Is Fashion Journalism Dead?

Fashion once had critics. Now it had cheerleader with press passes.

Somewhere between the front row of Fashion Week and the algorithmic abyss of social media, fashion journalism lost its pulse. The glossy pages that once held designers accountable have turned into branded love letter — each season met with the same hollow applause. “Stunning.” “Groundbreaking.” “Avant-garde.” Words that once meanth something now read like filler between affilate links.

Today’s fashion press feels less like reportage and more like a brand’s extended PR department. The industry’s scared gatekeepers have traded sharp pens for sponsored content, and criticism for the comfort of brand partnerships. Reviews sound more like ad copy than art criticism, and genuine analysis has been replaced by “content creation.” Somewhere, the spirit of Suzy Menkers is sighing into her notebook.

Fashion used to be a conversation — now it’s an echo chamber. Every collection is declared a triumph before the models even leave the runway. The questions that matter — What is this designer saying? Why does this collection exist? How does it move fashion forward? — are lost beneath hastags and hype.

The Death of Critique

The fashion critic has become the influencer’s quieter cousin, invited to brunches and flown to “immersive brand experiences,” expected to gush in gratitude rather than question in print. Journalists who dare to critique a collection risk being blacklisted, uninvited, or quietly erased from the Fashion Week seating chart. In a ecosystem built on access, honesty had become a liabilty. Truth doesn’t get you an invited — it gets you gusted.

Once upon a time, a bad review could shake a house to its core. Now, a “meh” emoji on Instagram has more power than a 1,000 word essay. The result? A parade of collections marching forward with no resistance — unexamined, unchallenged, and often uninspired.

But how can fashion move forward if no one’s brave enough to say when it’s stuck in reverse? Where’s the excavation of ideas — the deep dive into a designer’s evolution, their missteps, thier moments of brillance, the cultural ghosts haunting their clothes? Without context, without history, without critiqye, every show becomes a costume party with no plot — a spectacle without soul.

Without critique, fashion stops evolving; it becomes a mirror admiring itself.

Clickbait and the Cult of Hype

Fashion once lived for the review. Now, it lives for the repost.

The art of analysis has been traded for algorithms — and in this new economy, speed beats substance every time. Instead of long-form essays that unpack meaning, we get 280-character rections and recycled press quotes disguised as journalism. Headlines scream louder than the clothes. “This Designer Just Broke the Internet.” “You Won’t Believe What She Wore.” Believe it — because you’ve seen it a hundred times before.

We’ve built an echo chamber where virality is mistaken for value. When everyone’s chasing clicks, no one’s asking questions. The journalist becomes a content creator, the critic becomes a brand ambassador, and the fashion conversation become one long sponsored post. Thought has been replaced with thirst — for engagement, for access, for attention.

Social media gave everyone a platform, and in doing so, blurred the line between informed critique and casual opinion. Everyone’s a critic now, but a few are students of the craft. A front-row seat means nothing when the commentary is as fleeting as a TikTok scroll.

And yet, amid the noise, the hunger for authencity grows. People don’t just want to know what walked the runway — they want to know why. Who was this collection for? What story does it tell? What does it say about the world we’re in? These are the questions that clickbait can’t answer — because answering them takes time, nuance, and the kind of intellectual appetite the industry has been starving for.

Fashion deserves better than fast takes and fawning praise. It deserves discourse — not digital applause.

Fashion Needs Writers with Teeth

What fashion needs now isn’t another influencer in a borrowed smaple — it needs writer with teeth. Critics who bite, not nibble. Voices unbothered by brand dinners or backstage access. Writer who see beyind the shimmer and into the structure — who can tell when the seams of an industry are coming undone.

We need pens that don’t tremble when faced with power, essays that sting because they care. Critiqye isn’t cruelty — it’s commitment. To hold fashion accountable is to believe in its potential. To demand more from it is to love it fiercely. The problem isn’t that we’re too harsh — it’s that we’ve gone soft.

We need an industry brave enough to listen, to accept that applause means nothing without honesty. Because without friction, there is no spark. Without critique, there is no evolution. Fashion’s greatest revolutions — from punk to minimalism, from McQueen to Margiela — were born from defiance, not decorum.

It’s time to resurrect the critic. The one who writes not to please, but to provoke. The one who loves fashion enough to challenge it. Because if everyone’s whispering “beautiful,” someone needs to shout, “Why?”

Fashion isn’t dead. But its journalism is on life support — and it’s going to take writers with bite, not brand deals, to bring it back to life.