Change and What Remains
Something's in the air. And no, that's not because we're exactly one day away from the autumnal equinox. I can't quite explain all the feelings, but something is changing. If you're a New Yorker like me—native or not—you'd know that we enjoyed probably one of the best summers we've had in decades. Knicks in 5, the World Cup; successful block parties "for us by us" (that didn't get shut down), JAŸ-Z's 30th anniversary of Reasonable Doubt, a new mayor who secured a rent freeze for more affordable housing just eight months into his term, the US Open (influencer discourse aside)—New York's had an incredible run. Yet, with all the amazing things happening, there's one event that didn't necessarily match the city's legendary reputation this season: New York Fashion Week.
While I'm nowhere near close to having 30 seasons of NYFW under my belt, I've been attending for almost a decade, so I've seen it in all its glory—and, more recently, its obscurity. This past season highlighted the issue of influencers at the shows. What was once a space reserved for the "who's who" has transformed into a space where any and all are welcome, as long as you're an influencer, at least. And this is no shade to the influencers out there. I have much respect for your work, especially for those who are authentic in their content. I'm closely connected to some amazing influencers; shoot, I even used to work for one before moving to media. There's nothing wrong with being an influencer.
The presence of influencers at Fashion Week isn't what bothers me most. It's more so the level of their presence. Reputable industry professionals—editors, stylists, buyers—are no longer the priority. We're no longer sitting front row at some shows, relegated to the second (if the brand's PR loves you), while influencers occupy the front, sometimes paying attention to one look, before spending the remaining 14 minutes of the show looking at their phones. Some companies have decided that a million followers automatically equates to influence and power, while those who have put their blood, sweat, and tears into their craft somehow don't.
And this couldn't be further from the truth. I've come across people who've not only had influence on my life, but the lives of others—and they don't have astronomical follower counts. My brother, who's only two years older than me, is wise beyond his years, and has evolved into something much more than just my older brother. I've seen him become this source of wisdom and an authoritative figure to our family and friends alike, where people from near and far look to him for spiritual and life counsel. That's influence. To bring it even closer, my first boss committed to being a mentor for my 22-year-old writer self (at the time), and didn't stop until I joined her team. My connection to her is part of the reason I've been able to grow and thrive, especially in an industry that hasn't and still doesn't deem the color of my skin valuable. I've accomplished various milestones under her guidance, from my first celebrity feature to my first market-editing credit for a cover story. Again, that's influence.
But influencers aren't the only issue. NYFW's accessibility has become excessive. Sure, we've come a "long way" from just leaders like the late Andre Leon Talley being the only Black person at a fashion show, but we've also reached a new extreme. In 2023, I remember being so excited to attend my first Who Decides War show, which stopped once I got on location. Due to an influx of uninvited guests and hype-chasers, I, in addition to many other editors and industry leaders, was physically pushed out of entry to the show. So much chaos ensued that I saw stars like Teyana Taylor and Offset get bum-rushed by show-crashers who had guns on them. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be in the room, but if you have to fight your way in at the expense of others, something isn't adding up.
Then there's the trivializing of street style, where most people are craving a Getty shot, so they sacrifice authenticity in what they wear. And let's not get started on the actual act of partying being nearly nonexistent at Fashion Week parties (no one dances anymore). The list really goes on.
While it's easy to sit and comb through what's wrong with the industry, reflecting on this past season has brought me to a different realization: the more things change, the more they stay the same. Generic, right? But it's true. NYFW is still exclusive, like it was in 1985, just with a different crowd. I remember watching a 1992 tape of my church's late Founding Mother where she discussed a slew of issues that Christians encounter that prevent them from truly maturing in God. I've been in church all my life and have seen (and even lived through some of them), and I still see them—almost halfway to four decades later, her teachings are still relevant.
Recently, I saw a post that expressed similar sentiments of change, arguing that we might've seen the peak of different industries, possibly because humanity has hit the ceiling of what creativity without God can produce. This could explain why I no longer feel the need to fight to be in places or to go everywhere I'm invited to. Maybe the disapproval we feel about what we see, in other areas in addition to fashion, has to do with the source of it all. And the new and shiny things that surface every week aren't satisfying our cravings anymore. Could it be we need a creative system rather than another creative? Could it be that what we once thought was the ultimate goal no longer is? Maybe change isn't the problem. Maybe it's what we're changing—and why.
The more things change, the more they stay the same. But that doesn't mean we should.
"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven."
Ecclesiastes 3:1 {KJV}
Much love and peace,
-Nay.
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