Lately, I’ve been asking myself a question I suspect many of us are quietly wondering: what happens to fashion now? My inbox is still brimming with promotional emails—sale announcements, glossy PR blasts, even the occasional trunk show invite (yes, really)—but it feels like they’re speaking to a world that no longer exists. Fashion’s issues didn’t begin with the pandemic; they’ve been brewing for years. The relentless churn of retail cycles, department stores overloaded with discounted merchandise, and an obsession with “newness” at all costs had already left the industry feeling tired and unsustainable.
Then came Covid-19, and with it, a reckoning.
If there’s one silver lining, it’s that the upheaval has forced fashion to shed some of its excess. The shuttering of iconic multi-brand retailers like Barneys and the push to reduce the endless parade of seasonal collections signal a shift. For once, there’s hope that designers might have the leverage to step off the hamster wheel and embrace slower, more thoughtful practices. It won’t be an easy transition—there will be growing pains—but perhaps it’s the start of something healthier, both for creators and consumers.
Fashion Crisis, Personal Edition
While the industry has been in turmoil, I’ve been going through my own fashion crisis, though of a far more personal variety. With events canceled, calendars cleared, and life reduced to the square footage of my home, my wardrobe has shrunk into a tiny rotation of “house clothes.”
Not loungewear, exactly—let’s call it what it is. Oversized sweatshirts. Elastic-waist skirts. Paint-splattered sweatpants. Tent-like house dresses. Practical, forgiving, comfortable. I wear them not because they’re chic, but because they get me through the day.
Every so often, I’ll add in something special: a red silk ankle-skimming Kenzo skirt, paired with a sweatshirt, just to elevate cocktail hour in the living room with my husband. These moments feel like small acts of rebellion against monotony, reminders that fashion—even at home—can still lift our spirits.
When quarantine finally ends, I’ll be glad to retire most of these “house uniforms,” but I can’t deny I’ve grown attached to the comfort they’ve given me. The thought of squeezing back into rigid denim or teetering on uncomfortable heels? Not appealing.
Comfort That Still Feels Special
What I want from fashion now is a middle ground: clothes that are effortless and comfortable, but that still carry a sense of joy. Fashion has been steadily casualizing for years, and I think that’s a good thing. It’s about time clothing aligned more closely with the way we actually live.
For me, that looks like a wardrobe built on easy staples: cozy sweatshirts, forgiving skirts with elastic waists, sneakers that can take me anywhere, and pieces that spark joy simply because they’re playful or fun. If the past few years have taught us anything, it’s that life can be dull, repetitive, even isolating. Why not let our clothes provide the delight we’re missing elsewhere?
Dressing for Ourselves
More than ever, fashion feels like it’s turning inward. We’re no longer dressing to be seen at parties, events, or crowded gatherings. Instead, we’re dressing for ourselves—and maybe the occasional Zoom call. But that doesn’t mean fashion loses its power. In fact, it might be more powerful now than ever.
Clothes have always been about expression, but now they’re also about small, personal joys. The bright sweatshirt that makes you smile in the mirror. The sneakers you reach for every single day because they make walking the dog feel a little cooler. The silky skirt you put on just because you want to feel different on a Tuesday night. These aren’t runway moments, but they’re real, lived-in, deeply human ones.
A Glimpse of the Future
So, what does fashion look like in this new chapter? Probably not what it did before. I imagine a world where slow fashion finally finds its footing—where designers aren’t pressured to churn out twelve collections a year, and where consumers gravitate toward versatile, comfortable pieces that still spark joy.
Fashion won’t disappear. It will adapt. It always has. From wartime rationing to cultural revolutions, the industry has been reshaped by crisis before, and this time is no different. But perhaps, for once, the shift will be toward something more sustainable, personal, and honest.
My Current Happy Outfits
If I had to distill it down to a formula for happiness, it would look something like this:
- Elastic-waist skirts (forgive everything, flatter enough, and endlessly wearable)
- A rotating lineup of sweatshirts (colorful, graphic, oversized—the more personality, the better)
- Sneakers I genuinely love (I never thought I’d be a sneaker person, but here we are)
- Something playful—a bold bag, a bright piece of jewelry, or a skirt in an unexpected fabric, just to keep things lively
These are the building blocks that make me feel comfortable but also remind me that clothes can still be fun.
Because if there’s one thing I know for sure: fashion isn’t about who’s watching anymore. It’s about how we feel in the clothes we choose to wear, day in and day out. And if that means sequins with sweatshirts or silk skirts with sneakers, so be it. Gotta make it count.
