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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. Want to go deeper? Print copies of Joanne Swift's "Revenge Dressing" are available now via magcloud.com. or get the E-Pub.

Welcome to my world in Formula One 2026, where the roar of engines now battles for airtime with the soothing purr of PowerPoint presentations, and the only thing overtaking anyone is the Wi-Fi bill. After catching the first episode of the season in Australia, imagine “Drive to Survive” directed by Monty Python, that F1 has officially crossed into full-blown comedy. We used to define courage, speed, and brilliance. Now, it feels like we’re stuck on a reality show where the pit lane has more plot twists than a season of Succession, and the drivers with the most "race heart" are left wondering if they accidentally auditioned for Top Gear: The Farce Edition. At the center of this clash is Max Verstappen, a driver who can make physics blush, yet even he must negotiate with energy allocation software. I can’t help but relate every time Verstappen describes the 2026 cars as: “ Formula E on steroids ” ( Reuters, 2026 ). And it’s not just Verstappen. Lando Norris warned that the current rules could lead to “a big accident” ( The Guardian, 2026 ), and Lewis Hamilton called them “ridiculously complex” ( The Guardian, 2026 ). Communication Breakdown – Or Deliberate Control? This confusion isn’t just noise in the paddock, it’s practically a new race format: Whose Line Is It Anyway, FIA Edition. Drivers, journalists, and fans like me often cite the new 2026 rules as a source of chaos. Some might chalk it up to “poor communication,” but from where I’m sitting, it feels more like "performance art" than an accident. The Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (FIA), along with manufacturer-backed teams, tightly controls messaging to shape the narrative, limit public criticism, and maintain the perception that the sport is orderly and sustainable, even if it frustrates drivers. In other words, the confusion isn’t a bug; it’s a feature: the sport’s executives prioritize regulatory image and commercial stability over transparent dialogue with its own stars. Red Bull: The Beautiful Outlier That’s why Red Bull Racing stands out. Unlike the manufacturer-backed teams, think Mercedes-Benz, but with less Bond villain and more dad-in-cargo-shorts energy, they don’t rely on road-car research. Their F1 program is a marketing and brand spectacle first, which lets them champion what drivers like Verstappen actually want, without corporate constraints. That kind of freedom is what lets Max dream big, like a kid in a candy store, if the candy was horsepower and the store was a wind tunnel. Contracts and Freedom All of this is possible because F1 contracts, even for stars like Hamilton and Verstappen, are usually just 2–3 years, with clauses that let us exit or buy out. They can leave, protest, or even enter another championship without risking jail or scandal, just potential financial penalties. The Core Conflict FIA & Manufacturers: Sustainability, manufacturer participation, and long-term growth. Drivers: Courage, wheel-to-wheel drama, and racing as an art form. Right now, these priorities are colliding like two DRS trains at Monza, spectacular, confusing, and a little bit dangerous. But maybe a Max Verstappen Championship, or one led by a cabal of drivers, could resolve this creatively. Think Naomi, Christy, and Linda, the supermodels in the ’80s: they seized the Power of Attorney, flipped the script, and redefined the business. Maybe it’s time for drivers to take a page from that playbook, because if supermodels can unionize and conquer the world, surely a grid of over-caffeinated drivers can do the same. The Max Verstappen Championship Universe If I could design a race-heart-driven, Red Bull-style series, I’d want it to include: Rules That Reward Skill: Minimal aero restrictions, agile cars, daring overtakes. Race Formats Designed for Thrill: Sprint races, mixed circuits, endurance challenges, and multi-class competition. Driver-Centric Governance: Feedback drives regulations, rivalries celebrated. Global Entertainment Integration: Streaming, onboard cameras, sim racing, interactive fan participation. Manufacturer Agnostic but Technically Rich: Innovation rewarded without road-car constraints, with sustainability integrated intelligently. Essentially, I imagine it as a modern motorsport empire built for fans, drivers, and race hearts, not for executives or spreadsheets. F1’s Streaming Move: Apple TV and Audience Growth Formula 1 has partnered with Apple TV  for exclusive U.S. streaming starting in 2026, replacing ESPN for all sessions and races. As a fan, I’ve noticed how Apple hasn’t released viewership numbers yet, but I can feel the sport entering the season with strong growth momentum. F1 averaged 1.3 million viewers per race on ESPN in 2025, and with access to Apple’s ~45 million subscribers, the audience could grow even more. This move emphasizes on-demand, digital-first engagement over traditional TV ratings, aiming to attract younger and more globally connected fans. Final Thought F1 can survive without Verstappen. But as someone with a pure race heart who loves this sport, I believe the world of motorsport would be infinitely richer if he dared to lead a championship of his own making. When drivers get creative, fans follow, history is written, and perhaps, racing becomes truly alive again. And while Formula 1 may survive without Verstappen, I can’t help but see the sport’s increasing reliance on machines, rules, and data over raw human skill as  a sign of the times, a world where humans are often sidelined at every level.

In his recent article,“Dressed To Resist: Style as Moral Courage When the State Turns Lethal,” John P Ryan poses a question that’s been ricocheting around my brain like a loose marble: What is there to do when your society is in free-fall? If you’re paying attention, you feel the vertigo, the accelerating wind, the sense that we’ve missed the last safe exit. If you’re not, maybe you’re still comfortably numb, wrapped in the soft blanket of state-sanctioned media, blissfully unaware that the floor is dropping out beneath your feet. But if you need proof that our descent has turned into full-blown spectacle, look no further than the latest headline-grabbing episode featuring Kristi Noem—the governor with a poker face so still it makes Mount Rushmore look like it’s overacting, taking center stage. In this national reality show, we’re treated to a spectacle so surreal, it’s hard to tell if we’re watching public service or a deleted scene from The Apprentice. Welcome to the golden age of spin, folks, where every word is triple-filtered, pre-chewed, and tested on focus groups before it ever hits your ears. Politicians, CEOs, heck, even reality TV stars rehearse their lines like they’re gunning for an Emmy in “Most Likely to Be Believed.” And yet, despite all the prep, the moment they start talking, the collective eyebrow of the public shoots up faster than a caffeinated squirrel. “Wait, do they actually mean that?” we wonder, squinting at the screen like we’re trying to spot a UFO on C-SPAN. Here’s the kicker: It’s not the words that trip us up; it’s the rest of the human package. We evolved our facial muscles long before PR firms roamed the earth. Those involuntary eyebrow twitches and micro-sneers? They’re like a pop-up ad for your real feelings, coded by some ancient software in your brain. And get this: scientists (yes, actual scientists, not just the guy at your local bar) have shown that even trained experts can’t reliably spot a lie just by watching body language (Scientific Reports, 2021). Let me give you a real-world example. Picture this: I’m Kristi Noem, sworn in and seated before a congressional committee, the klieg lights blazing hotter than the South Dakota sun. I clear my throat, channel my inner calm, and launch into my talking points: “I’d like to thank the committee for the opportunity to clarify the facts regarding the alleged Minneaplois incident.” But in this scenario, I remain stoic, almost statuesque. My eyeballs are huge, unblinking, like I’m auditioning for a role as a haunted doll. Why? Because somewhere between the campaign trail and today’s testimony, I decided to take the human expression right out of my face—on purpose. Thank you, Botox and fillers! My plan: if my face doesn’t move, they can’t read my emotions. (Take that, evolution!) The committee members squint, unsure whether to trust my words or just check for signs of life. I stick to the script, but I know every twitch is being catalogued for the next day’s news cycle. The real test isn’t what I say, it’s whether my face and body will cooperate. Spoiler: They rarely do. And that’s the human side of spin that even a seasoned pro can’t always control. But our brains are like conspiracy theorists at a poker table. We’re desperate to catch someone bluffing. Evolution basically hardwired us to scan for weird vibes in the tribe. So if a politician’s eye twitch doesn’t match their sunny speech, we instantly think, “Aha! Caught you!” even if they’re just trying not to sneeze (Scientific American, 2019). The result? You get a perfect storm: carefully polished messaging colliding with faces that leak the truth like a busted garden hose. Public suspicion isn’t a sign we’re all cynics; it’s really just our inner caveman doing quality control. Bottom line: Mother Nature didn’t give us built-in polygraphs, but just faces that sometimes play for the other team. And honestly? That’s probably for the best. If we could all read minds, democracy would be out, and we’d be letting Alexa run the next election. Be careful what you wish for. And if you’re still worried, don’t be. Trump just fired Kristi Noem via a Truth Social post that feels more like a TV show season finale than a closed-door meeting. Problem solved! Except, plot twist, she’s now running a new department that does the same thing, just with a longer name. You know, like on The Shield, when they’d just move the dirty cop to another precinct and call it a day. So, nothing’s really fixed (except her face). We just shuffled the cast and rolled credits. Democracy: always ready for its next gritty reboot. Good day, everybody. Want to go deeper? Print copies of John P Ryan’s “Dressed To Resist: Style as Moral Courage When the State Turns Lethal” are available now via magcloud.com. SAVE 20%* THROUGH MARCH 9, 2026. CODE: 20MARCH2026. DETAILS. Because sometimes, the best resistance is on the page.

Every four years, the World Cup arrives as spectacle and scandal in equal measure. Football, joy, nationalism, corruption — all bundled together in 90 minutes plus stoppage time. Now it’s 2026, hosted by the U.S., Canada, and Mexico, and some voices, including in the Netherlands, are asking whether teams should stay home in protest. It’s a fair question. It just deserves an honest answer. History isn’t kind to sports boycotts as tools of political change. The biggest experiments we have, the Olympic boycotts of 1980 and 1984, were massive, coordinated, headline-grabbing, and ultimately ineffective. Over 60 countries skipped Moscow to protest the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. The Soviets stayed. Four years later, the Eastern Bloc skipped Los Angeles. U.S. policy didn’t blink. But you don’t need to reach back to the Cold War. Qatar 2022 gives us a recent, visceral lesson. Thousands called for boycott. Fan groups in Germany hung massive banners in stadiums. Cities across France refused to broadcast matches. The #BoycottQatar2022 hashtag reached over 43 million impressions. And then came the moment of truth: seven European teams planned to have their captains wear “OneLove” armbands, a rainbow heart symbol supporting LGBTQ inclusion. Gianni Infantino, FIFA’s president, the man who calls himself a champion of inclusion, threatened yellow cards at kickoff. Every single team backed down. Hours before England’s opening match, Harry Kane who’d said the day before he wanted to wear it, took the field without it. Meanwhile, Vinod Kumar, a 24-year-old migrant worker from India, died on a Qatar construction site in October 2020. (https://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2022/12/02/1140260086/the-world-cup-has-taken-a-toll-on-the-migrant-workers-who-made-it-possible). His family got conflicting stories: workplace accident, then suicide, then cardiac arrest. No investigation. No compensation. His brother Ashwini still doesn’t know what actually killed him. Across Nepal, families like Urmila Devi Sah’s received bodies back in coffins with death certificates reading “natural causes” or “acute heart failure.” Her husband died in Qatar four months before the tournament. She has four children. The village had to pool money to bring his body home. Moral gestures collapse the moment power applies pressure. Harry Kane, England's captain, a man worth millions learned exactly what his solidarity was worth when it actually cost something: less than a yellow card. The regime got its clean tournament. Vinod Kumar stayed dead. Urmila Devi Sah still wakes up at 5 a.m. to raise four kids alone. And Harry Kane, England’s captain, a man worth millions, learned exactly what his solidarity was worth when it actually cost something: less than a yellow card. That’s the pattern. Moral gestures collapse the moment power applies pressure. What did move was the cost, and it landed almost entirely on athletes. A 23-year-old sprinter trains for a decade, peaks at exactly the wrong moment, and watches their Olympic window close forever while politicians who made the decision retire comfortably on pensions. Careers don’t pause for geopolitics. Presidents didn’t miss a step, but sprinters missed their one shot at history. Political historians and institutions like the Council on Foreign Relations have been blunt about this pattern: sports boycotts move symbolism, not governments (see CFR’s overview: https://www.cfr.org/timelines/olympics-boycott-protest-politics-history). So if teams boycott the 2026 World Cup, who actually feels it? Not the migrant workers who built the infrastructure, they’ve already been exploited. Not the communities displaced for stadium construction, they’re already gone. Not Gianni Infantino, he’s still selling broadcast rights to 200 countries. Not Coca-Cola or Adidas, their contracts are signed. Not U.S. immigration policy, border enforcement, or detention centers. None of that changes because the Dutch captain stayed home. Who does feel it? The 26-year-old midfielder who’s been good enough for exactly one World Cup cycle. The kid who grew up in a Rotterdam suburb dreaming of this. The player whose parents worked double shifts so he could train. Their absence becomes a footnote. Empty stadiums as moral statement? That’s what mega-events are built to absorb. Television fills the silence. Power remains comfortable. If the World Cup is a propaganda machine, then abandoning it doesn't break the machine, it leaves it uncontested. When dissent stays home, the stage gets cleaner, not weaker. If the World Cup is a propaganda machine, then abandoning it doesn’t break the machine, it leaves it uncontested. When dissent stays home, the stage gets cleaner, not weaker. There’s a different option, though. Not withdrawal, but presence without obedience. What if all seven captains wore the armband anyway? Same day, opening matches. Make Infantino choose between his rules and his spectacle on live television in front of three billion viewers. What if players answered every press question with the names of dead workers? What if teams invited the families of workers who died in construction as personal guests, put them in VIP boxes where cameras would find them? The point isn’t a perfect playbook. It’s recognizing that showing up and making noise is harder to ignore than staying home. Boycotts let the spectacle proceed smoothly. Disruption from inside makes it uncomfortable to watch. One lets power celebrate in peace. The other forces it to explain itself. Boycotts feel pure. Participation feels compromised. But purity is cheap when someone else pays the price. When the athlete sacrifices their career. When Vinod Kumar’s family gets no answers, no compensation, no justice, but at least we didn’t watch, right? At least we kept our hands clean. Here’s what history actually shows: when we skip the game, the regime gets exactly what it wants. A quieter news cycle. Fewer awkward questions. A smoother spectacle. The athlete loses their moment. The workers stay dead and forgotten. And we get to feel righteous. That’s not resistance. That’s surrender with better PR. So maybe the real protest isn’t walking away from the world’s biggest stage. Maybe it’s standing on it and refusing to perform the lie. Image generated with KLING AI using custom prompt.

by Ray Shelton Somewhere in America right now, a dad is still refreshing his TV settings because Bad Bunny’s halftime show “didn’t sound right,”a s if thirteen minutes of Spanish triggered a firmware malfunction in his Samsung. The performance ended minutes ago, but the national meltdown is just warming up. There are still chips on coffee tables, tweets being frantically deleted, and at least three cable news panels debating whether thirteen minutes of Spanish constitutes cultural progress or a hate crime against the English language. Which tells you everything: this wasn’t a halftime show designed to make you comfortable. It was designed to exist unapologetically in the middle of the most over-focus-grouped, committee-approved, brand-safe event in human history. Bad Bunny didn’t come out to heal America’s divisions. He came out to remind America that its divisions have a soundtrack, and tonight it wasn’t in English. No translations. No genre detours. No reassuring “don’t worry, we’ll get to the part you recognize.” Just Spanish, rhythm, movement, and confidence at a volume that made the Super Bowl briefly stop being about football and start being about culture colliding with expectation. And before anyone asks “why would the NFL do this,” let’s be clear: this was not a mistake. This was a strategy. The NFL didn’t book Bad Bunny to make your uncle happy. They booked him because they are no longer in the business of preserving nostalgia, they are in the business of growth: global, streaming, Latino audiences. Latinos are 20% of the U.S. population and growing. The same reason the league plays games overseas, partners with Roc Nation, and pretends TikTok is a personality trait. Bad Bunny is not a niche act. He’s Spotify’s most-streamed artist globally, a record four times (2020, 2021, 2022, and 2025). If that feels surprising, that’s not a market failure, that’s a perception lag. So what you just watched wasn’t a cultural ambush. It was a business decision with choreography. Which brings us to the backlash, because of course there’s backlash. There always is when a cultural center shifts and doesn’t leave a forwarding address. The anger isn’t really about sound mixing or song choice. It’s about ownership. The halftime show has long been treated like a shared national artifact, something familiar enough that no one has to work very hard to meet it. Comfort disguised as tradition. Bad Bunny broke that contract by refusing to center the undecided viewer. And that triggers a deeply American response: “If this is for everyone, why doesn’t it feel like it’s for me?” We’ve heard this before. Rock was noise. Rap wasn’t music. Hip-hop was “too political.” Now Spanish-language pop is “confusing.” Same panic, new playlist. And then there was Captain Capslock, who took to Truth Social after the performance to declare it “one of the worst ever!” and predicted the “Fake News Media” would give it great reviews because “they haven’t got a clue of what is going on in the REAL WORLD.” The real world is where Bad Bunny has 19.8 billion streams. That’s not a media conspiracy, that’s Spotify’s accounting department doing its job. Though I’m sure Captain Capslock will provide his own “official” viewership statistics shortly, calculated using a methodology best described as “vibes and grievance.” Captain Capslock had already declared himself “anti-them,” both Bad Bunny and Green Day, calling the lineup a “terrible choice” that “sows hatred.” He skipped the game entirely, citing distance. Apparently, California was too far, though his Scottish golf courses never seem to pose a logistical problem. But here’s the part worth sitting with: the NFL didn’t flinch, didn’t apologize, didn’t explain. Because they didn’t miscalculate. They’re betting that the future of halftime shows isn’t consensus, it’s relevance. That the biggest stage in American entertainment can no longer pretend America is monolingual, monocultural, or waiting to be eased into reality. Bad Bunny didn't try to win the Super Bowl. He used it—to expand the field, to occupy space without translation, to say that feeling the music is enough, and understanding can come later if you're curious. Bad Bunny didn't try to win the Super Bowl. He used it—to expand the field, to occupy space without translation, to say that feeling the music is enough, and understanding can come later if you’re curious. And if you’re cheering, complaining, confused, or already googling lyrics? Congratulations. That means it worked. Meanwhile, somewhere in America, people were genuinely asking where the Kid Rock halftime performance was, less because they wanted to watch it, and more because it appeared to exist in the same way Bigfoot does: heavily promoted, rarely seen, and mostly discussed by people insisting it was definitely real. And for anyone who actually tried to watch the Turning Point USA All‑American Halftime Show instead of Bad Bunny? Congrats: you just participated in the first halftime event that may or may not have existed in the physical world. It streamed online (featuring Kid Rock, Brantley Gilbert, Lee Brice, and Gabby Barrett), sort of happened at the same time as the real show, and doubled as a patriotic PSA, a country concert, and a test of your Wi-Fi endurance, all while leaving viewers googling, “Wait…where am I supposed to be watching this?” Basically, it was Bigfoot with a guitar. The takeaway? The NFL didn’t lose control, they picked a side. Growth over comfort, relevance over familiarity. Bad Bunny didn’t break the halftime show. He revealed what it was already becoming. And the loudest complaints? That’s just the sound of the cultural center moving. Look, full disclosure: I’ve never watched a Bad Bunny performance before Sunday. Never listened to a full song. I’m revealing my age here, but I actually know Kid Rock’s catalog. I could probably sing you a chorus or two if you forced me. But that’s exactly why this mattered. Because what I watched wasn’t designed for me to sing along to. It was designed to exist, boldly, unapologetically, in a language I don’t speak, on the biggest stage in American culture. And instead of feeling excluded, I felt like I was watching something important happen. A statement performance that didn’t need my approval to justify its presence. That’s not alienation. That’s just what it looks like when the center actually moves. And if thirteen minutes of Spanish at halftime feels like the ground shifting beneath you? Good. That means you’re paying attention. Pro tip: If you're calling in sick tomorrow because Bad Bunny's performance gave you an existential crisis about American identity, just say you have food poisoning. HR isn't ready for that conversation yet.

Every International Women’s Day, we celebrate women’s achievements, from politics to science, art to activism. Among these voices, FEMEN stands out: a group that refuses to be polite, refuses to blend into the background, and instead demands attention with fearless, audacious protest. Founded in 2008 in Ukraine, FEMEN began as a small movement against prostitution and sex tourism. As spokeswoman Inna Shevchenko explained in interviews, “At the beginning, we were not protesting topless but we realised we had to do something really radical…We are trying to say: ‘You should not show your body like that; you should use it to protest and fight.’” (Dazed Digital, 2014) Their topless demonstrations with painted slogans are designed to force the world to look, not just glance. And in case you thought this was just topless improvisation, think again. Activist Lara Alcázar of FEMEN Spain describes their protests as deliberately provocative, stating: “Activism has to be annoying and provocative.” (Cadena SER, 2025) Why topless, you ask? Because nothing says "pay attention" quite like a protest where shirts are optional but making a point is mandatory. But FEMEN aren’t just there to make headlines or cause a wardrobe malfunction. Their topless protests are a cheeky middle finger to the idea that women’s bodies are only there to be controlled, censored, or sold. Instead, they weaponize nudity, turning the world’s obsession with boobs into a political bullhorn. FEMEN-style activism works because it hijacks attention, triggers emotion, and taps deep into the lizard-brain wiring that makes us stare at what’s bold, risky, and unexpected. It’s the perfect cocktail for maximum impact: vulnerability meets empowerment, shock meets clear symbolism. Our brains can’t help but notice, and—more importantly—remember. As summarized in a 2013 Guardian piece: “Our nakedness attacks the raw nerve of the historic conflict between women and the system.” It takes a particular kind of person to do this work: brave, disciplined, and unafraid of public scrutiny or arrest. FEMEN activists describe themselves not as exhibitionists but as soldiers of equality, using visibility as a strategic tool. (FEMEN.org) Their reach is now international, with a particularly prominent branch in France, based in Paris, coordinating high-profile actions across Europe. Here, their combination of theatricality and strategy transforms protest into both performance and statement, a living argument that society still needs to notice women’s voices. (laicite-secularism.eu) In the United States, FEMEN is often perceived through the lens of spectacle—what The Economist once described as the “naked shock troops of feminism”—grabbing headlines and sparking debate. Yet interviews reveal a strategic, intentional approach; these activists are media-savvy, articulate, and deeply committed to creating meaningful discomfort that invites reflection rather than ridicule. (Washing Post, 2018) If FEMEN were a dinner guest, they might burst through the door with slogans behind their heels, but they’d explain why they’re there with the same conviction they share in interviews: freedom, equality, and strategy. They remind us that visibility matters, and that courage can take many forms, some bold, some uncomfortable, all unforgettable. On International Women’s Day, we celebrate FEMEN not only for their provocative tactics, but for their fearless commitment, strategic brilliance, and outspoken insistence that women’s voices and bodies are tools for change. As the world applauds progress and honors tradition, FEMEN charges forward, reminding us that equality is never handed over politely. True change demands courage, discomfort, and unrelenting visibility. Today, let’s salute not just FEMEN, but every woman who refuses to shrink, to every radical, every challenger, every voice that will not be silenced. Change is messy, loud, and sometimes half-dressed, but that’s exactly what keeps it moving forward.

Think of this as your invitation into a quieter, deeper current of fashion: a prelude to our Q&A, “Stitched in Silence: How Momoyo Stoby’s Vintage Obsession Became a Wellness Movement,” featured in (the)magazine Vol. V. Here, the everyday becomes extraordinary—each garment a fragment of living history, each pattern a remnant of another time. If you’re curious about the stories that clothes can carry, and the mysteries stitched into every fold, you’re in the right place. What follows is a glimpse into Stoby’s world, where memory, tradition, and a touch of mystique are woven into every piece. Lately, I’ve been drawn to the idea that clothing can be a vessel for memory. In today’s world of fleeting trends, fast fashion churns out pieces that quickly disappear, their stories lost. But there’s another way: imagine a jacket woven with the echoes of a previous life, a sleeve that carries the touch of a distant summer, a garment that quietly holds a forgotten story. Clothing, then, becomes a keeper of moments—its fabric rich with the mysteries and histories of those who came before. That’s what Momoyo Stoby, founder of MOMOYO STOBY FASHION, does. Momoyo is less designer, more historian—restoring Showa-era tenugui towels and vintage Japanese fabrics, weaving the spirit of the past into new shapes. Her mantra, “Once Vintage. Now the Spotlight,” isn’t just a slogan—it’s a tribute to memory, care, and the quiet power of honoring what came before. “Each piece carries its own story… Wearing the piece becomes a quiet act of respect for history, materials, and the present moment,” Momoyo told me. Every stain, every faded shop name, every imperfection is preserved, not hidden. Fast fashion tries to erase these marks, but Momoyo stitches them back into the narrative. Wearing one of her pieces is less about style, more about stepping into a story, a rebellion you wear on your back. It’s a stance against a culture that wants you to forget. Here, you’re invited to remember. Her garments spark connection, too. You might find yourself stopped on the street—someone asking about a pattern, curious about its origin. Suddenly, you’re sharing stories about cryptic symbols, hidden histories, and memories stitched into cloth. Fashion here becomes a quiet signal, a subtle nod to those attuned to legacy and meaning. Wearing these pieces is about honoring the past, adding your own chapter, and quietly joining a community that values the stories behind what we wear. We talk about sustainability, carbon footprints, and recycled fabrics, but in Momoyo’s workshop, there’s another kind of sustainability at play. Emotional, cultural, almost mythic. Who gets remembered? Whose stories get lost in the city’s static? Which ghosts do we choose to wear on our shoulders? Fast fashion wants you to forget. Momoyo wants you to remember. In that act of remembering, there’s a kind of quiet power, a way to move through the world armored in memory, walking your own timeline while everyone else rushes by. If you want to challenge the way you think about clothing, consumption, and memory, and maybe find your own crew among these city shadows, start here. Wear a story. Wear respect. Wear change. Or wear a manifesto for the underground, stitched in a language only a few know how to read. The full Q&A with Momoyo Stoby in (the)magazine Vol. V is your next move. In the interview, Momoyo shares the emotional, cultural, and political roots behind each piece, reveals stories you won’t find anywhere else, and offers perspective for those tired of disposable trends. The interview opens the door to a side of fashion that values both vintage and authenticity, and the lasting power of history. And if you’re itching to make a bit of that history your own, you can browse or buy Momoyo’s pieces online at momoyostoby.com. (Warning: Side effects may include compliments from strangers and spontaneous storytelling.) Credits: Designer - MOMOYO STOBY FASHION @momoyostobyfashion/Models – Reyna Ozawa @reyna_ozawa and Akari Natsui @akari_natsui/ Creative Director - Rick Davy @rickdavyfwbk @fashionweekbrooklyn/Fashion Creative Director Stylist - Rahel Tadesse @stylebyrahel1/Photographer – Renan Nishimura @_renphoto_/Hairstylist – Anne Ogasawara @ogasawara/Makeup Artist – Michiko Kubota @kubotamichiko/HMU curated by House of Annex @houseofannex/

by Cyrene Renée @CYRENERENEE Black Dandyism, a term that has been around for centuries, but in recent months, has been given a more mainstream rebirth. With the 2025 Met Gala “Superfine, Tailoring Black Style,” taking center stage on a much-needed topic. Black fashion has been given its flowers. This was the first time the Met Gala dedicated the event to Black designers, Black stylists, and Black creatives. Celebrities Zandaya, Janelle Monae, Diana Ross, Angela Bassett, Colman Domingo, Lewis Hamilton, Alton Mason, and many others graced the blue speckled carpet in their finest tailored ensembles. Cloaked in exceptional fabrics. Adorned with creative details of pearls, metallics, clocks, and feathers. Their hats cocked to the side embracing the finest of attitudes. The Metropolitan Museum of Art is the latest to capture the historic account of culture and pristine handsome beauty. For those of us who know, the Gala may have been for one night, but Dandyism is a mindset. It is a tribute to ancestral tenacity and class. It is more than a suit. It is who we are as people. “I laid out above eight pounds of my money for a suit of superfine clothes to dance with at my freedom.” OLUADAH EQUANO, 1789 DANDYISM DEFINED According to the Oxford University Press, the term Dandy is defined as “1. A person unduly devoted to style, neatness, and fashion in dress and appearance. 2. An excellent thing of its kind.” The Met states, “A Dandy is defined as someone who “studies above everything else to dress elegantly and fashionably.” In a nutshell, Dandyism is dope! It is art. It is pristine and captivating. It can be as simple or elaborate as the person would like it to be. To be a Dandy is to be bold, and confident. Always confident. The rule of Dandyism is to be uniquely you. It is far less about the price tag of the garment and more about how it is presented. Regardless of if the piece is couture, thrifted, or trending, the individual breathes life and dignified character of boundless greatness. “Dandy to me means being unabashedly yourself. A person of substance and standards who takes risks and shrugs off naysayers. A descriptive term for some who shakes and moves by their own rules, with immaculate tailoring to boot!” RAMÓN LUIS (DANDY ROYALE GUEST) “I know society can learn from the history of the Dandy and Black culture. Black people will always be resourceful and rooted in self-love which is a shared experience through expression.” ELISHA GLASS (DANDY ROYALE GUEST) HISTORY AT HIS FINEST Since the 18th century, Black people have embraced our beauty, accentuated our personal archetype, conquered devious stereotypes, and persevered while looking good through it all. Beyond mere appearances, we have created the societal norms and status quo of fashion with talent, innovation, and determination as well as through music, theater, television, film, and poetry, and in all levels of visual artistry. Either as freedmen or enslaved ancestors working as tradesmen, in indentured servitude or held captive in bondage in the 18th and 19th centuries, the flappers and dapper gentlemen of the roaring 20s during the Harlem Renaissance, rock and roll and the civil rights movement in the 1950s and 1960s, disco in the 1970s, street style and hip-hop in the 1980s to present day, and the blues since the beginning of time, we remain a classic. Throughout history and modern day, Black people have shown unique growth despite the ongoing wrongdoings against the community. Through art and specifically through fashion, we have been able to dispel the myths used to attempt to stunt our progression. The Dandy is a direct result of such a dilemma. The art of dressing impeccably allows for a different tale beyond comparison to a primate. As the elders may say, “there must be a fly in the buttermilk,” or in today’s terms, “the math isn’t matching.” SUPERFINE The exhibition is free with museum entry. We traveled to the rear of the museum. Coasting through with one space in mind. While other showcases are bright and airy, the exhibition itself is dim. The lighting sets the mood for a theatrical and smokey journey. The strategically placed lighting illuminates each figure, allowing for silence and in some cases an uproar. It is grouped into 12 sections to include cool, jook, presence, disguise, distinction, champion, beauty, respectability, freedom, cosmopolitanism, ownership, and heritage. With these sub-sections, museum-goers are introduced to different styling of Dandyism and its progress. Shifting the climate of each station with each outfit at a time. From track pants, to silk lined blazers, ruffled shirts, kaftans, sneakers, and shined hard-sole shoes, all are on display for the world to see. Coupled together in a common yet grandiose space, attendees can connect with the displayed garments, fabrics, encased accessories, and photos and videos of Dandies past and present. Placing names and dates pinpointing the who and the where brings a sense of humanity and relatability to the exposition. It goes far beyond mannequins draped in fine threads. The rooms are filled with carefully chosen artifacts of distinct taste. A living art gallery of various time periods of fashion seamlessly held together by one common theme: admiration for style. It is a sight to behold. “The Costume Institute’s Spring 2025 exhibition presents a cultural and historical examination of Black style over three hundred years through the concept of dandyism. In the 18th-century Atlantic world, a new culture of consumption, fueled by the slave trade, colonialism, and imperialism, enabled access to clothing and goods that indicated wealth, distinction, and taste. Black dandyism sprung from the intersection of African and European style traditions.” THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART, 2025, SUPERFINE: TAILORING BLACK STYLE THE ROYALE This all leads me to The Dandy Royale. I came up with the idea when I heard about the showcase. I knew I wanted to see it. I knew I had to see it, but I didn’t want to attend common wares. I wanted to show up as my own version of Dandy. I had two months to plan and prepare. It needed to be done well. I wanted to create something memorable and tangible. This needed to be documented. The invitations doubled as a custom Power Point website with detailed information for all attendees. It was a must for the execution to be as close to perfect as possible. Thankfully, I have some marvelous friends who all accepted the invitation and the challenge to show up and show out graciously and unapologetically. Beyond just seeing the exhibition, I curated an editorial photoshoot held in Central Park. Steps away from the historical Seneca Village community, which is located on the West Side. It was only right since we were already adorned in our Dandy best, and near where original Black settlers lived before the park was established from the 1820s to the 1850s. They were ultimately forcibly removed and displaced by eminent domain in mid-1850, due to the city’s aspirations to expand the plans during the creation of the park. From there, we attended my birthday dinner at the Café d’Alsace. The décor of the restaurant fit the theme of our fashions just right. “My personal style would be described as streetstyle chic. I like simplicity and comfort with a little something extra to elevate my looks. For instance, a matching set is simple, but your jewelry, shades, handbag, other accessories, or even hairstyle can turn something simple into something dynamic." MARCUS EARLY (DANDY ROYALE GUEST) From the checkered tiled floors to the printed wallpaper and illustrious bar. We sat in the private dining space in the rear of the restaurant. The tablescape was just as important as the trip to the museum. Black and white with hints of plum for a splash of color not to clash with the pine green chairs. Custom favors of Himalayan rose bath salts and selenite crystals were given to all guests. Personalized menus and thank you postcards, along with the official Superfine postcards from The Met gift shop were at each setting. White chargers and black table runners placed vertically to create a bold stripe along the dinner table. Fresh purple flowers in vintage glass bud vases nestled between the stark black and white. The main centerpiece, a large, white, two-tiered, naked cake with white edible pearls, silver candles, and a black-and-white Polaroid-style photo of myself. The flavors were bold and fun, based off pies, key lime and peach cobbler. White linen napkins with lucite and feather place cards for assigned seating. Black-and-white spiraled candles with vintage metallic holders used to continue the vision. Decorated bottles of wine and apple cider with white pearls and etched flowers were placed on either side. Small cream velvet pockets of tic tac toe game filled with pearled bows and circles for a guest activity. The Dandy theme further played out on the dinner table with framed accessories featuring a pearl necklace, a mini polka dot bow tie, silver tie clips, silver applique, and a pewter pocket watch. Simple touches to remind us of what makes a lady a lady, and a gentleman a gentleman, and everyone in between. It was a brilliant extension of the museum. In a nutshell, it was Dandy. I admire Rihanna because her style is more than just her clothes—it’s her attitude, confidence, and vibe. She wears authentic, unapologetic clothes, despite what others think. She walks with confidence and poise, turning heads wherever she goes, ignoring what others think. She’s done edgy, glam, sporty, and chic. She’s multifaceted. She’s inspiring, and I try to incorporate bad gyal energy into every outfit.” AMANDA UDAKA (DANDY ROYALE GUEST) This event was to ultimately celebrate my birthday with my loves, but it was also a beautiful moment to celebrate Black excellence with the very people who go above and beyond in their own fields of expertise and talents. Individuals whom I admire and have the blessing to call family and friends. We uplift and support each other in real time and for all the right reasons. It wasn’t just about me; it was about us. It was about the resilience and the magic that makes society what it is today, by honoring those who have come before us. “I not only had a great time at Cyrene’s Dandy Royale, I received a hands-on masterclass in Dandyism itself. Watching Cyrene, her friends, and contemporaries bring this art form to life was truly remarkable. As someone outside of the model world, I was honored to witness such an artful celebration of life, style, and fashion history. I am humbled to be a part of it.” ANDREW MARSH (DANDY ROYALE GUEST) Ancestors are not “was,” but “are.” If we speak their names, tell their stories, read their books, watch their movies, and listen to their music, they are very much relevant and present even beyond their transition. I made the day personal and wore an icon photo pendant of my grandmother. I wanted her to be present and honored. On any given day you will find me with an icon brooch of Dorothy Dandridge, who is my style icon, or Billie Holiday, Aretha Franklin, Irene Cara, or Maya Angelou. Those who have come before me and paved the way for me to be who and what I am. I would describe my personal style as chic, sexy, classic, classy, and even when casual, a touch of vintage adornment. Fashion is one thing and style is another. It is my personality draped over my being. It is the embodiment of my spirit. How I look and how I feel shown in a visual representation whether caught in a glance, a glare, or desired longing. It is me. Dare I say, I too, am a Dandy. “Being rebellious and Black, a nonconformist, being cool and hip and angry and sophisticated and ultra clean, whatever else you want to call it. I was all those things and more.” MILES DAVI(“MILES: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY,” 1989) CREDITS PHOTOGRAPHER: TRUDY GIORDANO & ELISHA GLASS CREATIVE DIRECTOR: CYRENE RENEE STYLIST: CYRENE RENEE DECORATIONS & EVENT PLANNING: CYRENE RENEE EVENT PLANNING ASSISTANT: MORGAN LEWIS LOCATIONS: THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART – 1000 5TH AVE, NEW YORK NY 10028 CENTRAL PARK – CENTRAL PARK NEW YORK, NY 100024 CAFE D’ALSACE RESTAURANT – 1703 2ND AVE NEW YORK, NY 10128 QUOTES: AMANDA UDUKA ANDREW MARSH ELISHA GLASS FREDERICK DOUGLAS MARCUS EARLY MILES DAVIS OLUADAH EQUANO * RAMÓN LUIS BOOKRECOMMENDATIONS: CARL AYERS ASPECIALTHANKSTOALLWHOATTENDED ALYSSA SENEH AMANDA UDUKA ANDREW MARSH BRANDON JERROD ELISHA GLASS MARCUS EARLY MONIQUA FLADGER MORGAN LEWIS RAMON LUIS TAYLOR WILLIAMS TRUDY GIORDANO RESOURCES:* MONICA L. MILLER WITH ANDREW BOLTON, WILLIAM DEGREGORIO AND AMANDA GARFINKEL, 2025, “SUPERFINE: TAILORING BLACK STYLE.” * OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS DICTIONARY. * SHANTRLLE P. LEWIS, 2017, “THE DANDY LION: THE BLACK DANDY AND STREET STYLE.” * THE CENTRAL PARK CONSERVANCY, 2018 JAN 18, BEFORE CENTRAL PARK: THE STORY OF SENECA VILLIAGE, HTTPS://WWW.CENTRALPARKNYC.ORG/ARTICLES/SENECA-VILLAGE * THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART, 2025, SUPERFINE: TAILORING BLACK STYLE, HTTPS://WWW.METMUSEUM.ORG/EXHIBITIONS/SUPERFINE-TAILORING-BLACK-STYLE

F ashion Week Brooklyn (FWBK): Now in its 19th year and approaching a milestone 20th anniversary, Fashion Week Brooklyn continues to champion independent designers, community, and culture across the borough and beyond. October 2025 Fashion Week Brooklyn (FWBK) is featuring a lineup that celebrates creativity, culture, and community across the borough. This season, FWBK spotlights the whole journey — from concept to runway  —where ideas are transformed into unforgettable fashion moments. From Concept to Runway: The Journey of Creativity The phrase “Concept to Runway” captures the whole arc of fashion creation—where imagination meets execution. It’s more than just showcasing garments; it’s the narrative of an idea evolving into a tangible, wearable statement. Each sketch, fabric choice, and silhouette reflects the designer’s vision, influenced by culture, personal experience, and social trends. This journey celebrates experimentation, risk-taking, and collaboration—bringing together designers, artisans, models, and audiences. On the runway, these concepts are given life, turning abstract ideas into a shared, immersive experience that engages all senses. Concept to runway is not just fashion—it’s storytelling in motion. Come see it come to life — from concept to runway. The FWBK event is running from October 11th-18th, Brooklyn, NY. “Two fashion philosophies walk into a runway... here’s what happens next in Concept to Runway .": The Street as Runway No velvet ropes. No front row. Just the pulse of the city as the stage. Here, sidewalks replace catwalks and self-expression takes center frame. The street becomes fashion’s truest runway — raw, spontaneous, and unapologetically real — where style moves with life, not trends. The New Atelier The studio is the show. Here, creation replaces spectacle, and process becomes performance. Fabric, form, and idea unfold in real time — transforming the private act of making into a shared experience. In The New Atelier, fashion isn’t just shown; it’s revealed. For Schedule & Tickets Visit: fashionweekbrooklyn.com @fashionweekbrooklyn Image Credits: Runway Gen-4

Alright, folks, strap in. On Wednesday, February 11, 2026 , Dutch speed skater Joep Wennemars  got a masterclass in something the ice has been trying to teach humanity for millennia: life doesn’t give a damn about your plans. Picture this: he’s flying down the 1000 m like a human missile, carving perfect lines, probably imagining the headlines. Then, in a moment that could only happen at the Olympics, Chinese skater Lian Ziwen  drifted wide in a key crossover, clipping Joep’s lane. Collision! Milliseconds vanished! Momentum? Gone! Ego? Slightly bruised. Public humiliation? Imminent. And somehow, Lian managed to turn a simple crossover into a plot twist worthy of a soap opera — if Olympic speed skating had a “chaos cameo” award, he’d be a shoo-in. That little interference cost him roughly nine strokes , the kind of micro-disaster that almost certainly turned a potential bronze medal  into a footnote in Olympic history. Here’s the kicker: earlier today, Wednesday, this became the first time in Olympic long-track speed skating history  that a competitor has been awarded a re-skate due to interference  — and this time, he had to skate alone , with no direct competitor to push him, no pack to chase, just him and the clock. According to the International Skating Union: “A competitor who is interfered with through no fault of his own shall be allowed a fresh start, and the best time of the two races shall count.”  Translation: the ice may be chaotic, but fairness still exists… kind of. And yes, Lian Ziwen got the official slap on the wrist — disqualified for interference — while Wennemars was awarded a re-skate , a do-over that gives him a second chance to show the world he’s the human missile he thinks he is. Like father, like son: same collision, same chaos, just a slightly different ending. Funny enough, some things run in the family. Joep’s dad, Erben Wennemars , collided in the same Olympic 1000 m race back in 1998 — shoulder dislocated, race ruined — no re-skate, no second chance, just ice and disappointment. Fast forward to 2026, and here’s Joep: like father, like son , flying down the track, clipped by another skater, nine strokes lost, Olympic dreams teetering — but this time, a re-skate. Same chaos, same heart-stopping drama, just a slightly different ending. History repeating itself, only with a tiny bit of mercy. And speaking of Erben, he just said in an interview that he wants to go home as of now — apparently watching his son relive his nightmare is a bit too much to handle. Then came the moment we all live for: the interview . Joep’s reactions were perfectly human, perfectly real. “Klote. Ik word eruit gebeukt”  (“Shitty. I got knocked out”). “My Olympic dreams are over… naar de klote”  (“gone to hell”). Half an hour to recover? “Elke minuut telt”  (“Every minute counts”). Could he improve? Realistically, no. Could he think about the next race? Not even a little. There he was, alone on the ice, facing the clock, a disrupted dream, and the absurdity of Olympic timing staring him down. Watching him flare, exhale, and psych himself up for the redo is pure theater. Forget medals for a second. Wennemars also gave a masterclass in composure under pressure, resilience in the face of chaos, and elite-level speed skating craft . This is raw human drama : lineage meets pressure, ambition meets chaos, and the ice? The ice watches, smirking. Will he medal? Maybe. Will it make for a better story than the podium? Absolutely. In that collision, in that tiny moment where Lian Ziwen’s misstep and Olympic law collided, Wennemars reminded everyone why we watch the Games : it’s not perfection we crave, it’s unpredictable, unfiltered, electrifying human drama. Imagine being nervous, angry, and still upset at the same time — that’s basically how I watched the whole thing, except with more coffee and less speed-skating grace.