Back in 2002, Destiny’s Child released the three-minute-and-34-second song that is “Nasty Girl”, a single whose refrain has been regularly leaping into my head while looking at red-carpet images on Getty lately. You know the lyrics: “Nasty, put some clothes on, I told ya / Don’t walk out your house without your clothes on, I told ya.” You see, while I’m defiantly pro the “sleazy” and “freaky” in this world and adamantly anti-slut-shaming, I’m afraid that—from a fashion perspective—I’ve reached my threshold for any and all looks that the Mail Online might describe as “setting pulses RACING” or The Sun would accompany with a pointedly zoomed-in crop (“[Genetically blessed individual] narrowly avoids a wardrobe malfunction”).
It’s not that I don’t want people to express themselves however they choose; I’m fully with Madonna on that front. It’s just that I like looking at honest-to-God clothes more than gazing upon several acres of very toned, very tanned skin at any given premiere. Over the course of the 2020s—a decade which, I think we can all agree, has been absolute nonstop laughs–fashion journalists have spent untold hours thinking of ways to describe the designs that stars aren’t actually wearing. We’ve seen the emergence of the “nether navel” as an erogenous zone, an inexplicable penchant for “midriff flossing,” the evolution of “bra-first” outfits as a concept, and the revival of “the naked dress,” an oxymoron if ever there was one. That’s before mentioning the flagrant disregard for all forms of trousers that seems to have taken hold in Hollywood; going pantless might be tenable in balmy California right now, but, alas, not where I live—in London, where temperatures generally hover around True-Detective-corpsicle levels until at least April.
Congratulations to Sydney Sweeney, then, for actually managing to source a “risqué” yet interesting look that no one in my office could quite find the words to describe (although I did enjoy a last-minute WhatsApp suggestion of “bosom bouquet”). While attending the premiere of her film Immaculate in LA on Friday, the 26-year-old sported a sculptural Balmain bustier adorned with motifs central to Olivier Rousteing’s fall 2024 collection for the maison, including sprays of roses and bunches of grapes–conceived by the designer as a tribute to the fragrant gardens and grand crus of Bordeaux, where he spent his childhood. It’s the second double-take-inducing look from the Euphoria star in as many days; she also posed for paps at the GLAAD Media Awards in a bespoke Miu Miu recreation of Julia Roberts’s maid-of-honour dress from My Best Friend’s Wedding on Thursday night. Two fashion coups in one week? Impressive.