It starts with metal chairs, open magazines, creased pages — a still life of visual overstimulation. That’s not a waiting room, it’s a war room. Where ideas clash, collide, and somehow become cohesive. A stack of 032c and Purple becomes more valuable than a Prada coat. That’s fashion too — it’s just printed.

Then, a girl with her cow print clutch and paper shopping bag walks like she owns 2002 and 2046. Flip flops and baggy denim? She’s not confused. She’s curated. She walks the street like it’s her own little Balenciaga casting. Not a look — a mood.

Third scene: Carrie Bradshaw in a bathroom. MacBook on a sink. Tiled chaos. Bra drying next to a candle. It’s ugly. It’s unhinged. It’s real. She’s the original Pinterest board before Pinterest existed. She was the first to wear Dior while spiraling emotionally. And isn’t that what we all do now?

Zoom in. A moodboard covered in pins and post-its. It’s giving Raf Simons in Antwerp 1995 meets fashion school all-nighter meets early Margiela chaos. “Looks good” scribbled on a yellow sticky note becomes gospel. The design process isn’t clean — it’s a storm. And the storm is where style is born.

And then the final shot: Naomi and Kate. A fork. A wink. A cigarette. Two women who didn’t just model the decade — they owned it. They partied harder than most people lived. And yet, in one blurry frame, they created a new kind of aesthetic: iconic nonchalance. Studio 54’s aftertaste, but with a McQueen spine.

So what do these photos have in common?

They’re not perfect.
They’re not polished.
But they all say one thing:

Style isn’t what you wear. It’s what you leave behind.

A flicker. A gesture. A memory of a bag. A reference buried in a scene.
Because the girl who doesn’t try too hard?
She already knows — she is the reference.