The Poverty Of Fashion Language
I am writing this while listening to Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 5 in E minor, performed by Herbert von Karajan, which feels precisely accurate. There are things that are only tolerable with a bit of Russian despair. My Sunday had been delightful until I lost my tolerance trying to understand why every corner of the industry sounds the same.
Everything is a “code”. A “gesture”. A “dialogue”. A “new chapter”. A “timeless wardrobe” A “meditation”. An “archive”. Or a “sensibility”.
I can read three show notes, five campaign captions, and an entire creative-director appointment announcement without encountering a single sentence that risks meaning something precise. Fashion is a visual industry, yes, but it is also a linguistic one. Clothes need language. Not because a dress cannot exist without explanation, but because fashion, at its best, has never been only about fabric. And currently, every room seems to read from the same three pages from the dictionary.
The issue is not that these words are inherently bad. Heritage is not a bad word. Craft is not a bad word. Sensuality is certainly not a bad word, though many people have tried their best to cheapen it. The problem is exhaustion. The words have been used so monotonously, by so many houses, with so little distinction that they can’t actually say anything. That is where the poverty begins. A great maison should have a language one can recognize even before its product appears. Chanel should not sound like Dior. Loewe should not sound like Bottega. And Saint Laurent should definitely not sound like Gucci (thank god). A brand’s vocabulary, sentence structure, or tone family should carry its pulse and temperament. As consumers, there should be phrases and specific wording that could only make us think it could belong to one place.
In 2026, this matters even more because fashion is living through what Vogue Business called a major creative reset, after fifteen creative-director debuts at major houses and a wider reshuffling across marketing, design, communications, and executive teams. The industry is not merely changing artists. It is changing its narrators. Every appointment must be framed pragmatically. Every debut must be sold as a rebirth. Every second collection must prove that the first one was not just an expense.
So as a result, the language inflates.
A designer does not arrive. They “write the next chapter.” A brand does not hire someone. It “embarks on a defining era.” A collection does not contain references. It “enters into dialogue with the archive.” A jacket is not well cut. It “reinterprets the house codes through a contemporary lens.” Darling, sometimes it is just a simple jacket. Give me a break.
A phrase like “a dialogue between past and present” cannot fail because it never promised anything measurable. It sounds cultured, but it commits to nothing. “A new chapter” sounds strategic, but it could mean anything from genuine creative rupture to a different person approving the bags for the next season. “Timeless femininity” sounds soft/gentle, but what does it actually say? Whose femininity? Whose time? And whose waistline?!
That is the genius of vague language… it is safe for everyone.
A precise sentence can be challenged, but a vague one can only be read, ignored, or quoted by someone on LinkedIn who believes “elevating brand storytelling” is a soft skill. The most abused word in fashion may be “heritage”. Heritage, in luxury, is not simply history. It is socially constructed through strong narratives rather than merely inherited as a fact. This distinction matters because an archive is not memory in its natural state. It is managed memory. Therefore, it is chosen, framed, merchandised, and then sent back into the market as evidence of continuity. The problem begins when it becomes the safest grammar available. Instead of saying something new with the past, many brands simply point to the past and expect reverence. The archive becomes a perfume bottle held under the nose of the current. Smell this. Remember us. Buy again.
But I like to think that the public is not as stupid as brands seem to hope. Luxury has a pricing problem, and recent price hikes have created backlash, particularly among younger consumers who now demand real value, creativity, quality, emotional resonance, and uniqueness in exchange for increasingly expensive products. This is where language becomes even more important. When a bag costs more than a month of rent in a major European city, the paragraph beside it cannot sound like it came from a conference room after someone said, “Make it feel elevated”.
Craft, therefore, has become fashion’s favorite word. When customers question the price, the brand answers with the hand. The artisans, the atelier, the hours, or the technique. Craftsmanship is one of luxury’s most valuable currencies, especially as brands respond to consumer fatigue, skepticism about quality, and the overuse of celebrity-driven marketing. Again, obviously, craft matters. But when every object is wrapped in algorithm-friendly words, one begins to wonder whether craft is being honored or merely marketed.
And of course, we now have the machine.
The interesting point is that AI did not invent generic fashion language. It simply learned from it. AI sounds like the press release because the press release already sounded like the machine: smooth, obedient, and generic. A sentence by a committee and a sentence polished by an algorithm often arrive dressed the same. This is why journalists, editors, and critics matter. Someone has to say: this word means nothing here. This alleged reference is only marketing. This “new chapter” has no plot. This “dialogue” is as empty as my stomach before 2pm.
The role of criticism is not to insult, though I will never deny the pleasure of a well-placed read. The role is to restore and to teach how to look. Fashion deserves language that can risk being wrong because it was brave enough to mean something. Language with fingerprints. Language that does not need to drop the word “storytelling” because the story is already there. Announcing itself. The poverty behind it all is a taste issue. Because when the words become interchangeable, the thoughts behind them often follow. And once an industry loses the ability to name things precisely/uniquely, it begins to lose the ability to desire them properly. And that is the threat.
Not that fashion has nothing to say.
But that fashion has learned to say nothing eloquently.
WRITTEN BY FREDDY ESPINAL