When Vogue's September issue landed in 2012, it was a literal doorstop. 916 pages with Lady Gaga on the cover, the heft of glossy paper echoing the weight of cultural power. Thirteen years later, the September story looks entirely different. Emma Stone fronts the 2025 package, but the magazine is no longer bound to page count. Instead, it is built around a couture-inspired capsule by Nicolas Ghesquière, photographed by Jamie Hawkesworth, and extended into films, podcasts, and behind-the-scenes reels. The September issue still exists, but its power is no longer measured by how high it stacks on the coffee table.

After a brief pause, the industry reminded us why we watch, read, and follow every move. From awards honoring iconic women to groundbreaking collaborations, there is a pulse that keeps the world of style exciting and unpredictable.

The pavement is almost too hot to touch. Somewhere between a café table and a boutique window, a woman’s Havaianas flip-flops slap softly against her heels, the rhythm only interrupted when she pauses to check her phone. Across the street, a model in leather slides exits a runway rehearsal, looking effortlessly polished. Meanwhile, a vendor stacks towers of plastic thongs like candy on a quiet beach in Rio. Humble, inexpensive, and sometimes controversial, flip-flops carry stories that extend far beyond sand and sea. They reveal more about taste, class, politics, and environmental issues than you might expect, and by 2025, they are just as likely to be seen on the runway as they are at the corner shop.

You've probably seen it before: glossy magazine spreads filled with anime motifs, kimono sleeves, and shiny hanbok-style skirts. Or the latest fast fashion collection with "Asian-inspired" prints, modeled by someone who has never been to Asia. In recent years,  Asian fashion has become shorthand for something sleek, futuristic, and exotic. But here's the problem: that's only scratching the surface; it often misses the point entirely.