Fashion shows used to be about style. About celebrating artistic vision. About displaying craftsmanship that spoke of culture, care, and creativity. But fast forward to today’s influencer-saturated, billion-dollar runway circuses, and fashion shows have become emblematic of something much darker: the hollow theater of late-stage capitalism.
They are no longer just showcases of style — they are performances of excess. Designed not to inspire, but to sell. Not to innovate, but to signal status. And beneath the flashing lights, behind the thumping music and celebrity-stuffed front rows, lies a system that fuels economic inequality, environmental degradation, and cultural exploitation — all while pretending it’s about “expression.”
Let’s walk the metaphorical runway through this madness.
Act One: The Spectacle That Distracts
Let’s start with what fashion shows look like today. They’re theatrical, enormous, often absurd productions — models walking on water, strutting through forests built indoors, or flying on harnesses over fire pits. They’re more akin to music videos than garment showcases. But why?
Because in the age of TikTok virality and Instagram Stories, fashion shows aren’t really for the people in the room. They’re staged for digital consumption — for 10-second clips, trending hashtags, and, ultimately, profit. The clothes? Sometimes they’re unwearable. Often they’re barely visible. But that doesn’t matter — what matters is that it trends.
This is textbook late-stage capitalism: production not for function, not for necessity, not even for beauty — but for attention. And in this economy, attention is currency.
Fashion shows are now less about fashion and more about flexing. The real product isn’t the clothing — it’s the aura of exclusivity. The brand’s value lies in how many eyeballs it can command and how convincingly it can gatekeep access to the elite.
Act Two: Manufactured Scarcity, Manufactured Desire
Let’s talk about how these shows create artificial demand.
A model walks the runway in a bizarre, barely-wearable outfit — say, a trench coat made of glass or a jumpsuit with a fake lion’s head. It’s not meant for purchase. It’s not meant for wear. It’s meant for headlines.
But behind the spectacle lies a very old trick: manufactured scarcity. Brands will make only a few of these ridiculous items, never put them on shelves, and let them live forever in pop culture memory. Meanwhile, they release more accessible “ready-to-wear” lines that carry the essence of that show’s aesthetic. Consumers, hypnotized by the fantasy of the runway, flock to buy those pieces.
It’s the bait-and-switch of luxury capitalism. You’ll never own that gown Beyoncé wore in Paris — but you can buy the branded perfume. You can buy the T-shirt with the logo. The fashion show isn’t trying to sell you fashion — it’s selling you a dream, one that capitalism keeps forever out of reach.
Act Three: The Class Divide on the Catwalk
Fashion shows have never been democratic, but today they practically scream inequality. Take a glance at the front row — billionaires, celebrities, influencers flown in on private jets. The price tag of attendance, once figurative, is now very literal: if you’re not famous, it’ll cost you thousands to get a seat.
Meanwhile, those who actually make the clothes — the garment workers in Bangladesh, India, Vietnam — are paid cents per hour. Their names are never mentioned. Their labor is never celebrated. They will never attend the shows they indirectly power.
This is capitalism at its most grotesque: wealth concentration dressed up in glitter. The runway becomes a stage where the wealthy parade wealth to impress other wealthy people — while the working class is relegated to backstage, or more often, the global south, working under brutal conditions.
It’s a feedback loop of exploitation masked as glamour.
Act Four: Greenwashing on the Runway
Here’s where it gets even more cynical.
Many brands now use fashion shows to parade their so-called sustainability. Models walk through “forests,” designers give interviews about “circular fashion,” and eco-friendly buzzwords are thrown like confetti.
But the numbers don’t lie.
The fashion industry is the second-largest industrial polluter in the world — behind only oil. Fast fashion and high fashion alike produce tons of waste annually. Many runway garments are never worn again. Some are incinerated to “maintain exclusivity.” And all this happens while brands virtue-signal with recycled denim and solar-powered runways.
This isn’t reform — it’s rebranding. It’s not about solving problems; it’s about maintaining profit while faking morality.
In late-stage capitalism, even environmental collapse becomes a marketing opportunity.
Act Five: Cultural Appropriation as Currency
Fashion shows are increasingly global — but their respect for global cultures remains selective.
From Indigenous prints used without permission to African textiles repurposed with no credit, cultural appropriation remains rampant in runway culture. Designers lift ideas, symbols, and motifs from marginalized communities, strip them of context, and present them as innovation.
Why? Because diversity sells. Cultural aesthetics are now monetized under the thin veil of “inspiration.”
In this system, culture becomes a commodity. Rich, white designers get praised for “exploring” other cultures, while those same cultures are often penalized or erased when they wear their own symbols in real life. The fashion show becomes a place where history is sanitized and stolen — all in the name of aesthetics.
Act Six: Mental Health, Body Image, and the Monetization of Insecurity
Let’s not forget the models themselves — the living mannequins of this capitalist theater.
Despite growing discourse around body positivity, fashion shows still overwhelmingly favor thin, tall, Eurocentric bodies. Tokenism may have increased, but true inclusivity remains rare. The message is clear: beauty — and by extension, worth — looks like this. Not like you.
And that’s by design. The fashion industry doesn’t want you to feel good about yourself. If you did, you wouldn’t buy as much.
It’s a system built on monetizing insecurity. The shows create unattainable ideals. The media amplifies them. Brands then sell you products to help you “close the gap” — clothes to make you slimmer, heels to make you taller, creams to make you whiter, and so on.
It’s a capitalist ouroboros: your dissatisfaction is the fuel. The more you hate yourself, the more you buy.
Act Seven: The Illusion of Rebellion
Some fashion shows pretend to be subversive — they’ll use dystopian themes, post-apocalyptic makeup, or punk aesthetics. They’ll parade anti-capitalist slogans or quote Karl Marx in a press release. But make no mistake — this isn’t rebellion. It’s branding.
High fashion is remarkably good at co-opting rebellion and turning it into a trend. Anarchy becomes an aesthetic. Anti-consumerism becomes merch. Even the critique of capitalism is sold back to us at $3,000 a jacket.
It’s the snake eating itself.
Late-stage capitalism doesn’t destroy its opposition. It just absorbs it — sterilizes it, glamorizes it, and sells it back with a discount code.
Act Eight: The Endgame — When Style Becomes Simulation
French theorist Jean Baudrillard once warned of a world where symbols replace reality — where signs no longer point to anything real, but simply reference each other in an endless loop.
Fashion shows today embody that simulation. The clothes reference past collections. The themes reference past controversies. The shows reference prior shows. It’s a loop of self-reference where meaning dissolves.
We don’t see real people wearing real clothes anymore. We see digital avatars in AI-rendered garments. We see influencers watching holograms of models. We see fashion made not for bodies, but for algorithms.
In this environment, style no longer reflects identity — it reflects marketing. It doesn’t say who you are. It says what you can afford.
Finale: So What Now?
Should fashion shows be abolished? Not necessarily. Should they be critiqued? Absolutely.
There is a world where fashion shows could return to their roots: celebrating craftsmanship, empowering creativity, and sharing stories. But for that to happen, they need to escape the chokehold of late-stage capitalism.
Right now, they’re just the sparkliest symptom of a system that values profit over planet, spectacle over substance, and illusion over reality.
Until that changes, every stiletto on the catwalk might as well be stomping deeper into the hollow grave of a society that sold soul for style.
