Hands Full & Eyes Wide Shut: What NYFW Fall/Winter 2026 Really Told Me

I don’t go to the Manhattan shows anymore—not because I’m too busy, but because, well, they’ve felt a little… tired. There’s been chatter about designers skipping official NYFW dates or staging off-calendar presentations, as Forbes recently reported, and the polished perfection just feels more performative than ever. At this point, the only thing more staged than Fashion Week might be a presidential debate. So instead of chasing the old routine, I set out looking for something that felt more honest—and a lot more alive.

So I spent time on the ground at Runway 7 at Sony Hall and Fashion Week Brooklyn (FWBK), walking the spaces, watching the chaos, talking to designers, models, and photographers. What I found was a much more human, unpredictable, and, frankly, exhilarating side of fashion—one that stood in stark contrast to the rehearsed perfection uptown.

Props, Absurdity, and Everyday Drama

What caught my eye this season wasn’t just a silhouette—it was what the models were actually holding. Hydration jugs, umbrellas, energy drinks, kombucha bottles casually clutched mid-walk, even a stroller that looked like it rolled straight from daycare—all of it made it down the runway (Fashionista). These props aren’t just gimmicks. They’re declarations: fashion is alive in everyday absurdity. A Hydrojug says, “I’m conscientious.” A Red Bull says, “I’m caffeinating through capitalism.” A stroller says, “I have responsibilities and impeccable taste.” Honestly, I half-expected someone to roll out a laundry basket and announce, 'Behold, my emotional baggage.'

This absurdity mirrors the lived world, not a fantasy dreamscape, and maybe that’s exactly what fashion needs right now. The everyday objects became a connective thread, tying the spectacle of the runway to the practicalities of real life.

Runway 7 vs. FWBK: What I Saw Firsthand

Having experienced both platforms back-to-back, I can say they each offer a unique perspective on the state of fashion, and together, they reveal the spectrum of what New York fashion can be.

Runway 7 at Sony Hall is pure, frenetic energy and global diversity—dozens of designers (streetwear, couture, heritage labels) all crammed into a four-day marathon (Runway7 Fashion). It’s a spectacle for sure: nearly every photographer, influencer, and social media account imaginable is invited, guaranteeing online buzz. Experiencing it firsthand, I felt the rush—but I also saw how easy it is for designers to get lost in the noise, and how backstage can turn into a kind of beautiful chaos.

Fashion Week Brooklyn (FWBK), by contrast, is intimate, intentional, and totally community-driven (FWBK). I wandered the venue, chatted with designers, and felt how the audience actually connected with the work. Its charm is in the scale: designers have space to tell stories and experiment, and audiences get to soak it all in without the constant buzz of social media. It’s less about chasing Instagram virality and more about creating something memorable—which makes the work feel deeply human, even if it doesn’t dominate headlines.

Both prove a larger point: the most culturally alive fashion happens off-calendar, messy, and human—where energy and intention matter more than spectacle alone. This theme echoed everywhere I turned, from the runway chaos to the conversations in the audience, and it set the stage for what followed.

Fashion as Agency: Revenge Dressing in Wellness Rewired

(the)MAGAZINE’s issue’s theme, Wellness Rewired, couldn’t be more relevant. Joan Swift’s piece on Revenge Dressing explores how fashion becomes an active tool for reclaiming yourself (theMAGAZINE). From Princess Diana’s 1994 black “Revenge Dress” to Bella Hadid’s post-breakup runway strut, Swift shows that dressing with intent is a radical act of self-authorship: therapy you wear.

The props, chaos, and unconventional staging I witnessed at Runway 7 and FWBK may look playful, but behind them is fashion as cultural and personal agency—a way to tell stories, reclaim space, and own identity. Swift reminds us that wellness is not always quiet; sometimes the most radical healing is loud, structured, and worn like armor. The interplay between performance and authenticity is shaping the fashion conversation in real time.

Objects, Absurdity, and the Human Element

Fall/Winter 2026 teaches us that the accessories, props, and staged chaos are more than spectacle—they are mirrors. Fashion’s absurdity isn’t frivolous; it’s functional. A runway littered with coffee cups, kombucha, umbrellas, and strollers sounds like a punchline. But those same objects signal lived experience, agency, and cultural commentary. If aliens landed and saw this, they’d assume humanity runs on caffeine, chaos, and a healthy fear of dehydration. In this way, fashion becomes a form of anthropology, documenting what matters to us now—not just entertaining, but reflecting and shaping how we see ourselves.

Honestly? It’s a breath of fresh air. After decades of fashion telling us to aspire away from ourselves, this season finally says: Here’s you. Here’s your water bottle. Make it mean something.

If you asked me what the defining accessory of this season was, I wouldn’t point to a handbag. I’d point to a hand that’s no longer empty—and a wardrobe that’s willing to say, I am here, I am seen, I’m reclaiming my story. In a world obsessed with the next shiny thing, maybe the real revolution is just showing up—arms full, quirks out, nothing to hide. Fashion isn’t just about what you wear; it’s about dragging your real life down the runway, coffee stains, chaos, stroller wheels and all. That’s not just a trend. It’s a statement.