Peyton List wore a sharply tailored black suit styled with a crisp shirt and red clutch during her sleek January 2026 fashion photoshoot.
There’s something disarmingly poised about this moment — Peyton List standing in an all-white bathroom, tiles reflecting the muted light, the mirror framing her like a quiet accomplice. She wears a black suit , impeccably tailored, with a white button-up shirt pressed to prison-level perfection. A thin black tie dangles straight, slightly loosened, as if the shoot caught her between poses, not in one.
The jacket cinches at the waist with a sculpted edge, shaping contrast against her straight-leg trousers that fall clean to pointed black heels . No embellishments, just subtle precision. Her hair , undone waves bordering on messy, cuts the formality down to something human — editorial cool rather than boardroom strictness. A pop of rebellion, almost cinematic.
Brooks Nader wore a gray faux fur jacket with sleek black leggings and pointed heels while leaving the Infinite Icon after-party in Los Angeles.
Paparazzi flash catches movement — not the usual red carpet pose but a stumble mid-laugh. Brooks Nader throws her arms out, half-balancing in sharp black heeled boots , a moment that feels more human than haute. She’s dressed in a plush gray faux-fur jacket over a black fitted top and opaque leggings , a uniform of sleek monochrome warmth cut through with texture.
The fur’s dense, soft pile and the tightness of the leggings make the contrast work — cozy meets kinetic. Her small rectangular sunglasses stay fixed even as her posture slips, an unintentional testament to balance (and commitment to the look). Hair’s pulled up casually, strands loose enough to catch motion blur, an echo of nightlife energy that’s already fraying at the edges.
Laura Capel wore a vivid orange bikini while enjoying a sunny pool day at a tropical resort surrounded by palm trees and crystal-blue water.
The light feels almost liquid — thick, warm, and precise. Laura Capel steps through shallow water, smiling without forcing it, the kind of calm you can’t fake. Her orange bikini pops against the sharp cyan of the pool, the color somewhere between tangerine and sunrise. The fabric clings slightly with water, catching enough reflection to shimmer without gloss.
Her hair’s damp and tousled , sun-warmed rather than styled. Skin freckled and radiant under direct daylight — no heavy makeup, just the natural glow of heat and movement. Behind her, palm trees lean inward , their fronds slicing small shadows across the frame, and a thatched-roof cabana anchors the scene in those easy tropical clichés that somehow don’t feel wrong.
