Let's re-center the experience of fashion shows in an age of endless content.
At a recent show in Paris, the kind where the front row is more famous than the clothes. I found myself watching the entire collection through someone else's iPhone screen. The woman seated directly in front of me was holding her phone high, live-streaming the runway like it was breaking news. And indeed, it was. But thanks to her news cycle that would be forgotten by morning, buried under six other shows, a few tabloid headlines, and whatever went viral on TikTok that afternoon. Somewhere between look 12 and look 17, I realized I hadn't seen a single garment uninterrupted. Not with my own eyes.
We used to look up.
Fashion is at its best when it's immersive, exclusive, emotionally felt. That feeling when the lights drop, the music hits, and the first look steps into view. That's a moment. And smartphones, despite their usefulness, are standing in the way.
Before the glow of screens took over the front row, shows were a different kind of theater. Most invites were physical and came by courier. Seating assignments were penciled in, not emailed. Editors scribbled notes in Moleskines while assistants timed each exit. Nothing but notepads, polaroids, and whispered reactions. Fashion Week was a professional ritual, not a content goldmine. There was a time where the experience was sacred.
Think back to Galliano's extravagant Dior couture shows, each one a fantasy world with its own weather system. Or the way Karl Lagerfeld turned Grand Palais into supermarkets, icebergs, and rocket launchpads. Just recently, I went to a Miu Miu exhibit that was extraordinarily immersive. These were designed experiences. You had to be there. That was the point.
Now, we film them. Archive them. Monetize them. And forget them.
To be clear, this didn't happen overnight. First came the front row bloggers with digital cameras. Then came the influencers, who turned fashion shows into selfie factories. Now, it feels like just about everyone. Even celebrity guests film full runways for people who, more often than not, just tap past them on stories. What was once about being present has become about being perceived.
Sure, there have been gains. Phones democratized fashion week. Gave emerging brands exposure. Opened up once-guarded doors to global audiences in Lagos, São Paulo, Seoul. But we lost something, too. The mystique. The emotional pull. The intimacy of seeing a garment move without the distraction of a screen. Is accessibility always worth it?
More and more, I'm convinced: no. Not when it dilutes the very experience we're trying to share.
Lately, a few designers have started saying the quiet part out loud. Thom Browne banned phones entirely from his Fall 2024 show, citing a desire for "true connection and attention." The Row has long leaned into quiet luxury, reportedly asking guests to keep phones away. Jacquemus has occasionally limited in-show filming, encouraging guests to watch with their eyes, not their cameras. This isn't just nostalgia, it's necessary. Fewer eyes. More impact.
Studies show that when we record something, we're less likely to remember it. According to a 2025 study published in Memory & Cognition, people who take photos or record during an experience recall fewer details than those who simply observe. So when we film fashion shows, we're not preserving the moment, we're actually forfeiting it.
What's even worse, is phones distort the designer's vision. A gown in motion, under precise lighting and sound design, flattens into a shaky, oversaturated clip with bad audio and a caption like "this show was INSANE ." In the process, nuance dies, and craftsmanship becomes content.
Because here's the thing -- when phones are gone, everything sharpens. The sound of the music. The rustle of fabric. The audible gasp when a truly perfect look walks by. At Thom Browne's no-phone show, one editor mention that the silence was "so intense, it felt like church." People watched, and rather than for likes, or reposts, it's because they were genuinely moved.
Of course, phones help emerging designers. Social media is the new PR machine. I'm not denying the power of reach. People want to share moments, and they should. But that doesn't mean the moments have to be live. There's power in control. Brands release select imagery and video after the fact that are shot well, and edited carefully, on their terms. After all, no phones doesn't mean no documentation. It means intentional documentation.
When shows ban phones, something shifts. Conversations after the show feel different. People actually discuss what they saw, not just what they posted. There's real debate, not recycled captions. The energy feels tighter, fuller, more communal. Like theater. Like opera. Like an experience meant to be lived, not logged. After all, no one's allowed to film Hamilton from their seat. So why is fashion any different?
We say fashion is art. If that's true, then let's treat it like it is.
In a world obsessed with capturing the moment, the real luxury is simply living it. Fashion deserves our full attention this upcoming season.