Does anyone care about New York Fashion Week? Should you? Think pieces addressing this very question have flooded fashion websites and news outlets since the Fall 2025 shows wrapped last month. The query has lingered in my mind while watching the London, Milan, and Paris catwalks. The answer depends on what you want out of NYFW. If you’re seeking commercial hits with mass appeal, NYFW’s got them. If you’re jonesing for expertly crafted garments that thrill through high craft and inspired concepts, go straight to Paris. Actually, take in Thom Browne’s theatrical romp and then go straight to Paris. If you’re on the hunt for young talent worth rooting for, New York will sate you. A fresh groundswell of excitement is building around emerging and independent talents such as Christopher John Rogers and Luar’s Raul Lopez. On the one hand, fantastic! Give these deserving designers the proverbial mic! On the other, one must wonder whether the fervor surrounding this new guard stems purely from an appreciation for their work, or also from a desperation to conjure excitement in something—anything.

Speaking of excitement, Calvin Klein debuted the hotly anticipated relaunch of its runway collection with designer Veronica Leoni at the helm. A veteran of Celine, Jil Sander and, The Row, Leoni proposed a clean, minimal collection that harkened back to Calvin’s ’90s heyday and also included elements she surely deployed at the aforementioned trio of brands. The lineup wasn’t revolutionary, but it was attractive. It seems that Calvin’s new target audience comprises women who crave “quiet luxury” and The Row-adjacent wares. Sometimes, the safety of redundancy is more appealing than the thrill of uncharted aesthetics.

That New York Fashion Week has lost its luster is not breaking news. Industry folk have been bemoaning its downfall for at least a decade, all the while suggesting band-aid fixes that rarely materialize. The schedule, which somehow manages to become more bloated and more threadbare each season, is propped up by a handful of stable, salable stalwarts— successful brands that serve as the city’s main attractions. Among them are Tory Burch, whose excellent Fall collection was tantalizingly twisted—literally; Michael Kors, who presented the same breed of Michael Korsian garb that, over the last 40-some-odd years, has made him a billionaire; Coach, where British designer Stuart Vevers once again proved that he understands Americana better than most Americans; and Carolina Herrera, whose creative director Wes Gordon served up some Slim Aaronsy stuff destined for the charity-gala circuit, as he is wont to do.

The next tier of shows comprises edgy-ish luxury brands that generate buzz and boast insider appeal. Now that Gabriela Hearst shows in Paris, and the Proenza Schouler guys are decamping to Loewe, the stars here are Altuzarra (who, judging by his last two sumptuous outings, doesn’t get enough credit); Fforme, a three-year-old brand whose new designer, New Zealander Frances Howie, combined a brooding palette, power-banker outerwear, and fluttering, feminine shapes to mesmeric effect; Monse, the delightfully downtown signature label of Oscar de la Renta designers Laura Kim and Fernando Garcia; and Khaite, an exceedingly cool brand designed by Catherine Holstein whose fusion of dark romance, gritty utilitarianism, and New York attitude has garnered a devoted following.

There are other independent and unobvious brands worth spying. Among them are Kallmeyer, who held its first runway show this season; the whimsical, genderless label Tanner Fletcher; Kate Barton, known for her liquid dresses; and Norma Kamali, a New York legend who displayed the Fall 2025 edition of her signature streamlined, wearable wardrobe via a presentation. But the rest of the week is otherwise gunked up by a gaggle of insipid brands that contribute little to the market and even less to the cultural conversation. This faction is the fashion-schedule equivalent of that blowhard who hijacks your dinner party, pontificating for hours without ever making a point. One might think that natural selection would have weeded out these windbags by now, alas, it seems Darwinism doesn’t apply to fashion egoists grasping at relevance.

But enough of my windbaggery. NYFW’s most noteworthy Fall 2025 shows seemed to adhere to a few themes: comfort (in every sense of the word), optimism, and nostalgia. After years of living in an increasingly horrifying and batshit news cycle, designers seemed less interested in social commentary, and more interested in lighthearted clothes that spread joy. It was refreshing. Backstage after his show, Christopher John Rogers described his collection as being imbued with a “sense of play,” a mood most evident in his signature bright striped prints, tiered gowns and dresses with buoyant layers that danced down the runway, and fluttering strips of fabric that cascaded from the neck or hip. They recalled party streamers, or the unwoven ribbons of a Maypole.

Images courtesy of Coach.

At Coach, Stuart Vevers was also in a playful mood. This season, his grunge-meets-flapper dresses (layered over baggy checked trousers), patchwork sweaters, cropped leather bombers, and floor-skimming leather dusters were accompanied by stuffed-animal embellishments and plush slippers shaped like teddy bears and bunnies. “My kids were a big inspiration,” Vevers said backstage. “They find joy in playful things and playing dress up. They inspired me to do that for grownups.” Thick-rimmed neon glasses and a decidedly Kurt Cobainy faux leopard men’s coat evoked the same gleeful, untainted naivety.

Images courtesy of Tory Burch.

Tory Burch took something comfortably conventional, traditional sportswear, and subverted it, trapping roomy blazers in tulle, de- and re-constructing classic cardigans, and playing with uncanny proportions. It felt familiar but also exciting, like souping up your parents’ 1989 Volvo station wagon and taking it drag racing. “It was classic in spirit, but then you look again, and you see more depth—it has more interest,” said Burch backstage. Indeed, her collection, which she referred to as “twisted American sportswear” in the show notes, had precisely that effect.

Images courtesy of Luar.

At Luar, designer Raul Lopez proffered a men’s and women’s collection that represented the comfort in being oneself. There were some wild pieces, like a barely-there bra with feathered nipple covers and a catsuit with a hood that looped around the arms, transforming the model into a T-Rex. But the bulk of the collection was spectacularly wearable, from slouchy suiting, to a denim dress reminiscent of Alaïa’s 1986 iteration, to leather looks made for the woman who has neither the time nor the patience for nonsense. Backstage, Lopez said, “Being flamboyant, gay, dressing the way I dress. I’m not going in the closet for nobody. Luar is a platform to bring people together, immerse people in a really beautiful experience, and enjoy a time of prosperity, love, abundance, joy.”

Left image courtesy of Altuzarra. Right image courtesy of Khaite.

Meanwhile, Khaite, Fforme, and Altuzarra took a literal approach to comfort, proposing the lushest, coziest garments a girl could ask for. At Altuzarra, I wanted to dive inside the fringed mustard jacket and the similarly shaggy gray skirt that looked to be made of wool. Khaite’s seductive leather wares were balanced by ultra-chunky knit ensembles with bulbous collars and wonderful rogue bits of yarn dangling from here or there. Beneath a slick black blazer, Fforme showed an intricately knit black frock, its bottom blooming with tactile, layered strands of yarn.

Finally, Thom Browne, maestro of artistry and imagination, closed out the week. Last season, he dreamt up a foreboding collection inspired, in part, by Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven.” For fall, however, he focused on light, white, bright “hopeful birds.” Against a backdrop of origami cranes, Browne’s models marched in reimagined suiting, trompe l’oeil fare that referenced American prep, various plaid coats with surreal proportions or embellishments, and even a few sparkles from a sequin check pencil skirt and a shimmering black, sleeveless sheath dress. Backstage, Browne noted his appreciation of Japan and Japanese culture. He explained that the origami birds on his set were “a symbol of hope.” The show was a veritable night at the theater, the drama crescendoing with a spectacularly tailored, sequined jacket which was paired with the grandest skirt imaginable, rendered in a check fabric and tulle. The show, he said, referenced the “idea of being free to express my work, and the idea of everyone being able to express their work truly through their own eyes.”

On the whole, New York Fashion Week wasn’t exactly revelatory. However, neither was London or Milan. The brands that confidently and successfully expressed their work, as Browne put it, are few and far between. But, for now, their existence makes NYFW worthwhile.