SOCIAL MEDIA KILLED THE CATWALK

In 1850, a humble shopgirl named Marie Vernet married her co-worker Charles Frederick Worth, who soon moved on to found his own business. Today, Worth is known as the first Couturier in a modern sense – not a simple tailor, but a creative genius who understood the deepest desires of his well-to-do customers. They say that behind every successful man, there is a woman. In this case, it was Marie, who sold his designs to the ladies of the Parisian High Society. She sold them not by praising their qualities with words, as she had done before, but by wearing them. Marie pranced up and down the showroom, pretending to walk along one of the elegant avenues, stopping here and there to catch a window display, or strolling through the Bois de Boulogne, admiring the flowers.

At the time, this was a completely new way of presenting clothes, focusing less on details, but on the silhouette, on the drape of the fabric, the flutter of movement as Marie walked by again and again. It allowed the onlookers to imagine themselves not only wearing what Marie was wearing, but being her. It encouraged the kind of voyeuristic self-absorption that the audience only later learned to associate with the cinema.

Soon, the luxurious department stores that began to spring up like mushrooms in major European cities at the turn of the century, adopted the technique. Partly, this was due to practical reasons: 1900 ladies’ fashions were unruly and complicated, the act of dressing and undressing was lengthy and required the help of a chamber maid. To try on different outfits in a changing room was simply unthinkable.

Sill, catwalk models at the time were far removed from today’s demigods. The job was looked down on, as was frankly the case with any work done by women. Their place was that of heroines of consumption, not of production. Black Thursday, the stock market crash of 1929, changed that. Modeling suddenly became an acceptable occupation for the daughters of bankrupt upper-class families, who suddenly had to earn their own living.

In 1946, Eileen Ford founded her still legendary modeling agency in New York City. Ford, who has been a model during her college years, recognized the necessity to negotiate fees and to protect her often very young clients from exploitative practices. At the same time, the economic boom after the Second World War led to a rapid increase in demand for fashionable clothing. Magazines, boutiques and customers were hungry for new designs every season. Soon, designers became more inventive when it came to staging their presentations, moving out to different locations all over the city. Balmain presented a 1965 collection in a wine cellar, while Pierre Cardin held a show outdoors next to the Seine in Paris, and Paco Rabanne showed at the Crazy Horse Saloon. They started to use all the techniques of theatre: music, lights and a sophisticated choreography. Runway shows were now more than just sales events; they were sophisticated productions that embodied the brand essence. They taught women not only how to dress in a particular season, but how to be.

During the 1960s and 1970s, fashion models became stars in their own right. They dated rock stars and were so chic, they didn’t even need a last name. They were simply known as Twiggy, Veruschka, or Iman. But it wasn’t until the late 1980s and 1990s that all the ingredients came together to create truly iconic catwalk shows: not just models, but supermodels, courted by a new generation of fearless designers, fueled by a sensation-hungry press, and endowed with the mega-budgets of a flourishing global industry.

Arguably, the bulk of the most memorable catwalk moments stem from this period: Pat Cleveland as an airborne mother of God for Thierry Mugler’s Fall/Winter 1984 collection. Naomi Campell’s legendary fall during Vivienne Westwood’s Fall/Winter 1993 Anglomania show. Kate Moss in Alexander McQueen’s ultra low-rise pants for Spring/Summer 1995. Stella Tennant in Chanel’s micro-bikini for Spring/Summer 1996. The list goes on.

So, why does it feel like catwalk shows today are less exciting than they used to be? The short answer is: social media. The world was a different place before everyone decided that it was a good idea to spend a good portion of their waking hours staring at a tiny screen. The fashion world certainly was. Runway shows, held during fashion weeks in Paris, Milan, London, or New York were exclusive affairs, open only to a chosen group of professional fashion critics. Seasoned fashion editors still get that dreamy look in their eyes, when remembering the days before front rows were crammed with influencers constantly filming and livestreaming every minute detail. Before mobile phones, fashion shows were serious affairs, moments of intense concentration and immersion. In 2013, Suzy Menkes published her now-legendary opinion piece, “The Circus of Fashion” in the New York Times. In it, she admits to feeling “nostalgic about the days when an image did not go round the world in a nano second.” She complains: “The fuss around the shows now seems as important as what goes on inside the carefully guarded tents.”

But the problem runs even deeper than that. Not only did the inflation of images lead to a devaluation of fashion presentation as an art form, but brands and designers started to create their collections in such a way that they would look good on small screens. Eye-catching accessories, logo prints and loud colors took the place of sophisticated cuts and material quality. Fashion shows are no longer performed for the audience in the room, but for the whole world to consume in real time. Suzy Menkes asks: “If fashion is for everyone, is it fashion?”

So, are we just bored because fashion lost its exclusivity, and we only want what we can’t have? For years, trend forecasters like Li Edelkoort have been preaching the return to the craft of fashion. To look at clothes, rather than brands. To a new consciousness of the fabric, cut, fall and movement of garments in motion. This requires a form of mindfulness that must be practiced in daily life. Über-influencer Brenda Weischer (@brendahashtag) has gathered a cult following by transforming her personal style into an art form. One can sense true love, desire and devotion when she talks about carefully selected monochrome vintage pieces she collects. But she, too, seems to yearn for the bygone days of fashion, rather than the present.

In December of 2024, fashion über-influencer Hanan Besovic, better known as @ideservecouture, made a valid point when he questioned the obsession of the fashion press with runway shows from the 1990s. He asked: “How many times this year have you read about Shalom Harlow spinning during the McQueen show?” He argues that fashion journalists and influencers should put the same effort into discussing what is good today. Balenciaga’s Fall/Winter 2022 “snow globe” show comes to mind, as do Victor & Rolf’s deconstructed, topsy-turvy ballgowns for Spring 2023, or Daniel Roseberry for Sciaparelli’s hyper realistic animal heads, also for Spring 2023, and, of course, Margiela’s haute couture porcelain dolls for Spring 2024. Besovic concludes: “How can we create something memorable that will be appreciated in the future if we’re only talking about the past?”

But, to appreciate things, you must devote time to them. Maybe it’s not that the shows have become less interesting, just that we are less interested. There is so much to see every day, every hour, and the algorithm doesn’t distinguish between trash and art. We appreciate things more when they are rare. We need less clothes, less choice, fewer collections. As the late great Vivienne Westwood said: “Buy less, choose well, make it last.” Maybe then, we will be able to feel something again, when we look at the beautiful and tragic spectacle of fashion.