Julia Garcia wore a wine lace gown with peep-toe heels for the Scream 7 x Meta Creator event in Los Angeles on February 3, 2026.
At the Scream 7 x Meta Creator Event in Los Angeles on February 3, Julia Garcia didn’t shy away from drama—but she kept hers romantic, not slasher. Standing next to Ghostface, she nailed the contrast: soft curves, deep tone, clean lines… and zero fear.
She wore a plum-red lace dress , full-length and form-skimming, with a plunging neckline edged in scalloped lace. The fabric clung where it should and relaxed where it could, no slit, no bells or whistles. It wasn’t flashy. Just fitted. A dress that works when you stand still and ruins nothing when you move.
Shoes? Champagne satin peep-toe platforms . Glossy, rounded at the front, high enough to polish the look without dragging it toward old-Hollywood cliché. Jewelry stayed light—small hoops, maybe pavé, and a single pendant necklace. No hard sparkle. A few gold rings, nothing overstuffed. Hair was styled loose but pinned up slightly in the back—half pony or twist, soft waves falling forward. Not overproduced.
Her makeup walked the same line—brows groomed, cheeks flushed, lips in that fleshy pink-beige that’s less about color and more about finish. It all felt lived in. She knew she was stepping into a horror theme, but chose intimacy instead of costume.
There’s a quiet power in showing up to a gimmick-heavy space wearing something that’s just beautiful—and refusing to match the chaos.
Katherine LaNasa wore a white textured midi dress with a capelet shoulder detail and black pumps for The View in January 2026.
Outside the studios of The View in New York on January 29, Katherine LaNasa stepped onto the sidewalk dressed like she had already answered every question—and didn’t overexplain any of it.
She wore a white textured midi-length dress , softly structured, printed with subtle dashes or micro-stripes that barely broke the clean palette. The silhouette leaned classic but carried modern sharpness, thanks to a built-in capelet shoulder detail —wide, sculpted, almost armor-like, but softened by the fabric’s bend. Sleeves capped, waist cinched with a narrow same-fabric belt knotted askew, just imperfect enough to disrupt the polish.
The front slit curved up just enough to bring breath to the look. Not sass—just room to walk with ease. She paired it with black pointed-toe pumps , classic, a bit glossy. The kind that say, “Yes, I walked here. And yes, they still work.”
In her hand, a structured black clutch with a gold hardware clasp—plain, direct, needed. On her face, oversized dark sunglasses , not costume-y, just there for purpose. That hint of lipstick red and pinned-back platinum hair said all the rest. Starched where it matters. Relaxed where it doesn’t.
Nothing demanded your attention. Everything earned it. LaNasa’s look didn’t chase relevance—it just stayed ready for it.
Addison Rae wore a customized Poster Girl dress adorned with money motifs at the Sony Music Group Grammy after-party in LA, February 2026.
At the Sony Music Group Grammy Celebration in Los Angeles on February 1, 2026, Addison Rae walked into after-party territory and skipped subtlety entirely. What she wore wasn’t a nod to pop excess—it flat-out was pop excess.
Her look? A customized Poster Girl “Invisible” dress —a translucent fitted body sheath with pink lingerie straps and glitter resin shine—and scattered all over it: fake $100 bills. Crinkled, clumped, staged bills. Tunneled into the bustline and frilled around the hem like busted corsage petals. Some tied up with glossy pale green ribbon. Others just hanging, like they’d been seized mid-toss in a strip club hurricane.
The base itself is the brand’s signature: ultra-stretch mesh that wraps the body like breathable plastic. No defined cups, no waistband, just that second-skin cling. And yet the choice of material doesn’t overpower the theme—the money details pull hard focus. She paired the look with a massive cocktail ring —bubblegum pink, size-of-a-nickel—chunky and gaudy in a way that makes perfect sense here.
Makeup played it safe: clean skin, a glossed lip with enough pink pop to echo the satin straps. Her hair stayed down, parted, flirt-curled—classic Addison. She smiled wide, like someone who knew this wasn’t elegance and didn’t care in the least.
From a distance, it reads like irony. From up close, it’s just staging. Rae’s look wasn’t about fashion nuance—it was a wink, a joke, a strip-mall fantasy rerouted through high fashion absurdity.
