Finally, fashion is starting to make sense

Following the fashion world descending from celebrity castles to TikTok videos, as a bystander

Luna Lovecroft


For me, it starts within the deep snows of the Ural region of Russia. My university classmates repost translations of luxury runway shows, show off statement bags and LV checkered patterns. I move through the city wearing a second-hand fur coat, huge wool boots, and up to five layers of pants. It was hard to figure out which one of us looks more ridiculous.

Fashion enters my world as someone’s desperate dreams, so far from my everyday reality that I couldn’t even feel anything about them. “You know what’s luxury” — they whisper — “it’s these Prada shoes, that Birkin bag, that Balmain latex suit”. “You know what’s real luxury” — my grandmother teaches me — “it’s when you don’t let the cold bite you in the ass.”

“You know what’s real luxury” — my grandmother teaches me — “it’s when you don’t let the cold bite you in the ass.”

Kim Kardashian in latex and the author in her natural habitat. Guess which outfit is grandma-approved.

For a long time, I assumed I just wasn’t sophisticated enough to appreciate the whims of another charmingly insane, detached designer. I’ve memorized the names of the brands, I’ve studied the right tone for a gasp over yet another statement garment. I made peace with the fact that the fashion industry is never going to make any sense to me. That it will remain a distorted, secluded mirror that reacts to the events of our world but never acts upon them.

But maybe it was them who were wrong all along.

When the angels come down to Earth

Reality Has a Starring Role at Milan Fashion Week” says the title of one of the most shared news articles on the 2020 fashion week. It’s like the Covid-19 emergency was that sharp needle that had pierced the secluded world of fashion designers, the author muses, making them consider natural colors, imperfections, and the backdrops featuring actual streets with real people.

Let’s see:



Luna Lovecroft

Stories from another hemisphere, written under a stripper pen name and in a second language. Because God forbid we make things easier for us.