Teyana Taylor wore a sheer bronze halter gown and stacked Tiffany & Co. jewels to the 2026 GRAMMY Awards in Los Angeles.
At the 68th Annual GRAMMY Awards , held February 1, 2026, at the Crypto.com Arena in Los Angeles, Teyana Taylor didn’t just wear fashion. She weaponized it. Draped in a custom Tom Ford gown , the cut was as precise as it was unapologetically raw—a sheer, bronze mesh halter dress that clung like humidity and left nothing to decoding.
The neckline dipped into a razor-edged plunge, skimming sternum and sliding straight down. There were no cups, no lining, no corset tricks—just tension. The bodice flowed into sharply scooped sides , nearly down to the hip bones, and the rest of the gown whispered down into a long train that barely bothered to brush the carpet. Think liquid skin cast in copper static.
What made it more interesting was what she put on top of it. The gown was nearly invisible, yes, but the accessories screamed in gold . On her ears: Tiffany & Co. Hardwear Link Earrings in yellow gold. Around the throat and wrist: Hardwear wrap necklace , small link bracelet , and layered bangles stacked with a mix of Knot wire and diamond-studded rose gold . A Tiffany T T1 ring added punctuation. It wasn’t just jewelry; it was contrast—hardware against softness, polish against bare anatomy.
Hair slicked back, finger-waved and high-shined , gave the look vintage rigidity. Her eyebrows sculpted, her eyes lined sharp, her lips a matte terracotta. It wasn’t pretty. It was carved.
What looked almost undone from far away became, up close, a masterclass in control. A gown built to disappear until it didn’t. A look that never once asked permission.
Zuri Hall wore a red faux reptile-textured two-piece gown with a peplum waist to the 2026 GRAMMY Awards in Los Angeles.
At the 68th Annual GRAMMY Awards on February 1, 2026, Zuri Hall stepped onto the red carpet in something that didn’t shimmer or drip. It gripped. Her red faux reptile-textured gown , molded close to the body, delivered a look grounded entirely in tension—structured, high-gloss control matched with quiet edge.
The gown is two-piece, but not conventionally. The top half is corset-built , with vertical boning and a peplum flare that juts the hip line down and away—almost sculptural. No plunging neckline, no side cutouts. The silhouette keeps it tight up top and cone-like through the lower torso. The texture, close up, mimics alligator skin—each scale outlined and glossed, adding shine without sparkle.
The skirt portion falls column-straight , echoing the texture, slowly widening toward the hemline in a subtle fishtail kick. There’s no slit, no high-low trick. It moves stiff but deliberate. Think fashion armor—not heavy, but unyielding.
She paired it with thin strappy red heels , open-toe, barely visible above the last ridge of the hem. Jewelry stayed minimal: a polished diamond necklace , bracelet, and just enough rings to check the box. Her nails were almond-shaped, glossy nude. She didn’t overdo it. She let texture speak.
Hair was big—tight coils blown out into a soft ombré halo , fading from chestnut to honey. The look needed that volume. Makeup leaned burgundy, with a waterline smoky eye, flushed cheek, and matte lip. All set to smolder without the siren signal.
This was never about catching light. This was about casting shadow.
Taylor Momsen wore a sheer black Ludovic de Saint Sernin gown and platform pumps to the 2026 MusiCares Person of the Year Gala.
At the MusiCares 2026 Person of the Year Benefit Gala in Los Angeles, Taylor Momsen didn’t just walk the red carpet—she cast a long, black shadow across it. Her look? An altered version of the “Carrie Dress” by Ludovic de Saint Sernin . A nearly invisible gown made of sheer tension, minimalist fabric, and controlled chaos.
The entire silhouette rides on a v-shaped halter neckline , plunging past the chest and down to the ribs, anchored by two strings and sheer audacity. The torso is see-through. Deliberately. The paneling across the chest? Strategic. Fragile-looking. Unapologetic. With the sides left bare , the effect lands somewhere between ’90s grunge goddess and contemporary couture strip-down.
The back of the dress falls into a light train , not theatrical but patient. It moves like it sighs. The fabric reads like chiffon or silk mesh with almost no weight—just suggestion. No lining. No embellishment. Just body, bias cut, and boundary tests.
On her feet, the Versace Aevitas pointy platform pumps , harsh and assertive, elevate the dress into something meaner. Guns-for-heels. And then there’re the accessories: neck chains layered like armour , all silver, lengths stabbing into the neckline and spreading down the chest. Heavy rings on nearly every finger , plus black bangles stacked like punctuation. Her wrists looked armed.
Hair was worn down in classic Taylor texture— platinum waves parted middle and barely restrained at all. Makeup leaned skeletal: heavy charcoal eyes, pale lips, skin neutral. Gothic, not fake. The whole look felt lived-in, not styled into perfection but summoned from some pre-dawn memory.
It wasn’t about hardness or softness. It was about the silhouette becoming a scream you lean into instead of away from.
