whom fashion increasingly felt like a drag, a task at the bottom of their to-do list. Where did that passion, that naivety, go?” – Simon Ungless, designer and educator
Simon and Elisa experienced a fashion culture built on inspiration, creativity, and social exchange. For aspiring creatives today, there is no longer an incentive to experience fashion in person, which significantly changes the social context. “Part of my disillusionment with teaching came from this gradual change of the students, for whom fashion increasingly felt like a drag, a task at the bottom of their to-do list. Where did that passion, that naivety, go?”
Asking fashion journalists and editors about their fashion week experience, they always highlight how privileged they feel, having been able to build a career out of their passion. “I feel an anticipation of excitement to see the shows and a real thrill and luck to be able to see them. I love the theatre of them,” notes Frances. Tian Wei Zhang, London/China market editor at WWD agrees: “It’s always exciting to see designers putting out new work, and elbow their ways to make their voices heard.”
“I have no time for any parties after a long day. I usually would prefer to go home and order Chinese takeaway while filing one story after another, unless I am assigned to cover an event.” – Tian Wei Zhang, London/China market editor at WWD
But when the conversation turns to social events and networking, journalists admit to feeling overwhelmed. In fashion, it’s about who you know as much as what you know. After a long day of spectacular shows, connecting to peers can feel like a professional requirement rather than a fun opportunity, and fashion week events become “exhausting” or “a formal hi-bye situation.”
Guests mostly blame their busy schedule and intense workload for their lack of social energy. “I have no time for any parties after a long day,” writes Tian Wei Zhang, London/China market editor at WWD. “I usually would prefer to go home and order Chinese takeaway while filing one story after another, unless I am assigned to cover an event.”
“Especially post-Covid, there is this hunger to work at an even increased speed and outdo one another in order to get the highest number of activations and events. You could be on a press trip every day of the year.” – Susie Lau, fashion journalist and influencer
Yet, brands aren’t interested in slowing down. Wherever there is an open slot in the fashion calendar, you can find a company willing to fill it. “The change has been exponential in the last decade,” says Susie Lau, fashion journalist and influencer. “The primary difference is the real-time broadcasting. Fashion events have become consumer-facing, shows exist not just to trade, but also as a marketing platform.” Brands started placing immense pressure on their PR and marketing teams, who are incentivized to occupy as much physical and online space in order to optimize brand recognition. “There are immense pressures to get profit up,” explains Susie. “Especially post-Covid, there is this hunger to work at an even increased speed and outdo one another in order to get the highest number of activations and events. You could be on a press trip every day of the year.”
How can there be space for spontaneous meetups and artistic inspiration when you’re surrounded by people who are continuously flirting with burnout?
The packed schedule paired with the instantaneity of social media has put unprecedented time pressure on events, impacting the experience of anyone involved, from the PR assistant at the door to the casual invitee hoping to catch a glimpse of their favourite model from a standing spot. How can there be space for spontaneous meetups and artistic inspiration when you’re surrounded by people who are continuously flirting with burnout?
The seasoned veterans know how to handle this feverish atmosphere professionally and focus on the task at hand: “I now know the drill of these events – you stop in, say hi, and leave again,” says Susie, while Tian Wei advises anyone who experiences anxiety to “remember that you are here for work.”
“You need to change how you think about fashion week in order to survive it.” – Lara Johnson-Wheeler, fashion journalist
This “here for the job” attitude contrasts sharply with the way the industry promotes itself. After all, the visuals from fashion events and press tours suggest fashion is filled with young creatives hungry to connect, dance, and have fun – not corporate employees patiently waiting to clock out. You’d get an existential crisis for less.
“You need to change how you think about fashion week in order to survive it,” explains Lara Johnson-Wheeler. “Really, most brands are looking for good social content, which is why the front row is now mostly occupied by influencers and TikTok-ers. One should remember this is an ecosystem at play. Everyone attending has a role and sometimes it’s healthier to think of it like this rather than a hierarchy.”
As a freelance art and fashion writer, Lara doesn’t fit the profile of an ideal show invitee as defined by PR. She rarely reviews shows and works commercially with brands behind the scenes, as well as with magazines editorially. As fashion shows evolved into marketing events, guests without live audiences to broadcast to can feel out of place. “To feel comfortable at a fashion show, it has to be the core of your professional persona,” concludes Lara. “Whenever I feel uncomfortable, I try to remember how lucky I am to be invited and to experience amazing people’s work.”
In addition, the structure of a fashion show is designed to highlight social status. From the “limited seating” invitations to the hierarchical rows, every step of the process confirms your relationship to the brand and, by extension, your symbolic worth to the industry. Fashion week is the one time a year when you definitely know whether you’re in or out. Moments like these are rare in the creative industries, which don’t rely on official job titles or corporate hierarchies.
What happens when our most important social gathering no longer reflects the creative purpose of the industry?
That instability used to translate to openness and flexibility. Fashion week embraced misfits, welcoming anyone wearing fishnet stockings and hotpants to join the show and participate in a celebration of creativity. But what happens when our most important social gathering no longer reflects the creative purpose of the industry?
If I’m supposed to be inspired, why do I feel so weird?
For his FW 22 collection, Mugler had models strapped onto moving platforms, offering digital viewers close-ups of the models as they zoomed past the seated audience. A strategic move of Casey Cadwallader, who crafts viral moments with the same expertise Thierry put into his corsets. The set-up rendered explicit what invitees have known for a long time: we’re backstage spectators to the production of an experience that is happening elsewhere. As brands prioritise the digital consumption of a show, those who are physically present become co-producers or performers. We’re invited to live broadcast the show, or play a part in it; act delighted when a model walks away wearing the tablecloth or entertained when they pretend to steal a handbag.
Entering these spaces with the expectation that it’s a pure artistic statement rather than a commercial marketing event leads to cognitive dissonance. “If I’m supposed to be inspired, why do I feel so weird?” Learn from the pros and remember that most guests have a very specific purpose. The part where we share how much we love it here? In some cases, that’s another consumer-faced performance.
