Addison Rae wore a custom white Alaïa dress with a plunging curved neckline and layered tulip skirt at the 2026 Grammy Awards.
For her first time walking the red carpet as a Grammy nominee, Addison Rae did not play it safe. She stepped out in a stark white custom gown from Alaïa , cut with that particular kind of risk that’s not loud—just sharp. Deep plunge, all curve. The neckline, more drawing than line, sank well past her navel, stopping only where the dress itself started to lose form and become shape. Pieces. Architecture as emotion.
Her gown was styled by Dara Allen, and it showed: the skirt, voluminous and uneven, echoed the anatomical pannier silhouette seen in Alaïa’s Spring 2026 collection. But instead of fanning out horizontally, the skirt swirled and pointed downward—tulip-like, yet jagged. Front longer than back in this case, contrary to the usual trick. You could tell just from the way she stood: one leg forward, hips even. Like the hem dictated her angles.
White pumps—basic, bold. Hair down, parted to the side, brushed within an inch of too perfect. Minimal jewelry, aside from a few stone-like beads trailing down her sternum, almost hidden in the plunge.
This is probably one of Pieter Mulier’s final red carpet moments as Alaïa’s creative director (his departure was just announced two days before the show). And if so, it’s a fitting exit: something technical and tender. A little aggressive in its exposure, but softened by cut and curve. It didn’t try to be the biggest look at the show. It just held still—and that was louder.
Sometimes a red carpet dress doesn’t announce an arrival—it just quietly, unapologetically, stands there and wins.
Sabrina Carpenter wore a beaded sheer Valentino gown with cascading ruffle tiers and a pearl-embroidered bodice at the 2026 Grammy Awards.
At the 68th Annual Grammy Awards in Los Angeles, Sabrina Carpenter didn’t just dress like a nominee—she looked like a memory half-frozen in light. Her custom Valentino gown had that kind of presence: shimmering, detailed, maybe a little sugary but not soft.
Visibly beaded from collarbone to train, the dress clung in all the expected places, yet stayed playful—romantic, even clumsy in its sweetness. The upper half was sculpted, corset-style, but softened by illusion tulle and glassy embroidery that spelled out florals with no petals. Thin off-shoulder draping gave the illusion of a capelet without adding weight. Below the waist, things got lighter—seven tiers of ruffled mesh , covered in tiny scattered pearls, falling down like layered icing. It didn’t drag dramatically, but left just enough trail to count as formal.
Hair tied back. Loose pieces near the eyes. Blush heavy on the cheeks, probably on purpose. Matte lips somewhere between rose and oxblood. She skipped heavy jewelry. Just earrings, just a few rings. Let the dress overtalk—because that’s what it was meant to do.
This wasn’t a futuristic look or a deconstructed risk. It was almost defiantly referential— Old Hollywood , filtered through teenage fantasy, hemmed with TikTok modernity. A compromise between timeless and trend. And still, distinctly hers.
If Barbie ever cried glitter, this is what it might dry into.
PinkPantheress wore an abstract off-the-shoulder gown with draped sleeves and a fluid print at the 2026 Grammy Awards red carpet.
At the 68th Annual Grammy Awards held on February 1, 2026, PinkPantheress showed up in something that didn’t scream, but hummed—a subtle kind of statement. Her gown was off-the-shoulder, constructed from loosely draped fabric panels in soft painterly tones—muted reds, rust, muddy mauves, a bit of washed-out teal. Not pattern in the conventional sense. More like abstract brushwork stretched across silk. The sleeves, if we can even call them that, hung low and ribbon-like, trailing as if mid-unravel. Nothing tight. Nothing sharp. Even the bodice, though fitted, avoided stiffness.
Her hair was knotted up, not overly neat, with fringe skimming just above delicately defined brows. The jewelry was sparse—just a diamond necklace. Enough. She gave the camera a soft look, not blank but unreadable. Less about claiming space, more about allowing herself to be framed, like part of the backdrop, but conscious of it.
In a swirl of sculpted corsets and amplified volume clogging this year’s red carpet , this felt like the opposite instinct. An anti-gown. Still long, still formal—but emotionally slouched. The visual language? Somewhere between fabric-as-canvas and early 2000s Galliano daydreams, minus the drama. Roughly romantic. Not ironic.
It’s clear this wasn’t dropped on her last minute. There’s an idea here. Not design as armor or seduction, but as ease. She looked like someone who had already whispered everything she needed to say—now just letting the dress speak in brushstrokes and folds.
When fashion gives you air instead of architecture, it’s not underwhelming—it’s a choice to float.
