Emma Laird wears a plush golden jacket and tailored trousers in British Vogue’s February 2026 issue, blending softness and sculptural nostalgia.
For the February 2026 edition of British Vogue , Emma Laird gives us a story told in texture and posture rather than excess. No gowns. No lashes. No stagey glam. Just a crouch, a stare, and an outfit that looks like a curated study in tension: soft sculpture on top, tailored context below.
The look? A wrapped cocoon of golden shearling—oversized, unfastened, and possibly unwearable outdoors. The coat doesn’t sit. It hovers. Boiled honey-colored volume, draped slowly around her chest like cloud insulation. No shirt underneath. No attempt to let the body lead. The garment leads.
Paired with that: greyish-brown suit trousers with a faint check pattern. Traditional men’s tailoring cut for a slouch. The drop is low, the legs curve out with lived-in creases, and they puddle slightly at the calf, stopping just short of the pointed toe. Her heels are subtle—a tobacco glaze of leather almost disappearing into the tone of the trousers. No red sole flash. No height drama. Grounded.
Her signature copper hair feels less styled, more tumbled—massive curls with a frizz halo that’s practically atmospheric. A face left bare on purpose, no thick liner, no pigment bomb. Just her. One visible earring. Nothing screams.
This is the kind of fashion photoshoot that resists the idea of seduction or status. It suggests weight. Mood. A quiet but deliberate refusal to “pop.”
Emma doesn’t deliver a look. She delivers a pause—and leaves it completely up to you what happens next.
Zara Larsson wore a yellow sequin bra top and floral beaded maxi skirt to the 2026 GRAMMY Awards, echoing early-2000s red carpet energy.
On the 2026 GRAMMY Awards red carpet in Los Angeles, Zara Larsson showed up like she time-warped in from one of those iconic TRL-era moments. Skin out, color loud, and just enough chaos built into the sparkle.
This wasn’t a gown. It was a two-piece —a sharply sculpted crop top and matching maxi skirt, both made of yellow sequins aggressive in shine and technically precise in fit. The bra top wrapped diagonally across the chest with a crossing shoulder strap that almost pretends to be supportive. Glossy gold beading lined the edges. That early 2000s DNA? Fully intact. It called on Britney, Christina, even a pinch of J.Lo—but leveled up.
The skirt… longer than expected. A column shape that pooled slightly at the hem, fully embellished in ornate embroidered florals framed in gold. Equal parts ballroom, Mardi Gras, and clubwear. Somehow, it didn’t feel like too much. Maybe it’s Zara’s posture—shoulders relaxed, body language fluid, just enough tension in her stance. Not trying. Just existing.
Hair was long and loose, styled into soft blonde waves with a center part. Almost mermaid, but cleaner. Her cheeks had warmth. Her lips leaned barely—glossed nude, not trying to complicate what the outfit already said. Earrings were big and gold. Not drop-shaped, not sculptural—just circular and bold like punctuation.
She’s a first-time GRAMMY nominee tonight, but you wouldn’t know it from the way she holds the carpet. No beginner’s nerves. Just an entrance. Polished, but not stiff. Fun, but not spongey.
The look doesn’t reinvent pop stardom—it just reminds you what it used to feel like.
Heidi Klum wore a plunging crimson gown with a slit and textured coat at the 2026 Pre-GRAMMY Gala held at the Beverly Hilton.
At the Pre-GRAMMY Gala & GRAMMY Salute to Industry Icons at the Beverly Hilton, Heidi Klum did what only a few celebrities still do without flinching—she committed to a Look. Not ironic. Not minimalist. No monochrome “less is more.” Just volume, red, and 200% neckline.
The dress—a halter-neck column gown in textural scarlet fabric —dropped down low in the front, unapologetically deep. The plunge was sharp and clean, without mesh, tape, or any tricks—just confidence and adhesive, presumably. The bodice skimmed, then cinched into a wide waistband made from a subtly sheened material, wrapping the torso like a glamour bandage.
Below the waist, the skirt picked up a faint shimmer and a vertical texture—somewhere between pleated and crushed. A side slit opened the leg just past mid-thigh. Not an up-to-there moment. Just enough movement. Just enough mischief.
Then came the shrug. She tossed a bold red textured coat —voluminous and fuzzy, almost cartoonish—around her arms, letting it ride low enough to show shoulders. Think: fur bomb meets Muppet energy. But instead of camp, it felt… ceremonial. She wasn’t playing. She was just dressing like the cameras were always rolling.
Hair was blown out in loose, straightened waves—parted slightly in the middle, nothing tucked. Makeup centered on smoky silver eyes, bronzed skin, and an icy pink matte lip. No necklace. A few rings. Not much to compete with that neckline.
This look wasn’t just red carpet fashion. It was red carpet muscle memory.
