It wouldn’t be a Broke Magazine roundup without sharing all the unfilted ADHD word vomit that fell out of our mouths when discussing the runways this season. From fits made for an oat-milk-and-ciggie corner shop run at David Koma, to cowboy daddies at Edward Crutchley, read our Ru-Paul inspired commentary of this season’s catwalks…
Cunty ‘n’ chaotic, choke me softly, scrumptiously scraggly, the girlies that ghost you, spit-in-my-mouth mesh, vegetarian vampire, Tiffany Valentine, hot heels-on sex, da magic coochie collection
Planet Chrome, A-I cinematic experience, mossy jackets over threaded coats, earthy undertones, corona (but with lemon… rogue I know), cables hanging from the ceiling, an angelic version of the Matrix, grassy Mars and holographic projections.
Saucy Greek god Dionysus, Cowboy Daddies, Ciggie-Princesses from the 18th century, historical costumes, Queen Victoria’s cool aunt, Tudor Realness and an after-party emperor.
How bossman sees us on our oat-milk-and-ciggies corner shop run, seeing red, our face after running for the bus, laundry day, skimpy af, sxy walk of shame, our childhood teddy after ten years of service.
E-girl eskimo, the woman in black but boujee, peng bow peep, bows upon bows, for the girl who loves sheep, , ballerina slash assassination mission.
Snow White’s mirror of truth, airport lounging queen, monochrome, simplistic-chic, glamorous germaphobe, rich aunt en route to Amsterdam, life-sized compact mirror, how ravers be queuing for Berghain.
Testing HR’s last nerve, Girl Next Door gone mild, reworking grandma’s wardrobe, rebellious ballerina, bin bag baddies, robbing your hypebeast boyfriends garms, fits we’d ruin the first 30 seconds of scranning a saucy meal.
Glamour, money, success – something we ain’t used to. Feminine hems, bedroom pillow princess, high-class noses, rose-blushed cheeks, gold-encrusted lingerie, babygirl delicacy, necking Prosecco and the aroma of perfume that’s £500 plus.
Photography by – Lulu Shing, Katie Collins