I’m convinced that 90% of celebrity stylists are actually just high-level saboteurs working for a rival agency. That is the only logical explanation for why, in the year of our lord 2026, we are still seeing people show up to the Royal Festival Hall looking like they’ve been gift-wrapped by a depressed department store clerk. The BAFTAs used to have a bit of teeth—a bit of British eccentricity—but this year felt like a corporate retreat for people who own very expensive watches.
I’m not a fashion critic. I work in a boring office and write this blog because if I don’t vent about these things, I’ll start yelling at strangers on the Tube. I care about this stuff because clothes are the only way we communicate who we are before we open our mouths, and most of these actors are saying, “I am very afraid of being mocked on TikTok.”
The few people who didn’t make me want to go blind
Let’s talk about Florence Pugh. I might be wrong about this, but I think she’s the only person in Hollywood who actually enjoys getting dressed. She showed up in this structural, almost architectural piece by a name I can’t even pronounce—some up-and-comer from the Royal College of Art—and it worked because it looked heavy. I’m tired of flimsy silks that cost ten grand and look like a nightgown. This thing had weight. It had a presence. It looked like it could win a fight.
Then there was Barry Keoghan. Look, I know people will disagree with me here, and some of my friends have already told me he looked like a “glitch in a 1940s gangster movie,” but that’s exactly why it was great. He wore a cropped jacket with trousers that actually had a break at the hem. A real break! Not those ankle-strangling trousers that have been the industry standard since 2015. It felt human. It felt like he’d actually moved in the clothes before he stepped out of the car.
The reality of the 2026 red carpet: If you can’t sit down in it without three assistants helping you, it isn’t fashion; it’s a structural engineering failure.
I counted. Out of the 114 men I saw on the primary feed, 42 of them wore a standard black tuxedo with a standard black bowtie. That is a 36.8% failure rate of imagination. You are at the BAFTAs. You are a millionaire. Try a different color. Try a different texture. Try literally anything other than looking like a high-end waiter.
My own personal fashion trauma
I shouldn’t judge too hard, I guess. I remember 2019, my sister’s wedding in a drafty barn in Kent. I decided I was going to be “the velvet guy.” I bought this deep burgundy velvet blazer from a high-street shop that usually sells sensible work boots. I thought I looked like Austin Butler. I felt like a god for exactly twenty minutes until the sweat started. That blazer was 100% polyester and had a breathability rating of zero. By the time the speeches started, I was literally dripping. I have four photos from that night and I’ve deleted three of them because I look like a very expensive, very damp plum. It was humiliating. I spent £140 to look like a radiator.
Anyway, back to the celebrities who have much more money than I did in 2019 and still managed to look worse.
The Dior problem (and why I’m over it)
I’m going to say something that would probably get me banned from every fashion week if I were actually important: I hate what Dior is doing right now. It’s boring. It’s so incredibly, painfully safe. Every time a starlet walks out in one of those sheer, embroidered floor-length gowns with the high-waisted briefs underneath, a little piece of my soul withers away. It’s become the uniform of people who don’t have a personality. It’s “prestige” by numbers.
What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. It’s not that the clothes are ugly. They’re beautiful. But they’re beautiful in the way a hotel lobby is beautiful. You’re glad it’s there, but you don’t want to spend your life in it. I used to think Dior was the pinnacle of elegance. I was completely wrong. Now, it just feels like the default setting for actors who are too scared to take a risk because they don’t want to lose a brand deal. It’s cowardly fashion.
I actively tell my friends to avoid that specific silhouette. Even for weddings. Especially for weddings. It’s a costume for someone who wants to be invisible while being photographed.
The part where I complain about the ‘Quiet Luxury’ lie
This whole “quiet luxury” thing has finally reached its logical, boring conclusion at the 2026 BAFTAs. We saw it everywhere. Beige. Cream. Off-white. Greige. It’s supposed to look expensive and understated, but on a red carpet, it just looks like the person forgot to finish getting ready. Paul Mescal—who I usually adore—wore this oatmeal-colored suit that was so understated it practically disappeared against the backdrop. He looked like a very handsome ghost of a Victorian chimneysweep who’d found a tailor.
- The fit was fine, but the color was a crime against the London drizzle.
- The fabric looked like it would stain if you even thought about a glass of red wine.
- The vibe was “I’m too cool to care,” which is the most annoying thing a famous person can be.
I’m done with the safe list. Give me the weirdos. Give me the people who look like they’re wearing a fever dream. I’d rather see someone fail spectacularly in a dress made of recycled soda cans than see one more perfectly tailored, perfectly boring navy suit.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m just bitter because I’m writing this in my pajamas while eating cold toast. But I genuinely miss the days when the BAFTAs felt like a party instead of a board meeting. Who decided that looking “chic” was more important than looking interesting? When did we all get so terrified of a little bit of kitsch?
Next year, I hope someone shows up in something that makes the internet angry. At least that would be something to talk about. For now, I’m going to go look for that burgundy blazer and see if it still fits, just to remind myself what a real mistake looks like.
Stop being so safe. It’s killing the fun.
