I have mentioned the uniform I relied on to get through 2025 — a gray threadbare sweatshirt, white single stitch tee, and a pair of 505s almost as old as I am — but I have not mentioned the ring; an open, modernist piece in brass that I bought in the midst of everything. Looking back, I cannot recall what prompted the purchase or even …

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A few days ago, surrounded by laundry drip-drying, a dwindling pile of household paper products, and my dog’s dirty blankets, I sat on the toilet seat of my guest bathroom and began scrolling through Pinterest. I wanted to get dressed, but needed inspiration; a quick dopamine hit off of s…

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I own a pair of Tolix chairs because of Anna Wintour.

Okay, that’s a slightly inaccurate statement, but the truth is less compelling — stay with me. I actually purchased the galvanized steel classics for my 400 square-foot apartment long before I stumbled across a photo of the editor awkwardly folded over one like a dead crane. They were sturdy, stackable, and impossible for my cat to scratch. But I have held onto the aging icons even when they hadn’t an obvious home in my home, in part, because of Wintour. At one point her stamp of approval mattered to me. Before she supported racist designers or barely contained her disdain for Chinese journalists — before she admittedly overlooked the concerns of Black staff at Vogue — Wintour seemed cool… Or maybe she just looked the part. Throughout the 1990s, Wintour popped up at chic events in sleek slip dresses with a smirk, often with the inestimable André Leon Talley at her side. Although her style no longer held any interest decades later, she still possessed the cultural capital to influence what I considered worthy of owning. Hence the chairs collecting dust in my cellar. That said, cultural capital is fickle. Wintour has since lost all value to me, but I know my appraisal means nothing. The woman remains inordinately powerful, and how she views American fashion is the future of American fashion. So when Vogue announced last year that the outlet’s digital editor, Chloe Malle, would succeed Wintour, the news rang like a death knell. Malle is the epitome of privilege and, historically, makes people boring as hell. Don’t take my word for it, though. Last week’s New York Times sit down with the editors confirmed it. As Wintour slumped over her old Tolix throughout the dreadfully dull ordeal, it was clear fashion’s most powerful voice had completely conceded cool. And that’s neither Wintour or Malle’s problem. It’s ours. Thankfully, it’s one we can solve.

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Border: An outer part or edge

Boundary: Something that indicates or fixes a limit or extent.

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about borders and boundaries for reasons that are both apparent and personal. The U.S. invaded Venezuela for oil and continues to threaten Greenland for territorial expansion. Activists and reporters have been jailed, and at the …

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I have been “me” for quite some time, but recently I have grown rather uninterested in her. Instead, I have turned my attention to a much older version I envisioned as a teenager. Back then I felt like an artist without a discipline. I listened to electronic and trip-hop, flipped through every issue of i-D and The Face I could get my hands on, and read the most obscure poetry I could find. And while I had written poetry since first grade, no one other than my mom supported it. My friends were lauded at school for their musical prowess and eye for composition, but I was on my own in my creative pursuits, and as such, felt like an outsider communing in the few creative spaces that existed. I certainly did not present myself as some sort of artist. Because Black parents believed children should not wear black clothing, I did not have access to anything particularly brooding. Instead, I wore a sparkly midnight navy polish from Delia’s. Between biting my nails and lacking a steady hand, the results were satisfactorily grunge.

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“The idea of innocence faces two ways. By refusing to enter a conspiracy, one remains innocent of that conspiracy. But to remain innocent may also be to remain ignorant.”
- John Berger

There is a fascinating connection between fascism and consumption that is challenging to explain concisely. That is why this post is so overdue. The difficulty lies in demonstrating that much of what white people consume is simply whiteness, products that mythologize white identity to maintain a power differential in society. It is a cycle of consumption that begins with concerted ignorance and is perpetuated by the status anxiety that ignorance invokes. To placate the feeling, consumers double-down, investing further into racialized outputs that both justify and reinforce their mediocrity. White women are particularly susceptible, given their role in white hegemony. As both the oppressor and oppressed, white women participate in this and other forms of symbolic violence to protect their position within the hierarchy and it is incredibly disconcerting to witness. Whether patronizing a boycotted company or defending problematic personalities, their obliviousness and utter disregard for the world outside of whiteness is an affront we are all expected to overlook. However, as the U.S. continues to collapse into the political system of authoritarianism, we need to address this sort of consumption for what it is – a highly prevalent and socially acceptable form of racism that worsens the social and economic condition of white people. Honestly, I had no idea where to start.

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In early January, columnist Rebecca Shaw wrote an opinion piece for The Guardian lamenting the fact that “losers” had taken over the world. With the newly elected president came a couple of tech billionaires whose appearance reeked of desperation. “I knew one day we might have to watch as capitalism and greed and bigotry led to a world where powerful men, deserving or not, would burn it all down. What I did not expect, and don’t think I could not have foreseen, is how incredibly cringe it would all be,” Shaw explained. “I have been prepared for evil, for greed, for cruelty, for injustice – but I did not anticipate that the people in power would also be such huge losers.” The article sparked chatter online. Content creators piled on, going so far as to substantiate Shaw’s points in the name of Pierre Bourdieu. It was clear Americans had grown comfortable with status emulation – too comfortable, in fact. In the face of autocracy, no one seemed to notice the absurdity in expressing disgust over the tastes of the ruling class, that caring at all tacitly reinforced the expectation of esteem for the wealthy. Had Shaw really prepared for evil and those TikTok creators actually understood Bourdieu, the presence of bad taste at the top would have been more cause for alarm than revulsion. Instead, their reaction confirmed something far worse: our obsession with taste hastened our social, political, and cultural downfall. Perhaps now that we have slid face first into fascism we are finally willing to contend with taste as the silent tool of white supremacy and the many ways in which we choose compliance and conformity over meaningful self-expression.

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Last week, Ralph Lauren released the Polo Ralph Lauren for Oak Bluffs collection, a campaign honoring the African-American life and culture located in one of Martha’s Vineyard’s six towns. To authentically showcase Oak Bluffs’ “cultural significance” the brand partnered with historically Black colleges Spellman and Morehouse, whose faculty, students, and alumni have called the vibrant coastal town home, or their home-away-from-home for countless summers. As soon as the promotional email landed in my inbox, I skimmed the collection knowing I would not spend a dime. I do not have any connection to the town, island, or the colleges. If I did, I would signal my affiliation in a more substantiated way by not wearing apparel related to the island or even dressing to impress. Locals always dress down. Still, as I clicked through the collection, I knew it would be divisive for one reason: its obvious proximity to whiteness. 

Perhaps in any other political climate that friction would go unnoticed, but Black excellence has taken some tremendous blows. The first came in the nation’s refusal to elect a Black and South Asian woman – an alum of a historically black university –  whose leadership would have maintained some semblance of our already strained democracy. The remaining blows came as a result of that election; 300,000 Black women pushed out of the workforce, the expansion of admissions data to the Department of Education to ensure colleges and universities are not taking race and gender into account in their acceptance, and severe cuts to federal funding for Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs). The losses have sent a resounding message to Black women that not only has the U.S. made little progress in dismantling its deeply racist and sexist history, but the so-called allies committed to helping make that progress are profoundly ineffectual. It also sent a far quieter message to those willing to hear it: Black excellence will not save us. As a matter of fact, it might be our greatest threat. 

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Years ago, I met a couple, an electronic musician and a writer, who had just built a stunning, yet simple home in a rural pocket of Piedmont Virginia. As a guest of their guest, I had the privilege of learning about them within the context of their highly personalized space. As they walked me through three minimally-appointed rooms, I learned the writers’s father performed John Cage’s 4’33” at their wedding and her mother made the pottery perfectly arranged atop the long kitchen cabinet. The few stone steps leading to a finished attic would eventually become a nursery or their new bedroom, whichever arrangement made sense once their family grew. At the end of the tour, the musician made his way to a stump out back where he slaughtered a chicken for dinner. The writer set out snacks and tea for us to graze on while she prepared a hearty salad. Yes, her mother made the plates. As I noticed original compositions cooing from monitors tucked into corners, I asked myself: How can I go about creating this exact life for myself – minus the baby? And who the hell is John Cage? 

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Last Friday, Lauren Sánchez married billionaire Jeff Bezos on the island of San Giorgio Maggiore standing on what some say resembled an Amazon Basics carpet. Fashion’s favorite bigoted duo Dolce & Gabbana recreated Sophia Loren’s wedding dress from the movie Houseboat for the bride, and, of course, Vogue covered it. Guests included Oprah Winfrey, Leonardo Di Caprio, and curiously Sydney Sweeney. Nothing was at all out of the ordinary for such an opulent affair, but it seemed the majority of onlookers disagreed. Many concluded that Sánchez has no taste. Specifically, people seem to think she looked cheap. I found the discourse pointless. To be clear, I am not defending billionaires – I do not believe they should exist – but I do think we, the huddled masses, should understand something about modern society. Like fashion, taste is now for the poor.

That was not always the case. In the mid- to late 19th century, descendents of the early Dutch settlers loved to employ taste to maintain their status as America’s aristocracy. Anyone watching The Gilded Age will tell you it is all they had. Through their rigid and effortful upbringing, the old money elite fostered a way of life that largely kept out the new industrial wealth emerging from the Midwest. As the country grew, and more White Americans became rich, taste became the standard by which the “aristocracy” not only recognized their own, but granted access to newly affluent outsiders – at least that is how the story goes. New York newspapers and magazines, including Vogue, reported on styles that seemed to garner favor with High Society’s powerful, broadcasting to readers the notion that the deft and discrete performance of taste was essential to upward mobility. 

However, that tactic fell away as the very clan that popularized it, Northern White, Anglo-Saxon Protestants, lost their grip on the nation’s economic, social, and cultural capital in the 1970s. Although heavily promoted throughout popular culture in the 1980s, no one seemed to really pick up on the fact that the nation’s aristocracy died off. Increased global interactions due to advances in communication and technology meant wealth was not necessarily amassed or maintained through familial relationships, but multinational corporations and conglomerates. With so much wealth in circulation, that narrow and nebulous notion of taste became irrelevant and bad for business. Anyway, it was too late. The concept of taste had already taken hold, and like anything else inherited from the elite, their brands, styles, and even daily routines, we held it in esteem.

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Here we acquire perspective, not just things and as aforementioned, I have (inconsistently) studied Tibetan Buddhism for over twenty years. What I believe I understand of it may not be understanding at all, but mere supposition, so it is hard to write anything more on the topic as it relates to fashion. Still, I have found…

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Candidly, I do not know the point of this post yet. I want to share my thoughts on Tibetan Buddhism, both generally and as it relates to fashion and presentation. That’s where my mind wanders these days. But the thought of embarking on that project feels daunting and exhausting. I am already quite tired and struggling to maintain coherence. You see, I was up at 4:30 AM meditating. This is not some Goop, Moon Juice-generated, Erewhon-type spiritual superiority. No, I am just a 43 year old woman. I wake up at odd hours now. Like wide awake. And I need something to do. Normally, I would search for a long read, ingest countless photos on Pinterest, or mistakenly like stolen jokes on Threads. Until I realized I was afraid to just lie there. Racing thoughts are kind of scary, especially in the dark. I used to meditate, so I tried that. It worked. Meditation and a sleep mask. I (forcibly) close my eyes and focus on the breath. Usually I drift off, sometimes feeling a little closer to all sentient beings. However, this morning I remained awake. So I’m writing.

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The Theory: Postmodern Consumption

Postmodernism, as a cultural, artistic, and philosophical movement, is notoriously difficult to define despite its sweeping impact on American life. Postmodernist work rejects truth and tradition, while embracing artifice and symbolism. It constructs new realities based on those symbols, which are often reworked to diminish their original meaning. Andy Warhol’s Marilyn Diptych (1962) is a famous example of this: 

“Warhol took Monroe as his subject in different mediums, silk screening the actress’s image multiple times in a grid in bright colours and in black and white. By repeating Monroe’s image (and that of other celebrities) over and over again, Warhol acknowledged his own fascination with a society in which personas could be manufactured, commodified, and consumed like products.”

Postmodernism began over a decade before gallery walls were plastered with repeated silkscreen paintings of American icons. Interestingly enough, postmodernism coincided with the rise of consumerism in the 1950s. Although cars, televisions, and household appliances signified a certain level of success, they were branded pragmatic, even moral purchases. According to historian Elaine Tyler Mae, “Purchasing for the home helped alleviate traditional American uneasiness with consumption: the fear that spending would lead to decadence.” Of course that unease and fear would not last long. 

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NOTE: This is the free February edition of A Sunday Journal. To learn how to upgrade your subscription, click here.

I find the personal style discourse a horrifying tell on where we are as a society. The once lengthy, independent process of curating one’s visual presentation has become a peculiar group project. Style creators’ comment sections and chats …

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It took two unproductive days to realize how frenetic things have felt. Since Friday, I have done nothing but binge watch television, graze on whatever I could find in the kitchen, scroll through What Goes Around Comes Around, and otherwise relax. That might seem indulgent in the midst of such chaos, but recall last week’s edition: humans elevate their status position through either fear and coercion (dominance) or respect and persuasion (prestige). As a Black woman, I have no desire to stand in the gap for a country that has doubled-down on its ills. However, I will utilize normalcy as a form of resistance. Actually, that’s not accurate. Normalcy implies there has been no change when recent events have forced me to reconsider just how cheap my consumption has been outside of clothing. Almost every enterprise that has bribed or eagerly cowered to this nonsense has one thing in common: passive consumption. As I canceled accounts I realized how little I would miss what these companies offered: cheap shit that requires absolutely no thought or effort. That sort of flies in the face of a lot of what I discuss here, no?

That said, I have made a few personal changes that will influence A Sunday Journal. Following the election, I shared that I needed to reconsider some of the sources I included in Acquisitions, and as a result, the section has made infrequent appearances. It got me thinking that perhaps this should be a standalone feature that ties into the long reads, like a sort of cultural bibliography. I think this will help contextualize some of the theory while still introducing new writers, artists, musicians, and designers.

If curious, I will avoid including the following:

The New York Times, Washington Post, LA Times, Spotify, Amazon Prime, Paramount, and Disney. I have removed Target links from As Frequently Seen.

I will continue to post here on Substack and on Instagram, though. There is no “safe” social media. Surrendering public spaces, even online, is short-sighted and ineffectual — especially at a time when diverse intellectual thought is needed. Attempting to outrun bigotry by fleeing platforms is not only a waste of time and effort, but woefully inadequate and naïve. Avoidance is a luxury many of us do not have, and I would caution readers against further legitimizing this act of “negative peace” at the behest of benighted white moderates.

With that, the new and improved Acquisitions will start Sunday, February 23 for paid subscribers. I cannot wait to share!

Now, on to the post…

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Last week, I received the following response to Luxury, Presentation, and the Myth of Widely Distributed Power:

“While the ‘Wirkin’ is such an obvious ‘no’ to me (the quality alone and its connection to Walmart is enough for me to take a pass), I still secondhand shop for things that would signify wealth. I mean, when I get dressed for the airport, I wear my eBay used Gucci loafers ($75), long wool “Row-esque” coat from the thrift sore ($10) and pack everything in my Facebook Marketplace acquired $50 Brics’ carry-on. This desire to be perceived by strangers in the airport as anything but what I am (solidly middle class, paycheck to paycheck, on my way to my two-figure salary work trip) is truly a reflection of my own internalized classism. And that, my friends, is a jarring and uncomfortable realization for someone who thinks of herself as progressive. Like, my self-hatred is showing. Woof.”

I thought about the comment off and on throughout the week. Is it classism or a response to classism? (Yes, these are the sort of questions I pour over for fun.) Following the French Revolution, aristocrats constantly revised their unspoken dress codes in order to visually distinguish themselves from those who scoured Saint Ouen for luxurious cast-offs. The elite ultimately “renounced a showy, obvious, and easily copied luxury and replaced it with the quiet, subtle, and elusive luxury we call ‘elegance,’” explained Richard Thompson Ford in Dress Codes: How the Laws of Fashion Made History. “Of course there was in fact nothing casual about this elitist simplicity in dress, which wielded exacting attention to detail as a weapon in a ruthless fight for status.” The strategy worked so well that it remains a weapon of choice. However, it begs the question: what arms do the masses bear against the elite? None. We are not even on the same battlefield.

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NOTE: Luxury, Presentation, and the Myth of Widely Distributed Power, Part II is available for paid subscribers only. To learn how to upgrade your subscription, click here. To read part one for free, click here.

Advances in communication and technology lead to shifts in consumptive behavior. As such,  social media did not create influencers so much as it professionalized them. For roughly a century, the original influencers — socialites — relied on newspapers and magazines to confer and rescind esteem. What read as salacious gossip and spellbinding glamour was, in fact, a ruthless sport. Everyone, including editors and columnists broadcasting the events (members of the leisure class in their own right), jockeyed for position. The nouveau riche especially benefited. Often unable to get an audience with New York’s High Society, wives and daughters of midwestern industrialists garnered esteem from the public. However, over a century later, as social media overtook traditional, the nouveau riche had little need for the likes of Vogue. Follower count demonstrated a new form of cultural capital that paid dividends — both socially and financially. Everyone took note. 

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Many of us are hunkering down for a deliberately exhausting and unstable period in American history – socially, economically, and politically. Our own history urges us to prepare for conspicuous consumption as a palliative distraction. We can also expect manufactured popularity of conservative dress and presentation as algorithms hum to the right. While President Trump’s core supporters will continue gravitating toward victimhood in the form of bad taste (i.e. Suzanne Lambert’s cutting critique of conservative makeup and Roseanne Barr’s foray into rap), a quieter faction will lay ahistorical claim to common style genres. We will see yet another “resurgence” of prep, specifically J.Crew as America’s go-to sartorial propagandist, and “quiet luxury” rebranded once more as some sort of democratized claptrap, but we will come back to that in the coming weeks… 

For now, a warning: we need to start seeing style and presentation as hierarchical systems; systems we all function within unequally. Clothing choice is our most broadly-held discriminative tool; as observable as race, yet unexplored enough to devastate discretely. If presentation is rooted in taste, and that taste cultivated by class, we cannot discuss any of this (*gestures wildly around the site*) through the “safer” channels of race and gender alone. We have to be brave enough to talk about the callous nature of status, as well. 

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