Fashion, to be honest, feels lost to me. Not dramatically like a house burning down, but like waking up in a familiar room and noticing the furniture has been nudged an inch every night for years. Nothing seems wrong at a glance, and yet the air sits differently in the lungs. The mirror is still on the wall, the light still spills across the floor at the same hour, but something sacred in the arrangement has been traded for something faster, shinier, easier to measure. I keep asking myself wh...