“Lazy” fashion is not about effort lost, but ownership regained, the right to retreat, to soften, to exist without spectacle. Lazy fashion asks: when everything is curated, what remains truly ours?
“Lazy” fashion is not about effort lost, but ownership regained, the right to retreat, to soften, to exist without spectacle. Lazy fashion asks: when everything is curated, what remains truly ours?
October 28, 2025
“Lazy” fashion is not about effort lost, but ownership regained, the right to retreat, to soften, to exist without spectacle. Lazy fashion asks: when everything is curated, what remains truly ours?
When Rihanna appeared at Dior in a silk slip that looked suspiciously like nightwear, the world gasped. Was it audacity or elegance? Zendaya, too, strode into Valentino’s couture show in languid trousers, her hair undone, as if plucked straight from a Sunday morning. These women, paragons of glamour, were telling us something: the new power move in fashion is ease, and it is lazy yet impactful.
There are moments in style when the runway tells only half the story. The other half is whispered from the street, magnified by celebrity, and multiplied across TikTok. Today, that murmur is unmistakable: the rise of what some dismiss as “lazy fashion.” Yet beneath the irony lies something more nuanced, a rebellion that questions not only how we dress, but how we exist in an age of surveillance, speed, and spectacle.
The tracksuit, once banished to gyms and corner shops, now parades at Paris and Milan Fashion Weeks. Demna at Balenciaga has twisted sportswear into dystopian couture, while Matthieu Blazy at Bottega Veneta renders jeans and flannel shirts in supple leather, comfort masquerading as craftsmanship. Even at Miu Miu, ballet flats and rumpled cardigans, layered over schoolgirl skirts, exude the studied ease of dressing down.
The message is clear: clothes are no longer just about seduction or status, but about autonomy. Post-pandemic, the tyranny of office suiting dissolved into elastic waistbands and slipper shoes. Working from home proved that productivity did not hinge on a sharply pressed crease. Comfort became synonymous with efficiency, and, more tellingly, with privacy.
But in a world of digital self-exposure, dressing down or expressing the lazy fashion spirit is never innocent. On Instagram or TikTok, even a plain hoodie can feel like performance art. What looks un-styled is often highly styled indeed.
Take Kendall Jenner’s oversized hoodie, Zoë Kravitz’s plain white tank, or Hailey Bieber’s low-slung jeans. Their “effortless” lazy fashion looks ignite millions of reposts. And luxury has noticed: Balenciaga’s logo-free hoodies are calculated subversion, while Loewe’s art-infused denim implies intellectual intent.
The anti-style becomes style itself: authenticity commodified and sold at a premium. Sociologists call it “curated casualness”, a wardrobe that whispers of intellect, leisure, or financial confidence. What lazy fashion is, in fact, another form of branding: the projection of a life too secure to be over-dressed.
Fashion today spins faster than ever. Prada reintroduces silhouettes before they have cooled in memory; Celine cycles back to minimalism even as Saint Laurent revives 1980s shoulders. TikTok accelerates the churn with micro-trends like “blokecore,” “office siren,” and “mob wife”, each flaring and fading within weeks.
In this carousel, “lazy fashion” is not inertia but survival. Fluid trousers, elasticated shirting, and minimalist sneakers function as a pause button. Against volatility, comfort becomes continuity.
The numbers tell their own story. McKinsey’s State of Fashion 2025 reports casual apparel growing 12% year-on-year, while the global loungewear market, valued at $37 billion in 2023, is projected to hit $59 billion by 2030. Lazy fashion is no passing fad; it’s a structural shift.
Naturally, the industry adapts. The Row sells cashmere hoodies at four-digit prices. Brunello Cucinelli’s €1,200 sweatpants blur the line between luxury and leisure. Dior’s sneakers command the same reverence as their handbags.
The paradox is glaring. A hoodie, originally born of sports utility, becomes a statement of wealth when recast in Mongolian cashmere. But fashion thrives on this paradox. Coco Chanel transformed humble jersey into chic rebellion in the 1910s; Giorgio Armani dismantled corporate armor with soft tailoring in the 1980s. Each time, casual became couture when filtered through design. Lazy fashion continues that lineage, not the death of elegance but its evolution.
What’s most radical today is not embellishment but understatement. Where the early 2000s worshipped “It” bags and vertiginous heels, 2025’s icons are pragmatic: the Adidas Samba sneaker, Uniqlo’s viral £14.90 crossbody bag, Toteme’s slouching coats.
Even at the luxury summit, restraint reigns. Hermès, Loewe, and Loro Piana now market discretion over spectacle - the rise of lazy fashion. The Row, built on clothes that look plain until one notices the fabric or the fall of a seam, has become the high priestess of understatement.
As Suzy Menkes might put it: elegance has shrugged off its armor.
Lazy fashion is not confined to the West. In Seoul, K-Pop idols mix designer sweats with luxury handbags, making athleisure aspirational across Asia. In Los Angeles, wellness culture blurs yoga pants into boardrooms. In Scandinavia, brands like Toteme, Acne Studios, and Ganni codify minimalism as chic.
Even in the Middle East, younger clients lean toward understated luxury, balancing cultural modesty with global casualism. The rise of “quiet luxury”, from Loro Piana’s storm-system coats to Cucinelli’s brushed cashmere, signals a worldwide appetite for discretion.
There is also a moral undertone. Consumers weary of overproduction turn to “capsule wardrobes” and seasonless dressing. Eileen Fisher and Margaret Howell lead with timeless staples. Gucci experiments with resale via “Vault,” while Balenciaga launches repair services.
Lazy fashion, then, becomes resistance, not only against spectacle but against excess. By choosing simplicity, wearers quietly protest waste and overconsumption.
The genius of lazy fashion is its refusal to be pinned down. Lazy fashion is both retreat and rebellion: a sigh of relief, a gesture of defiance. Its paradox is its strength. By appearing effortless, it achieves the highest sophistication.
Coco Chanel once quipped, “Luxury must be comfortable, otherwise it is not luxury.” In 2025, her words feel prophetic.
Perhaps the most radical fashion statement of our time is not spectacle but subtlety. Lazy fashion grants the right to privacy, to comfort, to authenticity. It insists that clothing serve us, not enslave us.
In an era of surveillance and saturation, understatement may be the boldest form of elegance. Lazy fashion, far from apathetic, may be our most articulate rebellion yet, against noise, against spectacle, and for the quiet dignity of simply being.
