A long queue of people have patiently camped out for days –and the corresponding nights– on Barcelona's Passeig de Gràcia. In the best-case scenario, equipped with chairs and camping furniture to make the wait more bearable. The gathering forced the Mossos d’Esquadra to intervene due to the risk of disturbances. A scene that has been repeated in multiple cities around the world, with even more extreme situations. In New York, they waited for almost a week, while attempts to speculate on the queue also proliferated. In Paris, where over 300 people gathered, the police intervened with tear gas to disperse the crowd. In Milan, the authorities had to cordon off the area after rushes, disturbances, and fights.But what is the reason for this phenomenon? Are we facing a new urban encampment like the one on May 15th to demand a higher quality democracy? Perhaps the genocide in Gaza has pushed hundreds of people to occupy public space? Or perhaps the teachers' strike and the fight for public education have become a global outcry. Well, no. The reason for this collective penance is none other than the tribute that turbocapitalism demands from its most faithful followers: the queues were to get the latest collaboration from Swatch with the emblematic Swiss high watchmaking house Audemars Piguet. All in all, as absurd as it is revealing.The easiest –and also the most tempting– would be to ridicule these people and label them as brainless, foolish, or superficial. It would even be comforting to make them the scapegoat for the ills of a world we increasingly recognize and understand less. But doing so would mean killing the messenger. Because, rather than condemning individuals, what we should demand is to identify the root of the problem.What drives some people to sleep on the street for days is not the desire to get a simple watch – however attractive it may be – but the symbolic reward that capitalism has been promising for decades: the illusion of a better life through consumption. Because today watches, much more than objects intended to measure the passage of time, have become one of the most desired social markers, especially among men. And even more so if we talk about Audemars Piguet, a firm located in the same Olympus of luxury as Rolex and reserved, practically, for that privileged minority that concentrates economic power.

It might seem that as societies modernize they tend to gradually shed inherited rituals laden with formality. Current times, increasingly oriented towards practicality and immediacy, have refined many social ceremonies that today seem excessively solemn: from the rigor of wearing mourning clothes to the protocols associated with baptisms or communions. However, from time to time, rituals emerge that, like stubborn salmon swimming against the current, not only survive but reappear hypertrophied, clad in a ceremonial that they did not even have in the past. This is the case with graduations. The turn is so unexpected that there are already specialized brands in this festive-academic niche and teenagers capable of patiently waiting five hours in line to get the outfit with which to publicly stage that they have finished the fourth year of ESO.

In Andalusia, everything can change in a matter of days. The black, the hoods, and the rosaries – visible expressions of penance, renunciation, and faith – suddenly dissolve into an explosion of patterns, colors, flowers, and bodies that demand prominence at the Feria de Abril. The chest-beating and stark cries of Holy Week processions give way to celebration, excess, and immoderation. If in one case aesthetics impose restraint and anonymity, in the other it demands the exact opposite: to stand out and occupy space under the gaze of others. It is not just a change of atmosphere, but also a deeper displacement: from one emotion to another, from a way of feeling and inhabiting the body marked, with almost ritualistic precision, by the calendar to another. As if faith (or its theatricalization) also had seasons. And this is where one of its most eloquent instruments comes into play. Because, at the Feria, this need to be seen is dressed up. And it does so with a garment that draws all eyes: the flamenco dress.Despite the current perception, this dress was not born as a showpiece, but as clothing for the popular classes of the 19th century. It was worn by peasant women and vendors who attended Andalusian livestock fairs, especially the April Fair, which in its origins was a commercial space and not festive. Its shape responded to the patterns of the time: a fitted bodice and a voluminous skirt, in this case resolved with ruffles. These ruffles, now distinctive of the dress, have been interpreted in various ways. On the one hand, they have been linked to gypsy and Andalusian contexts, where the movement of the body (both in dance and in daily gestures) found its correlate in clothing that not only accompanied it, but also made it visible. On the other hand, they must be placed within the framework of 19th-century women's fashion, dominated by voluminous skirts supported by internal structures such as farthingales or crinolines, which limited mobility. Without evidence that they were conceived as an alternative, the ruffles nevertheless allowed volume to be generated without immobilizing the body.

Just twenty years ago, Hollywood premiered, without intending to or expecting it, a film that would end up becoming an icon of the fashion world, The Devil Wears Prada. Beneath the appearance of a light comedy, the film hid a much more biting background than it might have seemed at first glance. The story brought to life the homonymous novel by Lauren Weisberger, which stemmed from her own experience as an assistant to Anna Wintour, editor-in-chief of Vogue and one of the most powerful figures in the industry. But what could have remained a simple chronicle of the fashion world became, in reality, a deeper reflection: not so much about fashion itself as about the forms of power that sustain it and, in particular, about the degree of violence that our society is willing to accept when this power is presented as excellence.Talking about Anna Wintour is not just talking about the magazine Vogue, but about a figure who has redefined the rules of the game of contemporary fashion. Endowed with a particularly keen nose for detecting trends and new talents –like those of John Galliano or Alexander McQueen–, she has also been the architect of one of the traits that define the sector today: the hybridization between haute couture and more everyday aesthetics. And, in parallel, she has decisively contributed to turning the inauguration of a fashion exhibition into a global event, such as the Met Gala, which has just taken place on February 4th. However, following Weisberger's account and the epithet with which she herself christened her –devil–, Wintour also embodies a certain way of understanding power: as an exercise of perfectly normalized violence, both within the sector and in relation to all the people around her. Working for her implies accepting constant humiliation, extreme competition, and renunciation of any form of personal life as natural. After all, as is repeated in The Devil Wears Prada, “a million girls would kill for this job”, even if it means seeing a brilliant resume reduced to tasks as mundane as bringing her coffee, picking up her dry cleaning, or satisfying her daughters' whims.

A fascinating fact about the functioning of trends is that, no matter how many experts and agencies are dedicated to predicting them, they always retain a component of unpredictability. It would be like the flight of starlings, which we can observe how they move, but we will never know who decides their turn, direction, or the moment they stop. And it is that fashion, far from being the sum of individual decisions, responds to dynamics inscribed in a complex social fabric. This is why, while big brands invest time, money, and entire teams to produce the it-bag of the season, suddenly a completely unremarkable one appears that, incomprehensibly, concentrates all the desire: the tote bag from Trader Joe's supermarket.On the one hand, we could believe that ostentatious aspirations of social climbing have been set aside in favor of a certain democratic practicality. But this consolation lasts little: why hasn't the same happened with the Bon Preu (Esclat) or Condis supermarket bag? It is in this mismatch that it becomes evident that distinction has not disappeared, but rather has become sophisticated. It no longer operates solely through price or ostentation, but through subtle codes, where the value of an object depends as much on cultural context as on its material cost.

Zara has done it again. Without any shame or embarrassment, it has strolled through the supermarket of social struggles, underground cultures, and symbolic identities with its cart wide open: a bit of marginality to give it pedigree, some uncomfortable figure of those who were a nuisance in life, and, above all, a good dose of rebellion. That's right: all nicely domesticated. Everything, passed through the quick boil of fast fashion, shrink-wrapped and ready to be consumed in the form of a prefabricated identity. And this time, who got to enter the shredder of turbocapitalism? Camarón de la Isla.And this in the full Camarón year, coinciding with the 75th anniversary of the birth of the iconic cantaor, a figure who was not only an exceptional voice of flamenco, but also one of its great renovators. From La leyenda del tiempo, he opened the genre to new sounds and sensibilities, and moved it from an almost fossilized space to a living territory in tension with the present. But, furthermore, he contributed to overflowing the social image of gypsy culture beyond the cliché to which it had been subjected during Francoism, trapped between folklorism and marginality. Together with key figures like Paco de Lucía, he broadened the imaginaries around gypsy identity, both from within and in its public projection.

Humanity, with the Artemis mission, is once again looking towards the Moon and, with it, unearths from the memory chest the old space race that marked the Cold War. Back then, amidst the dangerous tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union, the world fractured into two irreconcilable blocs and the conquest of space became another stage for geopolitical competition. It was not just about reaching further, but about demonstrating who had the capacity to impose themselves on the other. In this context, the media flooded the collective imagination for years with images of rockets, astronauts, and distant planets. A persistent iconography that not only informed, but also shaped how society thought about tomorrow. Because, fundamentally, every society is also built upon this inevitable question: what awaits us in the future?Imagining life in space involved speculating about what this day-to-day would be like, and design was launched to rethink furniture, cars, and housing for this projected future. Between armchairs that evoked capsules and residences that seemed like orbital stations, the "space age" fashion was born, conceived to facilitate a hypothetical interplanetary life. Creators like André Courrèges or Pierre Cardin opted for rigid outfits, detached from the body, almost like shells. White, associated with the aerospace universe, became the dominant color, accompanied by helmets and metallic boots. In parallel, Paco Rabanne's proposals took fashion towards the realm of engineering, with pieces made of metallic plates that stretched the very limits of the discipline.What is revealing, seen with perspective, is the extent to which these speculations about the future have outstripped reality. If we had listened to Stanley Kubrick with 2001: A Space Odyssey, to Star Trek or even to The Jetsons, today we would already be living among flying cars, off planet Earth and in zero gravity conditions. But perhaps it is even more significant to note that, if technological imagination often goes too far, it tends, on the other hand, to fall short in other areas: such as women's rights. In these imaginary worlds, they continue to occupy subordinate positions, even in futures where humanity already inhabits other planets. And this forces us to ask whether we are really dealing with speculations or, rather, with projected male desires.However, beyond the television impact of the first moon landing –a moment highly choreographed from a propagandistic point of view by the United States–, the most transformative image was not that of the Moon, but that of the Earth. The Blue Marble photograph, which became humanity's first selfie, revealed a paradox: after years of division and confrontation, what we saw was, in reality, a single shared unit. And it was precisely this compact image that activated, in a part of the population, a new pacifist and ecological consciousness.Unlike the Cold War, today the United States does not compete in a strictly bipolar world, even though the space race continues to be a duel, this time with China, which has also set out to step on the Moon in the coming years. It is, however, inevitable to point out the paradox: at a time when the world seems to be fragmenting and humanity is going through a deep crisis of values, we look outwards again. Perhaps, as in Andrei Tarkovsky's Solaris", this journey is not so much about the future as about the past. Or perhaps – and herein lies the question – it should serve us, precisely, to look better in the mirror and rethink where we stand as humanity. But perhaps, seeing the recent images of Artemis astronauts wishing a Happy Easter from space and looking for eggs around the ship, what is in doubt is not the future, but whether we still have any shred of self-awareness.

Easter Week, beyond processions, masses, palms, and "monas" (cakes), displays a repertoire of vestments that we have learned to look at without seeing. Garments that, being so familiar, have ceased to seem strange to us, but which, if we pause for a moment, are profoundly unusual and far removed from any form of everyday dress. And among the mantillas with combs, the Nazarene tunics, the girdles, or the cloaks of the virgins, there is an element that stands out for its formal power and its symbolic connotations: the hood. The doors of Seville Cathedral open and the first Nazarenes begin to emerge, in a line, surrounded by an intense smell of wax and incense. Tunics, candles, and pointed hoods that rise above everything. The drums mark a dry and constant rhythm and the attendees remain expectant, in a contained silence. The faces of the Nazarenes are not seen, only their eyes, and the street, for a moment, ceases to be an everyday space to become a stage. The hood has fulfilled its function: to make individual identity disappear to give prominence to the saint being worshipped. In this way, it ensures that the wearer is seen without being recognized and allows them to enter the structure of the ritual, assuming an attitude of discipline and surrender. But what is the origin of this strange hat, which has survived centuries of history?Its origin is not, in any case, processional, but rather it was born as an instrument of public penance between the 15th and 17th centuries, in the context of the Holy Inquisition. The condemned were exhibited with sambenets — a type of tunic — and coroces — hats often conical or pointed —. Its function was clearly punitive and exemplary: to make sin visible and to humiliate the sinner. Far from pursuing anonymity, as happens today, it was about marking the body and exposing it publicly.It will be between the 17th and 18th centuries when Holy Week processions are institutionalized and penance ceases to be imposed to become voluntary. In this new context, the hood is re-signified: it comes to symbolize spiritual aspiration —with its projection towards heaven—, the assumption of religious discipline, and the centrality of the ritual over the person. But beyond its morphology, there is a question that is even more unsettling and often bewilders many visitors: what relationship does this piece have with the Ku Klux Klan (KKK)?The KKK was founded in 1865, after the Civil War, as a violent reaction against the abolition of slavery and with the aim of restoring white supremacy. It deployed a regime of terror and intimidation against the African American population, and to do so it equipped itself with a deliberate aesthetic of authority and threat. Its iconography —white robe and pointed hood— draws from a mixture of imaginaries, among which are European phantasmagorical, ritual, and religious references. The formal coincidence with the hood is evident, but its meaning is radically opposite. If in the context of Holy Week anonymity expresses humility, penance, and dissolution of the self, in the case of the KKK it serves to guarantee impunity and exercise collective violence. The same operation, that of concealing identity, which can serve both to submit and to dominate.Easter Sunday brings the Holy Week to an end and, with it, the time of penance. The solemnity fades away as easily as a Nazarene takes off his hood. A few days later, in Andalusia, the calendar turns and the revelry of the April Fair makes way: colors, ruffles, moons, exposed bodies, flowers in hair, Manila shawls... The contrast is so immediate that it is difficult not to wonder to what extent what we have seen was a deep experience or a shared theatricalization. Garments that are activated and deactivated as ways of organizing bodies, time, and desire.

In recent days, the image of Chinese actress Zhang Jingyi on the red carpet at the Beijing International Film Festival has spread like wildfire across social media and various trending outlets. The actress puts on the photocall Dressed in an elegant black dress. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. The reason for the viral video is something else: in her hand she's carrying a simple yellow plastic bag, the kind used for grocery shopping or taking out the trash at home.

One of the latest bombshells in fashion This has been the announcement of Zara's new collaborationThe global fast-fashion giant has brought on board designer John Galliano, one of the most singular figures in contemporary design, for a two-year period. It's a partnership that was difficult to foresee, but one that is profoundly revealing of the current moment we are living in as a society.

The red carpet at this year's Oscars passed without incident or surprises. Hollywood, once again, did its traditional job of turning a blind eye to the world's problems and allowing us to forget for a few hours that the planet is falling apart. A missed opportunity to use such a powerful platform to stir consciences or, at least, slightly unsettle the established order.

Those of us who are a bit older will remember one of the iconic couples of the nineties: Carolyn Bessette and John F. Kennedy Jr. A relationship that is being revisited these days, with a marked hyperglycemia, by the Disney+ series Love StoryShe worked at Calvin Klein, the brand that best embodied the minimalist spirit of the late 20th century, in tune with the moderation and introspection imposed by the economic crisis of the time. He was the heir to one of the most powerful surnames in American politics, with an almost mythical allure that opened doors for him, but also forced him to constantly prove his worth.

At the end of 2025, Pantone proclaimed the Color of the Year to be cloud dancerAn off-white that, under a poetic evocation of lightness and calm, was nonetheless an unusual choice: for the first time, white assumed the annual spotlight. The decision generated controversy. Not only because white remains, for many, more of an absence than a color, but also because, in a political context marked by the resurgence of identity politics and conservative discourses, some interpreted it as unsettling symbolism.

The recurring question these last few days among friends, acquaintances, and people I've greeted has been unequivocal: "What do you think of the therians"A question imbued with unease and an almost urgent need to confirm the suspicion that, as humanity, we are going down the wrong path." The community meeting on February 21st The protest at the Arc de Triomf in Barcelona elevated the issue to the level of a collective threat when, in reality, it was nothing more than a gathering of curious teenagers. The episode was experienced as a big-game hunt, with the implicit objective of capturing one of these supposed specimens to feed social media. And theriansnot a trace.

The female bust is not just a part of the body: it is a symbolic territory. Large or small, visible or concealed, perky or pendulous, it has historically been an instrument used to measure, classify, and, above all, discredit women. On February 10th, on the program The Anthill On Antena 3, this mechanism was activated with unsettling ease. Panelist Rosa Belmonte dismissed fellow commentator Sarah Santaolalla—following her criticism of Felipe González—with a phrase that didn't challenge any ideas, but rather reduced her interlocutor to her physical appearance: "half stupid, half tits." The knowing laughter from the studio audience, including that of host Pablo Motos and the latest Planeta Prize winner Juan del Val, wasn't anecdotal. It was part of the ritual.

In his latest Super Bowl performance, there's no room for doubt: Bad Bunny has made history. More than just performing, he took a stand. Not only through the music and the show's format, but also because he transformed one of the most normative and systematically depoliticized stages in American culture into a space charged with symbolism and unequivocal political positioning. This gesture is especially significant in a context marked by indiscriminate deportations, institutional violence, and the brutality of ICE, with a Latino community systematically criminalized and profoundly harmed.

The Gaudí Awards celebrated their eighteenth edition this Sunday, and true to their founding mission—to champion the quality of Catalan cinema—each year they emulate a low-budget Hollywood format: awards ceremony, speeches, performances, and, of course, the red carpet with celebrities in all their finery. But… are these really the best galas Catalan cinema can offer?

The fact that tennis is making headlines beyond the sports page is news in itself. That it manages to displace the omnipresent football coverage on the news for a few days is almost a small secular miracle. And that it's due to both a final victory and an outfit speaks volumes about the unique nature of this sport. In recent days, tennis has achieved exactly that: creating a foothold in the news not only because Carlos Alcaraz won the Australian Open in a high-voltage final, but also because Naomi Osaka entered the court in a jellyfish-inspired outfit. It might seem anecdotal, but it's not.

What's been happening lately in MinneapolisThe violent repression and deaths of civilians in the context of protests and public expressions of dissent are profoundly incomprehensible in a nation that, since its founding, has elevated freedom to the status of a patriotic ideal. This freedom has been instrumentalized for decades as a rhetorical pretext to legitimize the systematic violation of fundamental rights. The mere fact that paramilitary forces have to be deployed in the streets to intimidate the population demonstrates the extent to which the freedom and defense of the American people's interests, so loudly proclaimed by Donald Trump, were nothing more than a sham.

Reality definitely surpasses fiction, especially in these times. And for a fashion analyst like myself, French President Emmanuel Macron appearing at the Davos economic forum wearing sunglasses like the ones he sported this Tuesday is almost a fantasy come true. However, accustomed as I am to scratching the surface to understand the underlying meanings in identity constructions, this case is so blatantly obvious that it makes it almost a childish exercise in analysis.