Lili Reinhart appears in the January 2026 issue of V Magazine, photographed in two distinct outfits that highlight texture, mood, and editorial edge.
January 2026. Lili Reinhart standing on a small platform, metallic military-style coat heavy, fur trim at collar and cuffs. Gold knee-high boots catching light, backdrop layered with beige fabric. The pose upright, theatrical, almost rigid. Shadows fall across folds of cloth, rustic yet deliberate.
Another frame, softer. Seated on a stool, muted backdrop again, fabric draped in beige and brown. A sleeveless top with floral embellishments, sheer skirt dotted with polka patterns. High-heeled sandals delicate, posture relaxed. The atmosphere moody, lighting warm, shadows gentle. A quieter rhythm compared to the first.
Her styling here: opposites. One outfit leaning into armor, metallic sheen, boots bold. The other leaning into fragility, sheer fabric, floral detail. Together they form a fashion spread stitched from fragments. A celebrity photoshoot that resists glamour excess, leaning instead into texture, tone, and mood.
Reinhart’s editorial wasn’t about spectacle. It was about fragments — fur trim, gold boots, floral top, polka dots scattered. A styled shoot reframed into something tougher, more authentic.
Emilia Clarke appears in the January 2026 issue of The New York Times, photographed in two contrasting outfits that highlight color, texture, and editorial restraint.
January 2026. Emilia Clarke seated on the floor, backdrop plain, sweater bright pink, turtleneck high. Loose black pants, shoes dark, posture casual. Hands clasped, arms resting on knees. The pink against the neutral background feels almost too loud, but it works. A clash softened by her calm expression.
Another frame, softer again. Clarke lying on the floor, outfit white, textured fabric, pleated skirt. Long sleeves, one marked with black and yellow detail. Pose deliberate, hand near the neck, gaze direct. The composition minimal, clean, almost serene. The outfit structured but light, fabric folding gently.
Her styling here: opposites. One outfit leaning into bold color, almost playful. The other leaning into quiet restraint, fabric and pose subdued. Together they form a fashion spread stitched from fragments. A celebrity photoshoot that resists glamour excess, leaning instead into texture, tone, and mood.
Clarke’s editorial wasn’t about spectacle. It was about fragments — pink sweater loud, pleated skirt soft, gaze steady. A styled shoot reframed into something tougher, more authentic.
Mia Goth wore a custom Dior gown with diamond Dior Couture jewels at the 2026 Netflix Golden Globes afterparty in Beverly Hills.
There’s nothing loud about this look. No shimmering fringe, no overbuilt corsetry, no hem dragging across the carpet. Just Mia Goth , standing still under coppery lighting at Netflix’s 2026 Golden Globe afterparty at Spago in Beverly Hills–wearing what looks, at first, like a quiet black dress. But quiet doesn’t mean simple.
The halter neckline pulls diagonally across her collarbone, leaving everything below it…gone. From the shoulder down, it’s all clean skin, soft curve, gravity and fabric working out a truce. The back is open. Almost stark. A custom Dior gown , sleek and matte, folds over itself at the bust in an asymmetrical fold that nearly escapes definition–part sculptural, part accidental. The fabric reads satin, but heavier. Less flow, more hold.
One arm holds a black wrap of the same material, maybe part of a shawl–maybe not. Her hand folds around it loosely, almost absently. No exaggerated clutch, no posed grip. The diamond Dior Couture earrings do just enough without getting excited about it, blinking once below the dark sweep of bangs that soften her expression. Her makeup? Not dewy, not glossy. It’s lived-in. Natural, but with intent.
This isn’t a “moment.” It’s just…her.
Of course we’ve seen Mia Goth in louder settings–press tours, horror festivals, arthouse events with theatrical silhouettes. But there’s something here that feels more peeled back. Underlit, maybe. She’s not trying to own the step-and-repeat. No grinning, no dramatic turn. This is not an arrival outfit. It’s something you slip on in silence before heading into a room where everyone talks too much.
There’s a subtle defiance in stripping an afterparty look of energy , sparkle, sparkle, sparkle. She’s not asking for attention. Nor avoiding it. It’s just neutrality, worn with conviction. Which, in this moment of overproduced “quiet luxury,” feels like something else entirely: plain confidence.
