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If you can’t bring celebrities to the front row, why not bring the show to them instead? As a very unconventional London Fashion Week kicks off today, Burberry proves there are still headlines to be made in a socially distanced world by tapping an all-star cast of Erykah Badu, Rosalía, Steve Lacy, and Bella Hadid (the supermodel having just modeled the brand’s latest bag campaign) to virtually host its spring ’21 show ‘In Bloom’.

Going live from gaming favorite live stream platform Twitch a half an hour before the collection debut, the luxury giant launched the spring ’21 season with a pre-show chat between the four guest hosts, who discussed everything from connecting with nature in lockdown and creating art in moments of stillness to their alter ego names (Bella’s is Belinda, FYI) and meeting Burberry’s creative director Riccardo Tisci for the first time.

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Arriving at the #BurberryShow . #BurberrySpringSummer21

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As the chat – watched by a cool 35k people — came to an end, the cameras switched to multiple perspectives of models changing into the spring ’21 collection in a hall-of-mirrors-style changing room. Sounds of chirping birds and trees rustling in the wind set the scene. “As humans, we have always had a deep affinity to nature,” read the brand’s notes. “Celebrating the connection between the earth and the sea, between the environment and humanity.” The show commenced, depicting models walking through an overgrown forest, an homage to nature, and Britain’s greenery. Perhaps, like the rest of us, the pandemic has given Tisci pause for thought and a chance to reconnect with nature (in lieu of a larger-than-life production, the brand planted 10k trees in the British countryside this season).

Clashing guitar music soundtracked models stomping between trees, which led in turn to “a radical meeting of fashion and art”, a live performance choreographed by contemporary artist Anne Imhof. “Examining tensions at the intersections of togetherness and tradition; the natural and the man-made; the real and the unreal,” models and dancers in black and white flowed through an open space in the forest, thrashing about to the music’s stuttering staccato beats.

The collection itself? Hallmarks of Burberry’s aesthetic — slick tailoring, timeless trench coats, and heritage fabrics — blended seamlessly with Tisci’s contemporary DNA: bold monochrome, futuristic leather, and nods to streetwear via hoodies and joggers. There was something jarring about the luxury looks we’re accustomed to seeing on extravagant runways being paraded along the forest floor as if the models were returning from a debauched party the night before. Perhaps that’s the tension Tisci was alluding to: what place do our man-made creations have in the natural world post-pandemic? What is the place of luxury fashion in such uncertain times?

While many brands have had to navigate the new normal and accommodate ever-changing government guidelines — brands from Victoria Beckham to Simone Rocha had to cancel plans for small, salon-style presentations at the last minute and instead go virtual — Burberry is no stranger to breaking the barriers of catwalk convention. In 2010, the heritage label became the first luxury brand to live stream a runway show to a global audience. As this virtual show proved, Burberry is always moving with the times, however uncertain they may be.

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Have you, like many, hit unfollow on countless homogeneous faces on social media, their flashy displays feeling discordant alongside rolling news coverage of the pandemic’s death toll? Did you delete those apps altogether, the hyper-polished individualism they champion suddenly appearing too jarring in comparison to the human connection we all craved in lockdown? Were you disappointed — but not surprised — by brands that failed to address inequality in their supply chains, or by their hollow responses to the protests for racial justice? 

In all areas of life, the pandemic has altered perspectives, shifted priorities, seen the collapse of institutions and structures built on sand, unearthed exploitation, and exacerbated pre-existing problems. Celebrities and influencers were not exempt; the rich and famous — the very same that told us a pandemic disproportionately affecting BIPOC communities, low-paid frontline workers, and the vulnerable was “the great leveler” — tried to send inspiring messages to a global audience that was grieving. Vapid sentiments — empty John Lennon lyrics, tone-deaf black-and-white filters, insensitive posts documenting luxurious lockdowns in large and remote second homes — left a distinctly sour taste in mouths. Now that so many brands and individuals have broadcast their cluelessness (and, at times, complicity) — now that influencer culture as we know it seems irrelevant and out of step with our current reality — who or what will influence us next?

Despite the pandemic leaving many wanting to retreat to a quieter way of living, and to reject the blindly-accepted structures that ruled our lives before the world was shocked into stillness, humans are inherently social beings, hard-wired to seek out community and look to leaders to inspire us. People of influence have always existed, from the socialites of the upper classes in the first half of the 1900s and the Hollywood stars and pop icons in the latter, to the celebrities born out of ‘00s tabloid culture, to the more recent internet-birthed social-media influencer. There’s no doubt a new configuration will emerge soon. Despite yearning for a back-to-basics reset, we’re all as digitally-engaged as ever: Instagram reported views on IG Live more than doubled between March and April in the UK, while TikTok gained 12 million unique users in the U.S. alone in March. To expect, post-pandemic, that we will not choose leaders to follow or that we will live in some kind of utopia free from the influence of brands is naive.

The pandemic has seen us slow down and rethink our values, though. So what does this new world look like, now that the scales have fallen from our eyes and irrevocable shifts have taken place? Who are we choosing to follow, to buy from, now that the old guard has fallen from grace and the brands and individuals unable to evolve with the socially-progressive times have been left behind? 

“The meaning behind influence, and who’s driving it, is changing,” Camilla Clarkson, senior comms manager at global fashion search engine Lyst, tells Refinery29. “The old gatekeepers of authority — traditional media, big retailers, and celebrities — no longer hold the same power they had before the world stood still. We’ve prioritized the collective good over individual opinion. As a direct result, many of us are now shifting our time, attention, and financial support towards those driving real change that benefits the greater good and make us grow as individuals.”

If, before all of this, fashion traded in exclusivity and FOMO — fear of missing out on summer’s “it” dress, fear of not being on the list, fear of not knowing a designer’s name, fear of being old hat — then post-pandemic, its currency is community. Our desire for the feeling of belonging extends way beyond finding solace in Animal Crossing’s pastel-hued utopia or embracing cottagecore (its hashtag now has over half a million hits on Instagram and 3.4 billion views on TikTok.) We’re looking to brands to foster our close-knit communities now, too. Take Barcelona-based Paloma Wool, which hosted a lo-fi virtual show early on in lockdown, featuring a collective of interesting and relatable musicians, artists, and dancers from across the world who self-styled the brand’s new collection, turning their back gardens and living rooms into their very own catwalks. The brand doesn’t even call itself one, but instead a “project on clothing, photography, and other experiments.” The show looked no different from us and our friends dancing around our bedrooms before a night out, a far cry from the glitz and glamour — and cold exclusivity — of fashion month. We’re welcome in this world, so we want in.

This cross-field collaboration — of not just tapping into the field of fashion but music, art, and lifestyle, too — is a key facet of the new generation of brands leading the pack. “Social networking platforms have long turned authority on its head,” Clarkson offers. “When everyone has a voice, the traditional hierarchy of influence dissipates. It is no longer about ranking or doing one thing well — it simply isn’t sufficient to drive influence today — and instead influence is about working across disciplines, engaging with many different communities.” Denmark’s most successful export, GANNI, has done this from the start. It’s most recent turn at Copenhagen Fashion Week saw the brand shun the traditional catwalk show, and instead host a gesamtkunstwerk — a synthesis of artists using different mediums — featuring journalists, choreographers, and visual artists, rather than models. 

Brands in this new generation don’t have retail spaces in every neighborhood, but they still feel local; the pervasive presence of traditional fashion houses and their flagship stores has in fact turned exclusivity into a homogeneous over-saturation, fashion critic Robin Givhan points out in this episode of High Snobiety’s On The Record. Their proximity to us instead comes from a strong and specific social media presence, one that emerged triumphant in an isolated lockdown. “Small business owners are the backbone of the economy, and they sit at the heart of our communities,” Georgia Kelly, strategic partner manager at Instagram U.K., tells me. “We’ve all been inspired by how they’ve pivoted so quickly to become digital-first, and a great example is lingerie business Nubian Skin, founded by Ade Hassan, to create diversity in skin-tone underwear. During lockdown, the brand launched an IGTV series called ‘Nubian Beings,’ featuring Ade interviewing influential BAME figures on their career highlights and giving advice for other small businesses.” We’re far more likely to invest in a brand that has an engaging, empathetic, and approachable face — as well as provides a needed service. The labels that have emerged triumphant in the pandemic are not only those we feel welcomed in by but also ones that are an important part of our community — just look at the success of Instagram’s #SupportSmallBusiness sticker.

And for consumers choosing which influencers they look to, the authenticity of those recommendations matters. “I think integrity has become really important to people,” Natalie Kingham, fashion and buying director at luxury retailer Matches Fashion, tells Refinery29. “It’s not just about what an influencer wears, but the brands they align themselves with and support. It’s more important than ever that someone believes in the product or brand they’re promoting, and so the choices influencers make have become even more scrutinized.”

People are increasingly questioning whether or not influencers’ choices are sincere — and whether or not they reflect their own ethics, as shoppers become more concerned with responsible sourcing, environmental impact, and supporting diverse business owners and entrepreneurs.

The most innovative fashion brands have socially-led values that their customer can feel proud to align with. Slow, sustainable, and ethical fashion is of course a huge priority for fashion lovers looking to feel good about their wardrobes in the face of a growing climate crisis: In an Instagram poll, 76% of our audience said it was a key consideration when buying clothes. French made-to-order label Maison Cléo encompasses many of the pillars vital for a successful contemporary brand: It’s run by a mother and daughter duo who have a convivial voice on Instagram, decry fast fashion at every turn, and celebrate the people who invest in and wear their eco-conscious pieces by sharing their posts on the brand’s feed, creating a familial relationship with their customer. Marine Serre, the London-based designer famed for her crescent moon print, may have recently been worn by the likes of Beyoncé and Adele, but searches for the brand were up 51% week-on-week before Black Is King was released. Serre uses recycled, upcycled, and deadstock materials to create her collections, and has cultivated the same kind of community spirit that people want to buy into. Post-pandemic, an influential brand’s social values are as important as its aesthetic appeal.

No one has proved this more than the creator of the “Bushwick Birkin,” Telfar Clemens. Rather than waiting for the approval of the old guard, Clemens stands alongside a wave of Black fashion leaders — including Christopher John Rogers, A-Cold-Wall’s Samuel Ross, Pyer Moss’s Kerby Jean-Raymond, Grace Wales Bonner, and Stella Jean — redefining the blueprint for success. Long before fashion houses scrambled to post meaningless black squares on Instagram following the protests sparked by the murders of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and Tony McDade, Clemens was serving his community and supporting Black Lives Matter. In 2019, in celebration of Black Futures Month, the brand partnered with the global organization to create a T-shirt, which the designer debuted at his AW19 show. Wearing a Telfar bag — a streamlined design coming in three sizes and falling in the mid-range price category — isn’t just about owning this season’s “it” bag; it’s an anti-status status symbol, a social symbol perhaps, whereby you’re proudly flashing your inclusive and progressive political and social values rather than your wealth. The brand, whose tagline is “Not for you — for everyone,” has even created a security program, specifically to keep sales democratic and resellers from marking up the price. We’re not inspired to buy a bag for aesthetics alone anymore; when every archaic fashion rule has been thrown out the door, the only thing our wardrobe must coordinate with now is our ideals.

From unfair production lines that leave garment workers destitute, to the environmentally-irresponsible speed at which both the fast-fashion and fashion month carousels turn, to small designers being copied without credit by influential labels, and a lack of inclusivity across the board, fashion’s deepest cracks were exposed under the pandemic and BLM uprising. As the dust settles, the influential brand voices leading the way are the ones who seek to make the industry a more fair place. Aurora James, founder of accessories label Brother Vellies, established the 15 Percent Pledge to hold brands accountable and allocate “15% of their shelf space to Black-owned businesses.” An intersection of underrepresented voices is proving influential with consumers who previously felt shut out and ignored by the status quo. Labels like PRISM, Girlfriend Collective, and Universal Standard who not only have sustainability at the heart of their ethos but size inclusivity, too, are the go-to models for brands threading together an amalgam of customer needs: being eco-minded, representative of all bodies, aesthetically-pleasing, and community-driven.

There’s hope that one day every item in our wardrobe aligns with our social and political values, but for now, it’s certainly not the only factor influencing us to shop — which, despite an incoming recession and the financial insecurity the pandemic has brought us, we’re still doing: The ONS reported that online shopping reached a record high of 33.4% in May, while in June, retail sales increased by 13.9%. Beyond the slew of progressive new-gen brands, we’re still heavily influenced by the heritage and household names that cater to a new way of life where comfort, ease, and simplicity reign supreme. Take Birkenstock. The brand has been on the upswing for years since the rise of the ugly shoe aesthetic, with everyone and their mother (quite literally) owning a pair. Come lockdown, when functionality, convenience, and comfort suddenly became so vital, the brand’s shoes took on a whole new importance. Searches for the Arizona sandals spiked 225% over the first quarter of the year, according to Lyst’s Index Report. As for Nike, the heritage sportswear brand saw a 75% increase in digital sales — sure, this may have been because we were all watching The Last Dance in lockdown and searching for its Air Jordans x Dior collaboration, but I wager it was because sports shorts became the unofficial icon of working-from-home ease, while we all suddenly took up running to escape the four walls we were confined to. Athleisure, already serving multiple aspects of our lives, is going nowhere when our post-pandemic reality requires fashion brands to cater to home-centered lifestyles, not IRL events.

Interestingly, too, both brands — plus a slew of other lifestyle staples that have thrived in lockdown, like Entireworld’s soft-focus loungewear and Patagonia’s functional and sustainable offerings — fall into the genderless category, another important area consumers want to see their brands of choice catering to. What’s clear, though, is that to maintain influence, heritage and household brands must move with the times. Nike made waves with its “For once, don’t do it” campaign, riffing on its iconic slogan and pledging $40 million to social justice organizations this June, having previously championed Colin Kaepernick in the face of brand boycotts. Here, we can see survival of the fittest in real-time — only those who adapt and evolve will travel into the future of fashion.

Alongside investing in heritage labels, and championing more ethically, environmentally, and morally conscious brands that facilitate our new normal, TikTok, its influence having grown exponentially since its founding in 2018, has introduced a new element to our relationship with fashion: DIY creativity. The platform’s heady combination of memes, songs, and hashtags has not only formed a new mode of content but handed over the creative reins to the users in a totally new way. The platform specifically prioritizes discovery, allowing for a diverse, distributed, and decentralized influence by handing over the platform to smaller creators. Cottagecore wasn’t the only trend to emerge from the app this year: Lockdown’s tie-dye mania was born here, with over 4.4 million views for the hashtag surely signaling a move away from simply buying a piece because it’s trending, and instead toward adding meaning by creating it yourself. This isn’t to say brands have no place in the fashion revolution, though: JW Anderson recently saw himself at the center of a viral TikTok moment, when users, upon seeing Harry Styles don a patchwork knitted cardigan by the designer on the TODAY show from back in February, began creating their own versions. Instead of re-releasing the $1,445 cardigan, which had already sold out, Anderson published the knitting pattern and instructions, engaging in the community rather than being the gatekeeper of it. Whether it’s Styles donning a vintage-inspired JW Anderson cardigan, or Beyoncé and Adele touting a Marine Serre bodysuit, it proves that while celebrity hype will continue to influence big fashion moments, they will have meaning beyond aesthetic.

“I do believe the appetite for newness means that trends will continue to emerge,” Kingham says; when polled on Instagram Stories, 43% said they had bought something they’d seen on the app during lockdown. H&M’s fuchsia tiered dress had its 15 minutes of fame in June, Frankie Shop’s sell-out Eva T-shirt is worn by every Bottega Veneta and Old Celine fan worldwide, and you’re hard-pressed to scroll through Instagram without spotting a pair of Chanel’s sandals this summer. But those trends will no longer be solely dictated by fashion week runways or the people sitting in the front row, and they won’t be governed by how luxurious an item is or how hard it is to get your hands on it. We’re hopeful that the future of fashion is led by brands and people that stand for something, who open up our worlds and wardrobes through cross-field collaboration, who consider carefully every kind of audience when designing their clothes and curating their feeds — after all, it should be us, the consumer, that influences them to do better.

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Lockdown has kickstarted many a lifestyle microtrend — banana bread, rollerskating, sourdough, and foam furniture, to name a few — but thanks to the lure of loungewear, they have been few and far between on the fashion front. One shoe, however, has emerged victorious from the pandemic: the Birkenstock. Whether you went for a Gizeh thong, a Boston clog, a two-strap Arizona, or a shearling-lined pair, we guarantee that the trusty Birkie — once the preserve of gardening moms and tourist dads but now worn by every footwear aficionado worth their salt thanks to collaborations with the likes of Proenza Schouler, Valentino, and Rick Owens — got you through lockdown in comfort.

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A post shared by Monikh Dale (@monikh) on Jul 2, 2020 at 5:30am PDT

Although this is the year it converted even the most dedicated heels wearer, the Birkenstock has reigned supreme for so long that we thought it was impossible to find another sandal style that was utilitarian, practical, and also contemporary. Lately, though, our Instagram feed has been flooded with another summer sandal that is equally comfortable and just as “ugly” as our beloved Birkenstocks. You may recognize the fisherman sandal from your youth: a fond favorite of geography teachers (worn with socks, of course), your grandpa, and toddlers, the woven leather style is half strappy sandal, half cut-out shoe, and now our 2020 footwear of choice.

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A post shared by Poppy Almond (@poppyalmond) on Jul 1, 2020 at 10:30am PDT

We aren’t the only ones switching our allegiance. The Row, Grenson, and Dr. Martens all have quality offerings, while our favorite Insta girls have been showing us how they style the chunky shoe. Monikh paired hers with a cream silk midi dress, Brittany Bathgate went with knee-length shorts and a boxy shirt, and Poppy Almond with socks, proving the sandals will take you through the colder months, too. The beauty of the fisherman sandal is that there’s no need for a fresh pedicure: they look just as fantastic with hosiery as they do with bare feet, and they’ll work no matter what the summer throws at us, weather-wise.

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A post shared by Brittany Bathgate (@brittanybathgate) on May 25, 2020 at 10:10am PDT

Move over Birkenstocks, there’s a new footwear favorite in town. Shop our top picks below.

At Refinery29, we’re here to help you navigate this overwhelming world of stuff. All of our market picks are independently selected and curated by the editorial team. If you buy something we link to on our site, Refinery29 may earn commission.

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This season, marred by post-pandemic questions of the fashion industry’s ethics, relevance, and survival, brands from Prada to Jacquemus have had to adapt and serve up their own take on what a catwalk show looks like in a COVID-19 world.

Prada produced five short films under the title “The Show That Never Happened” for Miuccia’s swan song as solo creative director, while Jacquemus transported us once again to the dreamy fields of France, this time a wheat crop just outside of Paris. For Gucci’s Alessandro Michele, though, giving his fans a 360° digital experience is familiar territory. For fall ’20, just weeks before the World Health Organization declared the outbreak an international concern back in February, Gucci flipped the traditional show format on its head by turning the typically-off-limits backstage area into the catwalk itself. 

Michele has seemingly been one step ahead of the world’s changing moods throughout lockdown. The brand’s pre-fall ’20 campaign, “So Deer To Me,” saw models frolicking in parks with woodland creatures, as close as high fashion could come in predicting our lockdown desires to reconnect with nature via gardening and government-sanctioned daily walks. Now, it appears as though the creative director’s newfound return to wholesome pursuits has gone one step further. While we’ve been busy with our lockdown habits of baking bread, embracing cottagecore, and growing courgettes on our window sills, Michele has been creating the brand’s spring ’21 show. Named “An Unrepeatable Ritual” and concluding the narrative arc following on from last season, it’s Michele’s way of inviting us into Gucci’s very own secret garden.  

“Epilogue,” unfolded today at Rome’s gilded and golden late-Mannerist Palazzo Sacchetti. A live stream began Friday morning, giving the brand’s devotees a glimpse of the pre-show behind-the-scenes action — “a visual narrative feature,” or, the mechanics of the collection’s lookbook shoot. This season Michele’s own Gucci design team modeled the collection, both a smart way to avoid putting working models in potential danger and to encourage us to remember the human effort behind the clothes we love. In the grand rooms, we saw his team having their hair and makeup done, photographers setting up shoot angles, and showrunners putting the final props in place; outside in the romantic gardens, a scene not unlike a Beatrix Potter story unfolded: rafts of ducks squawked, models lay down in blankets of flowerbeds, and giant vegetables were strewn across the paths. Everyone wore face coverings and PPE, reminding us that, even in the most dream-like setting, the New Normal™ will always be shrouded by the threat of the virus. Soon after, the livestream flickered into action, taking us from bucolic escape to retro techscape: after a digitally-manipulated voice read the show notes to us, Michele appeared to say: 

“The collection, in short, is the end of the beginning of an experiment. It’s an attempt to use fashion as a space, in particular as an experimental lab. And this is my experiment. Narrating it this way, and presenting it this way, to the press, to the outside world, looking inside the mechanism of an advertising campaign like a peeping tom, is interesting to me as an element that dissociates the narrative of fashion from the show, from the representation of itself.” 

Then, like Cher’s digital closet in the ‘90s rom-com Clueless, photographs of the models appeared on screens to the beep-bleeping sounds of an old PC starting up. All of Gucci’s trademarks were present, from more-is-more accessories spanning printed silk headscarves and costume-like jewelry, to grandpa-inspired staples like argyle knitwear and corduroy slacks, via prim-and-proper ladylike twin-sets, pearls, and heeled mules. The beauty of Gucci, of course, is that all of it is thrown together in a complex amalgamation of curated details, a vision Michele manages to keep interesting after all this time. Once we’d seen the looks in full, the livestream cut back to the ornate walls and ceilings of the Palazzo and the bustling hum of the backstage. 

People can watch the livestream all day — it will run 12 hours in total — as well as listen to a Spotify playlist curated by Michele as an “audio representation” of the collection (Daughter, Morrissey, Grizzly Bear, DIIV, and Duran Duran are all featured). We’ll also be treated to the campaign images, shot by photographer Alec Soth in front of the graffiti-covered walls of Rome’s Campo Boario. Sure, we didn’t see any models walking down a catwalk in the collection’s clothes, but did we need to? Michele has always been a master of styling — the art of teaming a chevron stripe with white opaque tights, a raffia hat with a latex glove — and his Gucci campaigns always spotlight irreverent settings, conceptual visions, and well-chosen models. In simply showing us the mechanics of bringing a collection to its audience, he stripped the fashion show of its pomp and ego and proved that the environmental, financial, and human toll of fashion month is more than outdated. With coronavirus putting the traditional catwalk show on hold, events like this lay bare its costly and ephemeral truth.  

This may be “the beginning of the end” of Gucci’s experiment, but we’re excited to see which of fashion’s boundaries Michele breaks next. As he says in his closing notes, this moment is “a watershed that closes and opens at the same time, a threshold of a new beginning, from which we try to imagine our tomorrow.”

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I first saw it at London Fashion Week. At JW Anderson’s spring ’20 show, among the Ziggy Stardust metallic suiting and corsetry with diamanté detailing, there it was: the perfect yellow dress. So pale in color it was almost margarine, the dress – an iridescent mohair-knit mini with spaghetti straps – made me feel nostalgic for a summer holiday I was yet to go on. Paired with wraparound sandals and a single drop-down earring, the dress spoke for itself. It was the epitome of a throw-on-and-go piece that demands nothing but gives everything. I’ve fallen hard for many a dress in my time, but something about that effervescent yellow percolated in my mind all weekend. 

It was just the beginning, though: as the season wore on, yellow dresses kept popping up, like daffodils blooming in spring. At Preen by Thornton Bregazzi, an ethereal cloud of sherbet lemon organza; at Richard Quinn, a gargantuan buttercup rosette. Supriya Lele gave us a cat’s cradle of sheer saffron, while Christopher Kane’s acidic gown hinted at danger. Emilia Wickstead presented sophisticated pale sunlight and bold, banana-flavored Angel Delight, and Molly Goddard served up yet more frothy semolina shades. As London Fashion Week drew to a close, there was no denying the serotonin-boosting appeal of the yellow dress – but that hasn’t always been the case. Contrary to its contemporary associations with sunshine and summer, the color yellow has a far darker history.

Yellow’s origins were lofty enough: Chinese emperors used the saffron plant to dye their robes and, later, the color was reserved for the daughters of European royal families as the dye only took to the finest of silks (peasants who tried to dye their cotton garments yellow only succeeded in turning them gray). Yet all that glitters is not gold and the hue’s reputation was sullied over time as the yellow robes said to be worn by Venus, the goddess of love, mutated into a discriminatory marker for maligned sex workers. Great artists of the medieval and Renaissance periods used yellow to portray sinister moments like betrayal – Judas often appeared shrouded in the color – terror, sickness, and the apocalypse, and, in its darkest days, yellow became a way to single out and ostracize Jewish people in Germany during WWII.

In the natural world, too, colors which sit beside yellow on the spectrum mix with it to create putrid shades that bring to mind acid, pus, poison, and toxic foods and flowers, causing revulsion and fear. Shakaila Forbes-Bell, fashion psychologist and founder of Fashion is Psychology, notes that it’s the color most associated with urgency and alertness. “Having a greater effect on attention compared to cooler colors like blue and grey, yellow has been proven to induce feelings of high arousal which activates the ascending reticular activating system (ARAS) in the brain, leading to increased heart rate, blood pressure, mobility and readiness to respond,” she explains. Think of the use of yellow in everything from road signs and horror films (Kill Bill, we’re looking at you) to graphic designer Harvey Ball’s 1963 smiley face, later adopted as the symbol of rave culture. What gets hearts beating faster than ecstasy and two-stepping?

For these reasons and more, we’ve long been told that yellow isn’t a flattering color to wear. So how did that all change? One word: Beyoncé. When she dropped her 2016 album Lemonade, she shook up more than just the music industry. In the video for “Hold Up”, rolling down a bustling sidewalk in a flurry of marigold ruffles, swinging a baseball bat with a huge grin on her face, she kickstarted an obsession with yellow that we’re still seeing the effects of today. “Yellow has always been one of my favorite colors,” Bea Åkerlund, Beyoncé’s stylist for the video, told Refinery29. “It’s bold, brings joy, and stands out from the crowd.” Of dressing the musician in the showstopping off-the-shoulder plissé gown designed by Roberto Cavalli’s creative director Peter Dundas, she said: “It took precedence over all other pieces of clothing in the shot; it represented everything I was trying to convey in one look and worked perfectly with the character’s narrative.” Åkerlund’s favorite yellow dress moment from history? “Belle from Beauty and the Beast.”

According to Natalie Kingham, fashion and buying director at Matches Fashion: “If you look back through fashion history, designers like Dior and Chanel in the ’50s included yellow in their collections and it was a popular color in the 1960s, after which it slightly fell out of favor.” Beyoncé’s Lemonade moment sparked yellow’s comeback tour, with notable women subsequently championing the color at high-profile events. “One of the main reasons people like or dislike a color is based on common associations,” Forbes-Bell says, “and yellow started to dominate pop culture from around five years ago when it was heavily embraced by powerful and popular figures. From Rihanna’s 2015 Guo Pei Met Gala dress to Beyoncé’s Balmain hoodie at Coachella in 2018 and, more recently, Michelle Obama’s 2019 diamond-encrusted Schiaparelli gown, we’ve continually seen yellow associated with popular and likable people, which has created a new experience around the color, causing us all to become more drawn to it.”

From Ashish to Chloé, the catwalks of spring ’17 – the fashion month that succeeded Lemonade’s release – were sizzling with dresses in sherbet lemon, canary, and mustard hues. Let’s not forget, however, some pinnacle Big Bird moments in fashion history. She may have reset the sartorial clock but Beyoncé wasn’t the first to inspire think pieces and a social media storm with her yellow dress. Anyone worth their fashion salt will remember the 2003 image of Kate Moss in New York, photographed on her way to an AnOther Magazine party in honor of Gwyneth Paltrow. “She had on something like a pale-yellow 1950s-style dress with a strapless bodice and a chiffon skirt just below the knee…a real lady dress,” the designer Bella Freud remembers in Angela Buttolph’s book, Kate Moss: Style. The dress caused so much fanfare that it became the inspiration for one of the sellout pieces of Moss’ hugely successful Topshop collaboration four years later. 

What about Kate Hudson’s turn as magazine journalist Andie Anderson in the 2003 film How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days? Her buttercup satin gown sealed the deal, making Matthew McConaughey’s Benjamin Barry fall in love with her. Ridiculous character names aside, the dress – liquid gold with a bum-skimming low back and criss-cross straps – created by costume designer Karen Patch, is as memorable as the film itself. Then there’s Michelle Williams’ yellow gown at the 2006 Oscars. “[It] was a pivotal moment,” Kingham muses, “as at that point it hadn’t really been on the radar as much as an evening wear color option.” The dress, a fluted and frilly saffron Vera Wang gown, “felt very modern and elegant and since then we’ve seen a lot more yellow on the catwalks, especially from designers such as Erdem, Emilia Wickstead, and Molly Goddard who have embraced the color.” 

Fast-forward to 2018 and hot on the heels of the omnipresent obsession with millennial pink – the soft blush hue used everywhere from fashion to beauty, interiors to lifestyle branding – came Gen Z yellow. While christening a color after an entire generation in the interests of marketing felt fairly nauseating, there was something refreshing in the fact that the shade’s popularity didn’t come from influencers, editors, and designers but rather from young creatives and the ‘grass roots’ of social media.

Writer Haley Nahman coined the term when she noticed a shift in palette across her usually bubblegum pink-hued Instagram feed. “Yellow is the color that best represents hope, optimism, and joy. It’s the universal symbol of sunshine and warmth,” Leatrice Eiseman, executive director of the Pantone Colour Institute, told Refinery29 at the time. “All of these characteristics make it a symbolic representation of what Gen Zers are looking for – a renewed hope for the future and the energy to engage in a purposeful way.” From celebrity fashion collaborations to photographers’ choice of lens, “visual culture really pushed yellow forward as an Instagram-friendly bright that young people feel comfortable wearing,” notes Jenny Clark, head of color at global trends forecaster WGSN. “The unflattering association has disappeared as more consumers understand which shades suit their skin tone.”

Now that our aversion to yellow has been replaced with a sunnier outlook, we continue to see a celebration of the color permeate our wardrobes. For Kingham, there were two standout moments at spring ’20: “Gabriela Hearst’s simple yellow wrap dress and Cecile Bahnsen’s organza babydoll dress.” Clark meanwhile champions the king of color, Sies Marjan: “The yellows in the collection were very rich and warm and made to feel extremely luxurious on satins and embossed crocodile. It was a very contemporary and directional use of yellow.” Besides the aforementioned JW Anderson coquettish mohair mini, our favorite piece has to be New York designer Mara Hoffman’s Violet dress, a banana-yellow organic cotton number featuring balloon sleeves and a knot across the bust. The piece – so easy, so simple – feels like the epitome of holiday dressing, so cruelly out of reach right now. As Eiseman says, a yellow dress is the perfect symbol of renewed hope – something that we’re all in need of, now more than ever. 

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It was only a matter of time before I cut my own hair in lockdown. When you’re moving a maximum of 10 meters a day (I will not look at my phone’s step counter, you can’t make me), you start itching for a different kind of change of scenery. We tend to do something dramatic to our hair when we experience those big, life-altering shifts: a break-up, recovery from an illness, a new job, a move to a different city. While the COVID-19 crisis is certainly lacking the same agency and excitement, the total novelty of the situation (none of us has ever been here before) has caused a restlessness, leading many to shake things up with their appearance. 

Naturally, everyone and their mother has gone for a buzzcut. Sorry to disappoint, but while others pull off a shaved head with either gamine or badass finesse, I’d look more like Phil Mitchell. Others are growing beards out of curiosity or choosing more daring hair colors than they would if they were still office-bound. Instead, I opted for a bob. There were practical reasons, sure — I’m growing out my last dramatic hair change (a perm from last summer) and I’m getting impatient with the damage. The shorter the hair, the quicker the repair, right? I’d also had some layers cut in that I wasn’t too keen on, so chopping them away felt good. But for me, changing my hair always feels like something more.

I’ve never been one to shy away from a switch-up. I’ve had every color under the sun, from chocolate brown to tangerine orange, ice blonde to golden peach, and as well as the aforementioned perm, I’ve had the ‘70s shag cut. For me, hair holds the same power as clothes: It’s more than something you wear every day; it has the power to change the way you feel about yourself. In the same way that donning a pair of corduroy kick-flares and a hand-embroidered blouse has me channelling Stevie Nicks, or showing off my tattoos in a black tank top and leather trousers makes me feel more like Joan Jett, switching up my hairstyle gives me the creative freedom to tap into different facets of myself. I take neither fashion nor beauty seriously: like a dress-up box, it’s about trying on a different version of myself each time. 

Practicality and playfulness aside, I think I went for a bob cut in self-quarantine because it feels nostalgic. My mom gave me a chin-skimming bob throughout my childhood — most likely because the shorter my hair, the less food would end up in it. While at the time I envied classmates with flowing locks (hilariously, I used to put a pair of black tights on my head and pretend I had long hair like Ariel from The Little Mermaid), I look back at childhood photos and love it. There’s something inherently youthful about a bob: the fuss-free nature of it, the way it frames your cheeks and exposes your neck, the way it literally bobs from side to side as you shake your head.

Since lockdown started, I’ve subscribed to Disney+ and am watching ‘90s classics on repeat — perhaps cutting a bob was a similar effort to root myself in the safety and comfort of childhood. It’s a really scary time and while much is uncertain, one thing is for sure: Life won’t be the same after this. Comfort is what we’re all seeking right now, whether it’s in cozy hobbies like knitting and sourdough baking, or watching Hercules for the 100th time and cutting a familiar hairstyle. 

Of course, I had my doubts before I cut the damn thing. There’s no substitute for a professional cut, and I didn’t want to end up looking like Lord Farquaad from Shrek. For something like the shag or the perm, you really need a professional stylist, but there’s still room for error with the seemingly simpler bob. Sure, I wouldn’t be seeing anyone but my boyfriend for the foreseeable, but the constant Zoom calls and Houseparty gatherings mean we’re all confronting our reflection more than we’d like to right now. Luckily, my borderline obsession with hair meant that I had thousands of references on Pinterest boards, in desktop folders, and my Instagram saved page. 

The more I skimmed my saved styles, the clearer it became that the bob might just be one of the most enduring hairstyles in history. It thrived in the ‘20s and ‘30s, with iconic women of the Jazz Age owning the inimitable style. Josephine Baker and Bette Davis opted for glamorous waves, while Louise Brooks created the iconic razor-sharp, cheekbone-skimming “Lulu bob” (see Catherine Zeta-Jones in Chicago). In the 1960s it was the bouffant bobs of The Supremes and Aretha Franklin, while in the ‘90s, a leather jacket-clad Winona Ryder and My So-Called Life‘s Claire Danes gave the bob a shaggy grunge makeover. Uma Thurman’s turn as Mia in Pulp Fiction proved there was life in the geometric style yet, and Natalie Portman’s roles in Léon and Closer crowned her as the haircut’s ultimate pin-up. A more contemporary cultural reference is Audrey Tautou in Amelie; her awkward, arty home-cut bob, along with septum piercings and chokers, became synonymous with Urban Outfitters employees several years ago. For a less whimsical but equally cute take on this style, artist Frances Cannon’s bob phase has been in my IG faves for years now. 

Armed with my kitchen scissors (I know! I am sorry to all professional hairstylists, but desperate times call for desperate tools), I headed to the bathroom to rid myself of a good few inches. For those interested in the mechanics of my very rudimentary cut, I parted my hair down the middle, separated it into two bunches, and chopped straight across the bottom where my first layers started. Once the hair was all one length (just about), I pinned it up in layers across the head to see if it was even enough and worked my way through it until I was satisfied. I still have to blow-dry my hair post-wash as I have the remainder of my perm to tame, but since the chop I’ve been washing it once every three days, and using dry shampoo to keep the roots in check. I find that my bob on day two and three is much better as it’s lived-in and less blow-dried, and becomes more naturally wavy and loose. 

While there’s so much I love about my new neck-grazing cut, from the kicky shape to my newfound love of hair accessories (a padded headband and pearl barrette look all the more cute in a fresh bob), what I didn’t expect was for it to help me feel like myself again. Before I went for the chop, I was struggling to find any motivation to get dressed — properly dressed — in lockdown. Like everyone else working from home, I’d bought new joggers but, as friends and colleagues will tell you, I’ve never worn anything resembling athleisure before this. The lines between pajamas and everyday wear were becoming blurred and, as a fashion editor whose wardrobe is a constant source of joy and experimentation, I felt as though a part of me was lost. For some people, putting comfort first is the raison d’être of their wardrobe, but for me that meant losing the magic of playing dress-up. 

Since cutting my bob, I’ve rediscovered my jewelery box, too: from candy-store beads and ‘80s door-knockers to faux-crystal chandeliers, a surprise benefit of shorter hair is that statement earrings stand out so much more. Zoom calls will be a hell of a lot less boring now I can show off my out-there earlobes. When you dye your hair, you’re encouraged to try on new colors to see what suits your new shade. In a similar effort, I threw everything in my wardrobe onto my bed and had a day-long trying-on session — music blasting, bottle of wine on hand.

Black rollnecks now feel nouvelle vague; prairie dresses look all the more saccharine; blouses with eccentric necklines have their time to shine now that my hair isn’t concealing the main event. Every day since cutting my hair I’ve worn an outfit that feels like me — which version of me depends on the day, of course, but I’ve packed away my joggers and hoodie for another place, another time. Sitting down at my makeshift WFH desk each morning no longer feels like a groggy extension of my bed but like I’m starting a new day. We’re all in a state of free-fall right now, and anchoring ourselves to some kind of normality feels like a mammoth task. Thanks to just a few inches off my ends, I feel that little bit more like myself.

This story was originally published on Refinery29 UK.

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The royal family may have had a bad year thanks to allegations surrounding certain problematic members, plus Harry and Meghan choosing to give up their titles in pursuit of a peaceful and paparazzi-free life, but there are two regal women who will forever be worshipped for their perennially chic style.

On day one of this season’s London Fashion Week, Shrimps’ creative director Hannah Weiland celebrated both the queen and Princess Diana in her fall ’20 collection, a glorious return to the official show schedule for the London-based designer. “Royal style has consistently offered every occasion a sense of ceremony and elegance, from the countryside on horseback to the ballroom at Balmoral, all while championing a fearless approach to color,” the show notes read.

Style signatures both women are recognized for were dappled throughout the collection, from the queen’s heritage-check calf-length skirts and penchant for top-handled handbags to Diana’s jewel-toned ’80s cocktail dresses, ’90s jodhpurs, and silk scarves.

Door-knocker earrings were given a ceremonial makeover via giant neck-skimming pearls and hair was coiffed to within an inch of its life, while pink blush sat high on cheeks and wraparound reflective glasses alluded to Diana’s infamous ski slope looks. Knitted woolen bonnets meanwhile made reference to the queen’s love of outdoor pursuits.

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London Fashion Week fall ’20 drew to a close last night with Burberry’s blockbuster show and there was an electric atmosphere as the great and the good of the fashion, music, and film industries (think Hunter Schafer, Naomi Campbell, and FKA twigs) took their seats in the front row at the glittering event.

Burberry is always the most anticipated show of the season, but this time around saw a change in tempo for creative director Riccardo Tisci. Arguably his strongest collection for the brand thus far, it feels as though the designer has settled into his new home, allowing his creative vision to be fully realized. 

Firstly, the outerwear: Burberry is known and loved for its classic trench coat, which was treated to a refresh in several ways this season with ‘70s shearling trim (very Penny Lane), with contrasting black and white lapels, and in supersize check with Peter Pan collars that felt less heritage and more experimental. It was even given the Frankenstein hybrid treatment when fused with a puffer jacket. 

Away from the trench style, boxy beige cropped jackets felt the most contemporary, while the oil-slick, high-shine vinyl will be a sellout and the quilted form-fitting jackets will appeal to the brand’s more conservative customer. Elsewhere, rugby stripes were given a fresh new spin in egg-yolk yellow and candyfloss pink across shirts and dresses, while cricket jumpers were layered over sequined floor-skimming gowns. We also have a soft spot for a standout olive-green trouser suit, which was paired with a white and rust-colored shirt.

Sibling pianists Katia and Marielle Labèque provided the music, their synchronized crescendos matching the collection’s pulsing energy. An all-star cast of models walked the show, too, from Bella and Gigi Hadid to Joan Smalls, Kendall Jenner, and Irina Shayk. Burberry also debuted the latest installment of its B Series handbags at the show. The Robin, a small black structured bag in Italian-tanned leather, complete with Tisci’s now-cult gold Thomas Burberry Monogram clasp, enjoyed its first outing on the fall ’20 catwalk last night, though hints of the cross-body bag were dropped on the house’s social media platforms yesterday morning. 

Riccardo Tisci’s fall ’20 collection — his fourth for the luxury British giant — proved that while his vision is far removed from that of his predecessor, Christopher Bailey, his ability to imbue the brand with sexiness, streetwear, and innovation is taking it to stratospheric new heights.

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Frothy party frocks aside, there’s another reason showgoers look forward to Molly Goddard’s spot on the London Fashion Week schedule: She’s known for hosting the occasional feast (see the banquet from fall ’17). And for ‘fall 20, she provided the holy trifecta: wine, bread, and lashings of salted butter.

While the much-needed sustenance gave editors and influencers alike some respite from Storm Dennis, the collection itself was as much of a treat. Tulle gowns deserving of their own walk-in wardrobe were of course featured, this season in cheery daffodil yellow and punchy pillar-box red. But it was the playful move into a grungier aesthetic that stood out most.

Kurt Cobain-esque red and black knits were layered over foaming tiered skirts and paired with two-inch high creepers, while models were given greasy bangs that covered one eye to amp up the teen-spirit feel. Lindsey Wixson also starred in the show, wearing a punchy blue froufrou dress over a coral knit (complete with a supersized bow). After announcing her retirement at the age of 23 in 2017, we’re more than happy that the American model is walking her way back into our lives.

Goddard also used her fall ’20 collection to launch menswear, although it was unisex insofar as we’d wear every single piece. From zingy checked suiting and Peter Pan-collared coats to Fair Isle cardigans over crisp white shirts, whether we steal it from our boyfriends or invest in it ourselves, the pieces felt like a natural extension of the designer’s signature aesthetic.

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London Fashion Week fall '20 is well under way, with stellar shows from some of the city's most exciting and innovative designers. From Shrimps, which returned to the schedule with a royal family-inspired show, to queen-of-color Roksanda, whose show drew an A-list front row, via Molly Goddard, who brought teen spirit and tulle, it's been a thrilling season so far.

With sustainability being the central topic of conversation in fashion right now (and rightly so) and the coronavirus outbreak stopping emerging talent like ASAI from showing on schedule (the Fashion East graduate's factory was forcibly shut down by the Chinese government), it's a strange time for the British fashion industry.

One thing, however, that London Fashion Week is always able to do is remind us of the joy and creativity of personal style. Ahead, see how influencers, editors, and showgoers clashed prints, remixed color combos, and gave us unexpected but totally brilliant get-ups. Here's the best street style from fall '20.

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Georgia Murray, Khareem Sudlow